Chapter 26
26
Saturdays are market days. In the summer, the market bustles, every stall filled, a crowd of customers from open to close. January, though, is the quietest month, so Ginny didn’t mind missing most of it—two weeks for the trip, plus last week when they were knee-deep in Bapa’s bathroom remodel. Something loosens in their chest when they arrive this morning.
Sue’s Subaru pulls into the parking spot next to Ginny’s truck as Ginny is unloading a rocking chair—they haven’t sold a single rocking chair their entire life, but it’s a beautiful piece, and people love to test it out. It’s a conversation starter, perfect for the market even if it is somewhat unwieldy. Sue steps in and helps Ginny get it from the truck bed to the ground, and Ginny hops out after it.
They hug hello—more of a bro hug than anything, a couple of hard pats on the back—but Ginny could sink into the comfort of Sue, the soft creases on the outside of her lined leather jacket. She must be working with walnut lately, the way there’s a sweet, almost-brownie smell layered on top of her usual aroma of cloves and sawdust. For the most part, Ginny and Sue have a pretty typical friendship as two introverts who enjoy each other’s company without talking much, but sometimes Ginny remembers Sue is almost twice their age. She has that wise queer-elder aura. Ginny has tried to avoid thinking about Elsie all week, but as they pull away from the embrace, more than anything, they want to ask Sue for advice about girls.
“How was the lovers’ vacation?” Sue asks.
“What?”
“Your trip. It was supposed to be a honeymoon, yeah?”
Sue heads toward the stall they share, carrying the rocking chair herself. Ginny grabs a milk crate full of cutting boards from Sue’s Outback and follows.
“Oh. Yeah. It was, uh, great. Santa Lupita is amazing.”
“What was your favorite part?”
Elsie complaining about the hike. Elsie looking up at them through her lashes while she played with her drink, talking about ruining their friendship. Elsie asking for what she wanted, demanding it. Elsie coming all over their fingers, face, thigh. Elsie in that yellow bikini. Elsie in nothing. Elsie.
“The food was incredible,” Ginny says. “I’m pretty sure we ate fish that was still alive like an hour earlier.”
As they set up the stall, she tells Sue about fresh lobster and green figs and saltfish and fry bakes with jam in the morning. She doesn’t say anything about licking that jam from Elsie’s fingers, about fighting over who had to put on clothes to grab the meals that had been delivered to their door. And it’s not that Ginny normally would tell Sue all of that—they’re not in the habit of kissing and telling, but they are in the habit of talking about Elsie. This time, though, Sue’s the one to bring her up.
“And Elsie was okay—not too sad about the whole broken-engagement thing, given that she was the one who did it?”
“Elsie was okay,” Ginny says. “Elsie was good. She’d never had lobster before.”
“I feel like there’s a joke there about eating shellfish for the first time, but maybe it would only work with clams.”
Ginny rolls their eyes and Sue laughs.
They’re finished with setup by now. It’s always the same: the rocking chair; a coffee table topped with a slab from an oak trunk, teal epoxy filling cracks in the wood; a puzzle table with a jigsaw puzzle half-finished inside it. Last summer, Ginny glued the puzzle pieces together so they don’t have to fix it every time they set up. Sue brings picture frames, jewelry boxes, and striped cutting boards in the shape of Minnesota.
The market is about to open, which means Cora, the baker from a stall down the row, comes by with a morning pastry. Every week she brings something different, a new recipe tested out on fellow market sellers. She claims that she shares on the condition they provide feedback, but Ginny forgot once, and the next week, Cora still had a ham-and-cheese croissant for them.
Today’s delicacy is a gooey cinnamon roll, the swirl filled with spiced dates and chopped pecans.
“Fuck, that’s a winner,” Sue says, her first bite still in her mouth.
“Text me,” Cora says. “I need the feedback all in one place.”
Sue salutes with the hand holding the roll. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ginny sends emojis: a thumbs-up, the drooling face, and 100.
Sue and Ginny have a prime location between the entrance and the most popular stalls, including Cora’s and an organic local farm’s. People aren’t necessarily coming to the market for their pieces, but they get customers’ eyes on them anyway.
Ginny says hi to the regulars. There’s Darvesh, who must have a big family given the amount of vegetables he leaves with every week. Ginny doesn’t know the name of the tall, muscular brunette because they never talk, just acknowledge Ginny’s smile with a nod. Carol stops to chat, tells Sue for the four hundredth time how much she loves her work, then leaves without buying anything.
Once the initial rush—if you can call it a rush in early February—dies down, Ginny asks Sue, “You do anything fun while I was gone?”
Sue looks at them for a moment, eyes narrowed like she’s sizing them up. “You really wanna talk about my week, or are we going to deal with your quarter-life crisis?”
Is it that obvious?
“I’m not having a quarter-life crisis,” Ginny lies.
“You quit your job with no prospects before going on this trip, and you haven’t said shit about it.”
Right. Their unemployment. That’s the crisis Ginny was thinking of, not their friendship—or lack thereof—with Elsie.
“How ya feeling?”
Ginny exhales. “If I don’t think about the future, honestly, I feel pretty good. I’m finishing up a reno of my grandpa’s bathroom, along with some other projects around his house.”
“Oh yeah?”
Ginny digs out their phone to show pictures. Every time they’ve taken them, they forgot, for a second, that they’re not supposed to send them to Elsie. She loves progress photos.
Maybe Ginny should be sending her pictures. They said taking space didn’t mean they weren’t friends. Where’s the line?
Sue lets out a quiet whistle, pulling Ginny back to reality. “You tiled that shower? Was that smart? I remember what you were like when you did yours.”
“This time was better,” Ginny says. “I was more prepared. Plus, with the amount Bapa insists on paying me, I had to tile the shower.”
“Oh, boohoo, you’re getting paid.”
Ginny grins and runs a hand through their hair. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. If you have any projects you could send my way once I’m done so I can keep getting paid, I’d appreciate it.”
“How would you feel about knowing too much about the sex life of some of my friends?”
Ginny blinks. “Please explain what that has to do with our conversation.”
Sue chuckles. “I’ve got friends who are looking to have a custom bed built—you know, with hard points—and that’s just more involved in their sex life than I’m willing to be, but I could recommend you for the job.”
“Hard points?”
“Oh god,” Sue mutters under her breath. She glances around before raising her voice slightly so Ginny can hear. “A hard point is a place that can bear weight, for restraints or suspension.”
Okay. Restraints make sense in terms of knowing too much about someone’s sex life, but: “Suspension?”
Sue rubs a hand over her face. “I know you’re a baby gay but it’s too early for me to be responsible for educating you on this. Google it—when you get home,” she clarifies as Ginny reaches for their phone. “Not in front of me. For now, just know it needs to support the weight of a person.”
They want to suspend a person in the air? Ginny is definitely googling as soon as Sue isn’t paying attention.
“Suspension isn’t anything bad, ” Sue says. “Just, again, building the bed for my friends is more than I want to be involved in their sex life. Don’t need Zina thinking of me every time she ties—” She clears her throat. “Anyway. Interested?”
“For sure.”
“I’ll connect y’all.”
“Sweet, thanks.” At some point, Ginny will have to actually start applying for jobs, but for now, it’s nice to have the next project lined up. They sigh. “I wish I could just build shit and not have a job.”
Sue, no-nonsense as always, says, “Why can’t you?”
“That’d be sweet, but like.” Ginny wrinkles their nose. “Money.”
“Half of what my clients ask for I have to commission from someone else because you and I don’t have the time. You could make enough money.”
It sounds great, but not realistic. “I can’t just not have a job.”
“You’d have a job. It would just be doing what you actually like to do.” Sue gestures to the rocking chair, runs a finger along the coffee table. “I can show you my records. Let you see what sort of profit you could be making before you decide. When are you free to look them over?”
Ginny laughs. They’re always free at this point.
Regardless of what kind of money they might make—Ginny has that emergency fund. They could easily go three months with no income at all, and with Bapa insisting on paying them—every day, in cash, more than Ginny would ever charge him—plus whatever commissions Sue could give her… who knows how long they could last? They could at least try.
Woodworking has never brought in enough to pay the bills, but if it was all they were doing? No forty hours a week in a cubicle, no commute to and from work. Just woodworking and fostering dogs. Two of Ginny’s favorite things.
Of course that makes Ginny think of another favorite—Elsie. All trip, they told Elsie that she could have whatever she wanted. That what she wants matters. So why is Ginny acting like their own desires don’t?
They don’t want an office job. They just want to build shit.
“Okay,” Ginny says to Sue. “Let’s see how to make this happen.”