Chapter Three
Carter
Hodgepodge is quiet this afternoon. Too quiet. What I wouldn’t give for a customer rush right now to save me from my overthinking about how long the last few weeks have felt. Ever since Maya, Jake, and JJ moved out, it’s like time has started to drag from one dull moment to the next. My eyes roam around the shop and take in the various artisan pieces on display in a futile attempt to take my mind off my troubles. Pressed flower and white clay dishes stand out against the dark gray walls and I make a mental note to compliment Mrs. Hamstead, the creator of the pieces, the next time I see her.
Maybe I could hang out with some of the other local artisans to fill my abundance of free time. Maya extended a nightly dinner invitation to me before she moved out, but I can’t keep imposing upon her or her family to fill my loneliness. Once a week is enough. Besides, spending time in my childhood home still feels a bit odd. It’s the same house, but it feels very different, and it’s not the renovations that were done. It’s still strange to think of it as Maya’s house, and difficult to stay there without seeing ghosts of the past around every corner. Maybe I would feel differently if I had more of a future ahead of me, but I don’t.
My hand reaches down and picks at the frayed edge of my flannel shirt, the same flannel that belonged to my father. To some it might seem silly, especially since they are about a size too large for my frame, but wearing my dad’s shirts helps me feel closer to him. The man was a force of nature, shooting a smile over to anyone who looked his way and possessing an unmatched patience for those who wanted to bend his ear about his furniture, his Norwegian upbringing, or even something as mundane as the weather. Dad was larger than life in more ways than one, his personality shining through no matter what the occasion or his mood. That kind of presence isn’t something I think I’ll ever be able to live up to. Still, I like to think that he would be proud of me for carrying on with the business at least.
My gaze flicks to the wall where a wooden valknut hangs. It was one of the first pieces of décor my father created and added to the store once it was passed onto him and my mother by my grandfather. Staring at the three interlocking triangles that represent “family” has me wondering if my parents, and my father in particular, would be as pleased with my current single status as they would about the business. “Family first,” was my dad’s motto, and for a while I forgot about that. My parents’ death hit me pretty hard. Losing that kind of support and influence so suddenly was jarring to say the least, and for those first two years I kind of sunk into my grief. Working, eating, and trying to sleep were really the only things on my daily to-do list, but once Maya found out she was pregnant, I had to push through the pain of that loss and step up, once again embracing my father’s motto.
Maya tells me I did a good job, helping her when she was a single mom and being an attentive uncle to JJ, but I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have been thinking a bit more selfishly at times. I could have been there for my sister and nephew while also trying to take steps towards creating a family of my own. Of course, that would require putting myself out there and I’m still not sure that’s something I can do just yet. The desire is there, but my past experiences keep holding me back.
It’s been six years since my last date, and eight since the last time I had sex with another person. Hook-ups aren’t something I can do as it’s always been difficult for me to be with someone intimately without getting to know them better first. I had a girlfriend, Betty, in high school, but we were both always so busy that we did little more than hang out on occasion. We kissed and made-out, but we never came close to having sex, and when she moved after graduation, things naturally ended. After her, there was someone from my high school choir class that I reconnected with when she moved back home after graduating from college. We were decent friends in high school and fell back into a relationship easily enough, but it still took a good two months of dating before I felt connected to Jill enough to have sex. We broke up a few months later when she decided to move to Michigan for graduate school, but I doubt we would have lasted much longer anyway.
Our relationship was more platonic than romantic, neither of us really seeming to experience sparks of attraction when we were together. Since then, I’ve had a few first dates, but nothing more than that. I need to feel confident that the other person really cares about me before I can open myself up sexually, and most women aren’t willing to stick around that long, especially when you already aren’t living up to their expectations in other ways like looks or social ability. The one time I did feel that instant attraction was with Billie, and I wrote it off as a natural reaction to such a stunning woman. The moment I laid eyes on her my whole body felt flushed with a fever and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. When she smiled, it was like the fire spread to my heart and opened it up to a whole new world of possibilities. Before I had a chance to process any of that, Maya and I were whisking JJ home so she could deal with Jake’s reappearance, and that was that.
The shop bell chiming saves me from my pondering the strange occurrence with Billie any further and draws my attention to the front of the store. A well-dressed woman with strawberry blonde hair strolls in. She is conventionally attractive, but still, I don’t feel much beyond an appreciation for the aesthetic appeal of her symmetric features. “Good morning,” she calls out. Her melodic voice hits me first as she breezes towards the counter. “I have an order for pick-up. It’s under the name Montgomery.”
“Of course,” I tell her. Recognizing the name from the dual spiral stools I created just last week, I give her a friendly smile and verify her payment in the computer. “It looks like you’re all settled up and I have the finished product ready to go. I’ll be back in a minute.” Striding over to the back room, I grab a stool with each hand and carry them out to the front for inspection. “Here we are. Everything to your liking?”
Her eyes take a perusal over the stools. “Looks great. I love your work,” she gushes, smiling widely and batting her eyelashes at me. Maybe some stray saw dust came up from the stools or something. “Do you ever give private lessons?”
My brow furrows. “No, never. There are too many safety and liability issues for that,” I explain. Safety has always been a big concern for me, more so since we lost our parents. Logically, I know that a drunk driver has little to do with what goes on in my workshop, but it was a good reminder that one stupid mistake can have lasting consequences. “I think the town has workshops available if you’re really interested.”
The woman smiles, but looks disappointed. “Thanks. I’ll look into that, but if you change your mind, I’ll be around.” She grabs both of her stools and exits the shop, seeming a bit less excited about her purchase than she had moments ago.
“Oof. That was brutal.” I turn to see my sister holding my nephew in her arms as she leans against the side of the office door. “You do realize she was flirting with you, right?”
I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “I highly doubt that,” I tell my sister. My cheeks pull into a smile as I gaze over at my nephew who has the sleepy eyes of a toddler recently woken from his nap. My hand automatically reaches over to ruffle his curls and I’m rewarded with a giggle from JJ.
“Carter,” my sister sighs. She puts JJ down at the small play table we have set up for him in the office and pats his back. “You’re never going to meet someone if you don’t open yourself up to opportunities like the one you just had. She was pretty, seemed friendly. What was the problem?”
My shoulder bobs up and down quickly as I stare down at my feet. “I don’t know. She was fine, I guess.” My head knows that the woman was more than fine in almost anyone else’s eyes, but I need more than that. I want more than that. After waiting this long, I want the sparks of attraction as well as an ease of conversation, and while I know I need to take the first step in order to get to know someone better, it’s hard after so long of being out of the dating game. “It’s been a long time, Mai. I’m not comfortable in social situations, and beyond that, I’m not really sure how to go about dating exactly anyway. I hate the apps.”
Maya comes over and rubs my back lightly. “I’m know and I’m sorry. It sucks that it’s basically get on an app or cross your fingers and hope you literally run into your soulmate, but you never know,” she tells me. Her expression is hopeful and her piercing blue eyes shine brightly, but I don’t share her optimism. “Maybe you’ll find someone like I did.”
My eyes roll up to the ceiling and I huff out a breath. “Still trying to get me to make a wish in the fountain?” I ask, shaking my head. “Never going to happen.” What I won’t tell her is that the last time we went to the holiday lighting festival with our parents, I did make a wish to find my special someone. When my parents were killed the following morning, I kind of stopped believing in magic of any kind. Just because it happened for Maya doesn’t mean it will happen for me, and it’s been almost six years. If my special someone isn’t here already, I don’t think she ever will be.
Maya looks slightly disappointed in my declaration, but she leaves it for the time being. “Suit yourself,” she says with a knowing smile and walks back into the office. “More magic for me.”
“As if you need any more,” I call over to her, but she’s already busy playing with her son. Now that she’s back from lunch, I can get back to what I really enjoy doing. “I’m heading back to the workshop.” Maya simply waves at me over her shoulder to shoo me away.
Through the store, out the back door, and across a short parking lot is all the space that separates my workspace from the selling floor. The smell of sawdust and pinewood fills my nose as I open the door and walk inside, taking stock of what projects are in a half-finished state and which are ready to ship. After grabbing my leather apron and tying it on, I walk over to my workbench, gliding my hands over the smooth surface of the wooden vases I’ve been working on today. After another round of sanding, I’ll stain them a beautiful golden pecan color and send them off to the mysterious owner of Post Office Box 153 in Denver, the same person who has custom ordered at least half a dozen items over the last few months.
The orders come through the online store and are paid for by an account with a third party payment platform, so I have no idea who this person is. It ultimately doesn’t matter, money is money after all, but it would be nice to know who is ordering such interesting items. The set of three wooden vases isn’t unusual in itself, but together with the other items ordered, they stand out in a way that has me intrigued. Most of my orders are for furniture—stools, chairs, dining tables, and the like—but not PO Box 153. Whoever this person is has ordered a set of drink goblets, a fruit bowl, a honeypot and dipper, four small perfume bottles, a cigar box, and a pipe with a lion carved at the end. That last order especially had me brushing up on my whittling skills, but the customer was happy in the end and left a rave review on our site, so I guess I did all right.
My phone chimes, and after brushing the bits of sawdust that have already collected on my hand onto my jeans, I snag it from my pocket and smile when I see that the store’s Instagram page has a new notification. Maya posts pictures on the site, most of which are different items that are available at the store. Occasionally, she’ll get a picture of me in there standing next to one of my creations, just like she did this morning with the two stools I handed off moments ago. Sliding open my phone and navigating over to the social media app, I click it open, ready to read a comment from Jake’s friend, Billie.
Billie is always the first to comment with something flirty or borderline inappropriate, and while I know she’s just teasing me, each word she writes brings a smile to my face. Mostly. Sometimes they’re a reminder of what I wish I could have but don’t. A year ago when her comments started popping up, I blocked her before I knew who she was and that she wasn’t being malicious. Now it’s the only bit of contact I get from the gorgeous woman, so I cherish every like and comment, hoarding them like a dragon with his gold.
The smile I was sporting slides off my face when I see that it’s just a like from our Aunt Sue. Sue was best friends with our mom and comes into town every now and then to visit, but we mostly keep in touch via text and social media comments. A notification from her comment pops up. “Keep up the good work, Carter,” she writes. The praise feels good, but not as good as Billie’s requests for me to post thirst traps or commenting that I’m looking particularly good that day. She has the uncanny ability to get my chest puffing out with pride in my appearance.
My thumbs scroll through past posts until I find one of her older comments. “The chair looks amazing, but not as amazing as the man that created it.” Even if there is no truth in her words, my heart still swells slightly as I read them and the fire emojis she has trailing at the end. Clicking on her account name, billie@theparty, I navigate to her page and scroll though the pictures like I have many times before. Fortunately, it’s public. Even if I had my own personal account, which I don’t, I could never be brave enough to follow her.
My eyes move across the images that paint the picture of a very happy, very social woman. She’s constantly surrounded by other members of the beautiful people club, smiling, laughing, and generally looking like she is winning at life. The most recent picture is of Billie at some kind of high-end pub. She looks stunning. Locks of mocha brown hair cascade down past her shoulders in waves, and a bright, cheeky smile is on her face as she looks into the camera. She’s wearing a professional looking black suit, but the jacket is open and shows off the lace corset underneath. God, even in her work clothes she looks like sin, the kind of sin men like me would happily burn in Hell for having committed.
Seeing the movie star handsome man standing next to her with his arm slung around her shoulders has jealousy slicing through my chest, but it has no right to be there. Billie isn’t mine, nor will she ever be. Just because she’s the one person I felt instantly attracted to and connected with doesn’t mean anything. It was just a fluke, too much talk of magic in the air connected to Maya and Jake that night in November is what caused the sparks I felt shooting up and down my spine, not anything real. Granted, that fluke tends to repeat itself every time she comes to visit, but maybe I’m just projecting my desire for another person onto her. We don’t know each other very well, and we most likely won’t anytime soon.
With a sigh, I shove my phone back in my pocket and try to get back to work, but as I start sanding the vases, my mind can’t help but wander back to Billie and her recent lack of activity on the store’s page. Maybe she finally realized what most other women do halfway through a single date. I’m not really worth the time.