22. It’s a Thing
IT’S A THING
Josie
Thalia was right. The Great Grimaldi is worth it.
A week later, on Friday afternoon, I work with the former magician to help digitize his stage shows from the eighties full of close-up magic.
By the time we’ve worked through a few VHS tapes, I’m convinced I can turn a glass of water into a deck of cards.
“Does sharing this with me violate a magician’s code or something?” I ask him.
“Not if you don’t tell a soul,” he says, then brings his finger to his mouth. He still sports an old school magician’s mustache and an air of elegant mystery.
“I’ll protect your secrets,” I say.
“Very good,” he says, then whips his cape around him and vanishes. Okay, he doesn’t vanish. But he’s just like a character in a fantasy novel so I like to think he does.
As soon as I join Thalia at the reference desk, she tips her chin toward a group of teenagers spread out at a table in the study room.
“Save me. There are some high school students working on a research project on the use of artificial intelligence in healthcare, and they have no clue where to go besides social media,” she says, adopting a this is making me batty smile.
“Please help before I melt into a puddle of dismay?”
Way to speak to my soul. Plus, this is why they have me. Why the foundation made this grant.
“On it,” I say and if I can impart any wisdom in this lifetime, it’s that there are many, many better resources than social media. I help the group of teens find reputable resources online, and I barely even look at the clock.
Fine, I check it a few times. I’m looking forward to shopping with Everly after work today, more than I usually look forward to grocery shopping.
I took her up on her grocery store offer—we’re going to hit her favorite hidden gem store in the city.
I can get supplies for my project with Wes, and I kind of can’t wait to tackle the fourth item on my list. Maybe because I like baking?
Or possibly because I like our blossoming friendship?
Spending time with him makes me feel…seen.
I haven’t felt that often. Not growing up at least, so it’s a little thrilling.
His messages are too. We’ve been trading recipe ideas all week for number four, even when he flew to Vancouver for a quick away game a few days ago. He returned yesterday though.
As the day winds down, a new message lands on my phone from him, and seeing his name makes my pulse spike. Since it’s quiet at the desk, I read his text right away, feeling a little bubbly.
Wesley: Take that back. What you said last week about my video game skills. I’ve been killing it today.
Josie: Really? You got shot forty-two times by the undead in the abandoned warehouse the second you started the game last night.
Wesley: That was an improvement!
Josie: All I can say is don’t quit your day job.
Wesley: Damn, woman. Way to hit a man when he’s down.
Josie: Need a Band-Aid for your wounded ego?
Wesley: Evidently. Will you put it on me?
Josie: If I can find one big enough.
Wesley: If I’m ever roasted, remind me that you should be the emcee.
Josie: I hate roasts but deeply appreciate the compliment.
Wesley: Agree. Roasts are evil. Like, you’re my friends, and you want to tell me why I’m awful?
Josie: And make fun of me in public?
Wesley: But pranks on teammates are another story.
Josie: That is such a guy thing to say.
Wesley: I am a guy.
Josie: I know, Wes. I know.
Wesley: BTW, you’re the only one who calls me Wes.
Josie: And…?
Wesley: Don’t stop.
Josie: I won’t…Wes.
I almost feel like I could text him all afternoon, but there’s a patron heading toward the desk, so I slip my phone back in my skirt pocket and return to work.
* * *
When the day ends, I tell Thalia I’ll see her tomorrow since I offered to take a Saturday shift for Eddie in research so he could go to his husband’s mini-golf tournament.
Then I leave, passing the fire station where the guys are washing their truck—again.
And doing it shirtless again. I smile again.
They wave back, then I catch a bus to a small store in Russian Hill.
Everly’s waiting at the door, wearing tailored slacks and a pretty blouse but dressed down with Converse sneakers.
“You look like a cocktail of business and casual,” I say, admiring her outfit.
“I like you. I think I’ll keep you around,” she says.
The part of me—that part of everyone that wants to be liked—does a little jig. “Good. I’m very keepable.”
She gestures to the entrance, waggling her phone. “Fair warning. I’m a little into coupons.”
“Me too,” I say, and we’re clearly new besties as we head inside.
She’s another thing I like about San Francisco.
I’ll miss her when the job ends in three months.
Actually, it ends in two months now, but I try not to think about the end date too much.
This was always going to be a short-term gig, and there’ll be other jobs when I get back home.
Besides, there’s plenty to keep me busy while I’m here.
Like the list. With a basket on my arm, I pick up supplies for number four—eat dessert for breakfast from time to time—with a little more vim and vigor than I usually employ when I’m picking up supplies.
“You look like you have something fun planned. What are you baking?” Everly asks as I grab cinnamon from the spice aisle with an eager hand.
Should I tell her? It’s not a state secret. “A cinnamon sugar puff pastry. Wes and I are making it,” I add. Nothing wrong with sharing that. We’re roomies and all.
But that nugget seems to catch her attention more than I’d expect, maybe since I called him Wes. She tilts her head. “You guys are baking together now?”
Is it weird to cook with your roomie these days? “Of course,” I say, fighting to stay nonchalant. “Sometimes we cook together.”
And I leave him handwritten letters, and he drives me to work, and I give him ibuprofen, and he buys me books, and we’re working through my aunt’s bucket list for me in our free time. That’s all totally normal, right?
“I guess that answers my next question—how it is living with one of the Sea Dogs,” she asks, a pleased smile shifting her lips. “Sounds like you two get along.”
“We get along great,” I chirp out, feeling like a liar even though we do get along well.
But I know I’m covering something else up.
And it’s not the burgeoning friendship. It’s the reason I can’t wait till Sunday.
It’s the flutter in my chest. The tingle sliding down my spine. The ache I feel when I’m near him.
“I’m so glad there’s no weirdness, like sharing a bathroom,” Everly says as we leave the spice aisle.
“We each have our own,” I say quickly, trying to breeze through this uncomfortable conversation. I know she’s not intending it to be uncomfortable. But it is since I’m keeping a secret from my brother, and in turn, her.
“And he’s not parading around in a towel?”
I wish he were. “No,” I say, but it comes out strangled because I would love if Wes did that. He drove me to work again on Monday. And a third time today. Shirtless both times. So thoughtful.
“I didn’t think he would,” Everly says as we reach the self-checkout. “But you know how they make it seem in the movies. The burly athlete walking around in nothing.”
Flames lick my chest over that image. “He never does that,” I say, and mercifully the conversation ends when two registers free up. We separate, giving me and my lies of omission some breathing room.
After Everly and I both pay and pack our reusable bags, we head to the exit, then to Everly’s car parked by the curb.
Once we’re inside, she drives me home, chatting the whole way.
She’s upbeat and friendly, but she still surprises me when she says, “I’ve been taking pole-dancing classes, and they’re so fun.
I had a friend who always wanted to do them.
” Briefly my mind latches onto those words—had a friend.
But quickly, she moves past that, asking, “Would you ever want to go?”
Pole and me? Sounds like I’d get another scar on my chin. Or my eyes. Or my vagina. “I’m not coordinated at all.”
“I’m not either. But it’s so fun,” she says as she pulls up at Wes’s home. “If you ever want to try it out, let me know. It’s a great workout, and…I’d love to do it with friends.”
Her voice seems to wobble a bit there at the end, and I can tell this matters to her.
“I promise I’ll think about it,” I say, meaning I’ll look into every single aspect of it since I get the sense she really wants me to go.
But there’s no time to look into it now, since I have to leave in ten minutes.
I don’t even see Wes when I unpack the items for our Sunday morning baking session, plus a few extra apples for him as my “rent” for the week.
But I’m not surprised I miss my roomie since he mentioned he was going to a Sea Dogs yoga class and then heading out for a bite to eat with some teammates.
I’ll be busy too. My brother’s taking Liv for a quick dinner and I offered to babysit since the babies’ nurse is off tonight.
When I arrive at my brother’s home, he lets me in but immediately Liv hustles me away and tells me everything I need to know about newborns.
It’s an ocean’s worth of information, and my head is swimming. By the time she’s done fifty thousand hours later, I don’t know how Christian and Liv are going to have a moment left for their date. “I’ve got this. Now go,” I say, shooing them to the door.
“Call me if you need anything at all,” she says.
“I will,” I say, but I probably won’t call her. I want to show them I can do this. I owe it to them. The least I can do is help out with the one-month-old twins, after all my brother’s done for me. Christian found me a place to live rent-free, after all.
That’s another reason I shouldn’t think inappropriate thoughts about my landlord. I don’t need a complication in my life. There’s no way I’d land another place to live like Wesley’s ever again.