Page 105 of Employing Patience

I don’t push more than that, just start pulling out the food and setting it down in front of us. Then I lie down beside him. Art wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my neck, and we somehow fall into a disgustingly sweet bubble of feeding each other and play fighting.

Until the show starts.

I’m really dreading telling Art about how much I hate this whole date idea and wonder if I can sneakily fall asleep when his voice reaches my ear.

“These little assholes are the witches,” he says. “They’re idiots with magic and a chip on their shoulder and so petty they’ll curse someone just for looking at them wrong. We like them.”

“I’m confident Shakespeare never wrote that.”

“That’s the thing. It’s all open to interpretation.”

And Art’s interpretation is … wild. Everything from Macbeth killing his father to fuck his mother—I don’t know if he’s shitting me with what’s happening or trying to get a reaction out of me, but I’m confident this was never taught in school.

He talks through the whole thing, and I’ve gotta say, Art’s way of teaching the play should be built into the high school curriculum.

“Who would have thought you were a Shakespeare man,” I tease.

“I’ll have you know I’m cultured as fuck.”

At some point during the play, Art sits up, and my head ends up in his lap. It’s comfortable, and I’m so relaxed I don’t want to move, even though people are already starting to pack up around us.

“How was that?”

“Not the worst thing I’ve ever sat through.”

“See? Broaden your experiences, and you’ll only be mildly disappointed!”

“That should be a bumper sticker.”

“Oooh, new business idea for when the Killer Brew goes under.”

“You think that would ever happen?”

“Nah. It makes too much money.”

I’m not at all surprised with how busy it gets in there. “Do you like it?”

“Working there?”

“Yeah.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Yes. It’s maybe not the thing I dreamed about as a kid, but I’m privileged. All the money I’d ever need, a job I like, employees who not only show up but put out …”

“You better not have meant that plural that just fell out.”

“Who’s to say?”

I thump his leg, and he laughs.

“Fine. One employee.”

“That’s better.”

He drags his fingers through my hair. “What about you? What would you be doing if you chose any job in the world?”

“The sad thing is that I’ve always known it wasn’t a possibility, so I never even bothered to dream.”

“What do you mean?”

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