Page 5 of Not My Finest Hour

My bare feet pad across the vinyl floor, and I fill the mug about three quarters of the way with coffee, then the rest with cream. Two spoonfuls of sugar go in, and I stir it all in. Justin stares at me with a curious expression on his face. “What?” I ask, suddenly unsure of myself. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all. I was just seeing how you take your coffee.”

“Why? Are you trying to determine my personality based on my coffee preferences?” I ask with a smile.

“Maybe.” He strokes his beard like he’s deep in thought. “Based on how you take your coffee, which you like sweet, I can tell that you’re a nice person who likes to please people.”

I chuckle. “You shouldn’t read so much into someone’s coffee order because right now, I can tell you’re a psychopath because you drink your coffee black.”

He belts out a laugh, then grabs two plates from the cupboard. He spoons somewhat equal portions of eggs on both plates, then sets one down on each end of the table. “Let’s eat before these eggs get cold.”

I sit down at one end of the table as he takes the other. I take a few bites of eggs which are perfectly seasoned, then grab a piece of toast which I butter first before taking a bite. “Tell me about your house. Do you rent this place? Do you have a roommate?” I ask, fully expecting him to say yes to both questions. Most people I know don’t make enough to even come close to buying a house in this area. And most people I know have to have at least one or more roommates to make ends meet, even with a rental.

“No, I own this place,” he says, then registers the shock on my face. “And before you ask, I didn’t buy it. My dad left this place to me when he died. It belonged to his parents, and when he and my mom split up when I was young, they sold their house, split the profits, and he moved here. It’s not perfect, and in terms of homes, it definitely wouldn’t have been my first choice, but it’s paid for.”

“I wouldn’t walk away from a house that’s paid for either. Especially in this real estate market. Have you done any remodeling since you’ve owned it?”

“You mean you can’t tell?” he asks, clutching his chest, acting wounded. “Look around you. Can’t you see all the improvements I’ve made?”

I glance around the kitchen and open my mouth to speak, ready to lie and say that I love the colors in here and his design choices are top-notch. But he waves me off.

“I’m kidding. I’m for sure going to remodel this place, starting with the kitchen. That counter will be the first thing that goes.” He glances toward the counter, then shakes his head. “It’s awful.”

“It’s notthatbad,” I say, trying to make him feel better. But really, itisthat bad. I don’t even know what decade those colors are supposed to be from.

“You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I know it’s terrible, and as soon as I get some time and a decent paycheck coming in, I’m changing it. I’d like to open up this kitchen too, and make this more of an open-concept layout.”

I turn my head toward the living room which is larger and has a fireplace. Opening up this kitchen would do wonders because it’s small and cramped as it is. “Well, I hope you manage to remodel this place sooner rather than later.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because for practically my whole life, I’ve had to listen to my mother talk about remodeling her kitchen. It’s something that’s been on her to-do list for decades, and she’d always talk about how she couldn’t wait to have her ‘new kitchen.’ It’s finally happening though. My dad gave the go-ahead this past Christmas, and they just started demoing.”

“Lucky for me, some of my friends are contractors, and I’m pretty handy myself, so I can do a lot of this on my own.”

Justin is a doctor and he’s also capable of home repairs. Is there anything he can’t do? I’ve never caulked a tub, and if you asked me to change the furnace filter, all I’d give is a blank stare. Those do need to be changed, right?

“Enough about me,” he says, scraping the last bits of egg off his plate and onto his fork. “What do you do for work?”

“I work as a receptionist at a chiropractor’s office. It’s not my dream job, and I’ve definitely been searching for others, but it works for now.” Not true. I haven’t been looking for others, but it sounded like the right thing to say. Justin seems to have a very firm grasp on what he wants from life whereas I’m still floundering, trying to find my way. Whenever I get down about it, which is often, my mother likes to use my age as a way to explain away my shortcomings in life. She always says, “You’re only twenty-six. You have plenty of time to figure out what you want to do with your life.” But I don’t want ten years to go by and her to still be using the same excuse.

He nods, then takes a sip of his coffee. “Did you go to college?”

“Yeah, at U-Dub. I majored in marketing, and my passion is advertising.”

“With that kind of degree, I’m sure you’ll find something that fits you,” he says with a warm smile. He gets up from the table and takes his plate to the sink. I take that as my cue to hurry up and shovel down the last few bites that remain on my plate. “I don’t want to rush you, but if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to be late. Do you have a car we need to go pick up from the bar?”

I shake my head. “My friends and I took an Uber, which is how I was going to get home this morning, so you don’t need to worry about taking me anywhere.”

“I can at least take you home,” he says while rinsing off his plate in the sink. “That’s assuming you don’t live someplace like Issaquah. I’m not sure I have time for that with the way traffic is.”

“I don’t live in Issaquah. My sister and I rent a house on 11thAvenue, right near Ravenna Boulevard.”

His eyes light up. “That’s not far from here. I can definitely take you there.”

“I don’t even know where I am right now,” I say, holding back a grin. “I was barely paying attention when we left the bar last night.” I realize that in terms of my own safety, I should’ve at least made a mental note or taken a picture of my surroundings in case Justin turned out to be a serial killer and I had to make a quick escape. But I was too caught up in the fact that I was finally going to have sex after my years-long dry spell to worry about doing responsible things like that.

“We’re in the University District, and it should only take about ten minutes to drive to your place, and not much longer for me to get to work.”

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