Page 139 of The Play

I chuckle. “I don’t even notice the smell anymore, to be honest.”

“We should get a pet for the house,” Hollis says.

“Ha. Sure. Rupi would never let you have a pet. It’d mean less attention for her.”

“True. It’s hard enough only giving her attention on the weekends.” Hollis rubs his eyes, and I notice that he looks deeply exhausted. I knew the two-hour commute to New Hampshire was taking its toll on him, but it appears it’s gotten even worse. His eyes are actually puffy, as if he hasn’t slept properly in years.

“You heading back to your folks’ place tomorrow or calling in sick again?” I ask carefully.

“I’m heading back.” He takes a quick sip. “Honestly, I don’t want to sell insurance anymore, Davenport. I hate it up there. I hate living at home again, and I hate working with my dad. That dude’s crazy.”

“Mmm-hmmm,he’scrazy.”

“He is! And he tells the stupidest jokes all day long.”

I stare at Hollis. “I truly cannot conceive of the kind of torture you must be going through.”

“Right?”

Whoosh. Right over his head. “Why don’t you try to find work in Hastings?” I suggest.

“I have, but nobody is hiring. Or at least hiring for positions I’d actuallywant. There’s a job opening for a graveyard-shift clerk at the gas station, but what’s the point of that? I’d just sleep all day and work all night, and the pay is shit.”

“If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

“And I guess for now you just keep your full-time job of selling insurance during the week and your full-time job of Rupi on the weekends.”

“Dude, she really is a full-time job.” Yet he’s grinning broadly as he says it.

“I don’t understand your relationship at all.”

“Of course you don’t. It’s transcendent.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Exactly,” he says smugly. But it isn’t long before his blue eyes grow serious again. It’s not an expression you often see on Mike Hollis’s face. “She’s only a sophomore, bro.”

“Rupi? So?”

“So she won’t graduate for two and a half more years. That means two and a half more years of me making this God-awful commute so I can sell insurance with my crazy father.”

I put down my beer. “Are you considering…breaking up with her?”

He’s utterly aghast. “What! What the fuck is wrong with you? Of course not. Did you not listen to the part where I said we’retranscendent?”

“Right, sorry, I forgot.” I study him again. “So what exactly are we talking about here? You hate your job. You hate living at home again. You hate commuting. You hate that Rupi has a couple more years of school left. But you love Rupi.”

“Yes to all that.”

I purse my lips. “Okay, answer me this. If none of those things you listed as hating were in the equation, what would you be doing?”

“I’m not following.”

“Pretend you don’t have to worry about jobs and commutes and all that crap—what would you want to be doing?”

“I would—” He stops. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

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