Page 40 of It's in the Contract
I post it to Instagram, captioning the picture with, “Showing my new bestie the sights of Seattle!” Even I think that’s a little cringey.
“Why do people do this?” Zeke asks. “How did this get started?”
“I don’t know, actually.” I put my phone in my purse and gaze at the dirty brick wall over fifteen feet high, every inch covered with different colors of gum. There is hardly a blank space. Sometimes gum is stuck on top of gum, making grotesque, multi-colored blobs stick out from the wall. Even a glass window is completely smothered by dried on gum. A hardened rainbow of elongated gum blobs dangle off of the window sill.
The gum wall is located in this random alley near Pike Place market, and the ground is still muddy and wet from a recent rain. Soggy fliers and gum wrappers litter the ground, and the air is slightly chilly. I pull my jacket tighter around my body.
“The habits of some people.” Zeke’s laughing now, the disgusted look gone from his face.
“Think of the ingenuity, the artistry, the sheer amount of time it took to get this here.” I can’t help but tease him. “It’s quintessential Seattle. People working together to build something great.”
“You are a hippie to the core.”
“C’mon, I have more places I want to show you.” I grab Zeke’s hand and drag him out of the alley. The famous Pike Place Market is before us, and I can’t help but feel a thrill from the bustle of activity, the smells and sights. I drop Zeke’s hand.
The outdoor market is hopping. Shoppers and tourists clog the central walkway, stopping to browse wares laid out on tables on either side. A musician strums a guitar, belting “Let it Be” by the Beatles with an open guitar case on the ground before him to collect change. Street food sizzles on grill pans—kebabs of barbecue chicken and charred corn dripping with butter, pizza emerging hot and gooey from wood-fired ovens, falafel with flatbread and mint yogurt sauce.
We walk down the aisle with tables of trinkets to peruse on either side, and Zeke’s eyes go enormous. We stop at a table with samples of fresh peaches and baguettes with butter andhomemade jam. I take a peach slice on a toothpick and put it in my mouth, closing my eyes and enjoying the tangy sweetness. Zeke bites into a crisp slice of baguette and nods appreciatively.
At the next table, homemade jewelry is laid out on a black tablecloth, and I grab a beaded hemp necklace and hold it up to Zeke’s neck. “This is totally you.”
Zeke makes a face and puts it back. “Sorry,” he tells the shop keeper, a woman with thick beads of jewelry around her neck, to make up for any offense. “It’s great.”
She glares, and I hold in a laugh.
We stop at another table to get samples of fresh honey crisp apples and local goat cheese.
“So good,” Zeke says between bites.
“My mom hardly ever lets me eat cheese,” I say after I swallow my bite. “Too high in fat.”
Zeke glances over the table, filled with jams, breads, cheeses, and fruits. “What other cheeses do you have?”
The man, an Asian guy with a scruffy black beard, starts talking about the local cheeses he made himself, and Zeke nods like he’s listening, but his eyes keep darting towards me.
“Very interesting,” Zeke says. “How about that sharp cheddar?” He looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Sounds delicious,” I say.
“Good choice,” the man says. Zeke has him box up the cheese with crackers, a jar of spiced honey, and two shiny apples. I’m drooling already. Zeke pays for it despite my protesting.
I lead him on through the market. We pass stalls bursting with fresh cut sunflowers and a stall solely of LEGO figures that Zeke geeks out over forever.
“They have all the Zelda characters in LEGO form. Are you even seeing this, Callie?”
I just smile and shake my head before whipping out my phone to take some pics. Zeke buys at least five LEGO people.
“What are you going to do with those?” I ask.
Zeke shrugs. “Display them. Brag to my brothers that I was able to collect them. We were super into LEGOs as kids.”
We walk on, and I stop to examine some dangly sapphire earrings that would be absolutely perfect with my Homecoming dress. Someone bumps into Zeke from behind, and Zeke is jostled into me. His hands immediately go to my arms, steadying me from falling over. Electricity thrums through my body.
I look up into his eyes, and Zeke drops his hands and backs away. “Sorry.”
“No worries. It’s always busy on Saturdays.”
I wince over the price of the earrings. Since they’re hand-crafted, they’re more expensive than they should be. They would be perfect, but I have others at home I can wear. I don’tneednew earrings.
