Page 61 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Sonnets. If you see it, let me know.”
“I’m sure it will turn up. It’s small, so it’s probably just tucked away in a box with your other books.”
“That’s what I thought.” Mike shakes the yard waste into the bin. “But I unpacked all my books last night and didn’t find it.”
“I’ll help you look.” And take the opportunity to snag his copy ofRichard III. I should have ripped out act 1, scene 2 when I had the chance.
I skip down the steps through the open gate to Mike’s house. “Whoa,” I say as I stumble into his kitchen. “This place has completely changed.”
“Drywall will do that.”
I lift a corner of the Ram Board off the floor. “New hardwoods?”
Mike sighs. “Sadly, the old ones could not be salvaged.”
I poke around. The kitchen is surprisingly tidy. Supplies are organized neatly in a corner. “What happened to all the piles of junk?”
“Hauled it all to the dump last week after I finished texturing the drywall.”
I wander into the living room. “You put in a bigger window.” It takes up nearly the entire wall.
“Might as well. I was going to replace it anyway.”
“How? I never see subcontractors on the property.”
“I don’t use a lot of subs, but when I have to, I make a point of scheduling them well after nine a.m. You know, to minimize the noise complaints from the neighbors.”
I run my hand along the textured drywall. “Where did you learn how to do this?”
“My dad mostly. He’s in construction. I worked for him when we moved out to Texas. Learned how to wire a house, put up drywall, install cabinets, lay tile.” Mike pushes a box of tools flush against the wall. “He said if I was going to waste my time memorizing lines for parts I might never get, then at least my hands could be busy.” He brushes some dust off the windowsill. “Poor Dad. He realized too late that he was only enabling me. Construction is valuable experience when it comes to set design. And working for him gave me lots of time and lots of people to entertain. You learn to project pretty quickly when you want to be heard above power tools.”
I bet.
“His subs are now some of Texas’ best critics when it comes to live Shakespeare.”
I can’t breathe I’m so jealous. If I’d known that a job in construction in some corner of Texas would have given me that level of access to Mike’s talent, I’d be hanging drywall right now. “And your dad?”
“He finds it very entertaining that I’m still in construction. He says anytime I want to move back to Texas, he’s got a job waiting for me.”
“Dads can be insufferable. Especially when it comes to family businesses. Ask me how I know.” I’m still not speaking to my dad, but rather than feeling angry about how everything happened, now I just feel…sad. “So what’s next? All these tools can’t be for staging.”
Mike blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. The blond has grown out past his temples, and what looked like black roots have softened into a dark brown. “Finishing the floor, painting, baseboards, kitchen cabinets, a backsplash, appliances, countertops. The list goes on.”
“Where are the books?” I wander down the hallway to the bedrooms and open the closed door. Is it rude? Yes. Does this stop me? No. The guy let himself into my bedroom at my parents’ house, after all.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find. I take it back—I expect to find a dirty mattress on the floor, piles of overripe laundry, an old grease-stained pizza box, all the trappings of student life. I’m shocked to see a tidy, even chic bedroom. The leather chair, I recognize. A spindle midcentury bed with creamy duvet, I do not.
But it’s the stuffed bookshelves I’m interested in. I cannot keep my hands off the books. My fingers brush against their spines. Unlike most everything else in modern life that hasbecome set dressing for content creation, these bookshelves are for function. The collection is worn and delicious.
“So many books.”
Mike stands in the doorway. “I can’t move them into the front until I’ve painted, and I was getting tired of unpacking boxes every time I needed to find one.”
His room smells like eucalyptus, and I want to take a stack of books to his bed and start reading.
Mike edges closer until he’s standing next to me. “Are you doing anything tonight?”
My breath becomes shallow. “Excuse me?”
