Page 75 of Idle

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Iblow on the headboard, now attached to the bed in 1626. Stepping back, I assess my work so far. I’m about five-eighths of the way done, which is good because today’s the final day.

“Are you finished yet?”

“Getting there.”

Paige’s constant questions sink into my bones. I know she’s not nagging me, but her constant monologue about my work strikes the wrong note. Since the cameras are rolling, she can’t even lighten things up with a kiss. Not that I want to kiss her right now anyway.

As if she realizes the cameras are rolling, she modulates her irritated tone and says, “It’s looking good.”

“Thanks.” My mumble will have to suffice. IknowI have to finish this up, help secure her window coverings above the two windows, and make sure the two rooms are ready for the judges. Don’t need her flitting around to remind me.

“How’s this?”

From the corner of my eye I can see she’s holding something up. Taking time away from my carving, I face her. “I like it.”

“Good. What do you think if I put it—”

She continues talking, but I tune her out. I don’t have time to deal with her insecurities. Why she has them is still a mystery. I’ve watched her make decisions on the fly rivaling most seasoned veteran’s choices. Her skill with the carpentry pieces she volunteered to handle also shows she’s more than a beginner.

“Huh, Jesse?”

Her use of my name pulls me out of my own head. “What?”

She rubs her arm. “I was asking how much longer before we can get to these? I think it’ll take us a good three or four hours to complete this room and I don’t want to scramble against the clock.”

“Give me an hour.”

“Alright.”

She leaves me in peace. Thank fuck. Sixty minutes later she reappears. “Done?”

I smooth my hand over the carved headboard. It’s a fantastic piece, if I do say so myself. Some of the edges are rough, and we need to stain it, but I’m proud I agreed to undertake this task. I step aside for her perusal.

“It looks great!” Her eyes squint and she walks closer. Her finger traces some of the carving, then she pulls it back. “Well, we need to sand it. And maybe try to hide these imperfections with paint.” She points to some of my missteps.

Homer’s voice agrees with her and takes it one step farther by mocking me as a blue-collar laborer. Against the floor, my right foot rocks. “Wood this beautiful should be stained.”

“Usually, I would agree. But we’re down to the final hours, and it would be faster to paint it. Plus, paint would hide some of the defects.”

Defects. Did she call me defective? I cross my arms. “It should be stained.”

She tilts her head. “Black. I think a nice black paint would complement the colors in here and cover over things like this.” She runs the pad of her finger over a particularly challenging spot.

I’m not one to disagree for the sake of arguing, but to paint this piece would be a sacrilege. “I can’t imagine the judges’ reactions if we were to paint this. It has to be stained. A nice, dark cherry.”

“Oh my, no way. Those deep reds are so last century. If we were to stain it, I would choose a light color. Another reason for paint because instead of concealing things, a more natural stain would highlight them.”

My jaw clenches. I agreed to do this damned piece because she begged. How dare she criticize me now? “It should be stained.”

“Painted.”

As our discussion becomes louder and louder, the cameras swirl around us, making sure to capture every second. Paige checks out the cameras and offers an olive branch. “I know you worked hard on this all week, Jesse. I couldn’t be prouder of what you’ve accomplished. The time constraints made creating the perfect headboard impossible for anyone to handle. As the interior designer of the group, I’m only trying to put our best face forward.”

Now she has to try to sound all reasonable. Sensing I lost this argument before I even opened my mouth, I give in. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” Doesn’t mean I’m on board.

The day drags on with Paige and I bickering about every last detail. This pillow or that one? By the end, I can’t care.

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