Page 4 of Idle

“Damn.”

“Oh crap.”

“Shoot.”

“Fuck.”

I look around the room wondering what happened for a full minute before Xander catches my puzzled expression. “The VOW-cubed partners’ motion to dismiss was denied.”

I process his statement. “Which means the case is proceeding?” All heads bob. “Well, that sucks.”

Theo and Xander exchange glances. Their fiancées approach and give them hugs. From across the room, Paige announces, “I better get home to deal with the fall out.” The rest of her family murmurs their agreement.

She walks to her chair to retrieve her purse and I intercept her. Despite this bad news, I need to reinforce the deadline. If she turns me down like all the rest, I’ll never raise my woodworking from hobby to business—and be stuck living out Diana’s life forever. “Please let me know your decision by Friday, okay?”

Her distracted reply doesn’t give me much hope. “Yeah. Sure.”

They all leave, and I collapse into a chair. Given Paige’s lackluster response, my chances of applying to the network seem to be sinking faster than the S&P 500 in a bear market. I haven’t found the guts to tell my parents I want to leave banking and become a carpenter. My Etsy shop has gained some traction, but the proceeds from a few orders a week won’t pay the rent in New York City. I’ll come clean to them if she agrees.

Or if we’re selected for the show.

A pretty server comes into the room carrying a tray. “Oh, I have dessert. Will the rest of your party be returning?”

“No. There was a family emergency.”

She gives me a once over. “I have six strawberry shortcakes here. What should I do with them?”

She’s not asking about dessert. Standing, I raise my hands as if in surrender. “Sorry. Please send them back to the kitchen and I’ll take care of the check.” At least my job allows for me to pay such unexpected expenses without any problem. A fact Homer touts.

A disappointed expression crosses her features. “The Hansens and Turners are members here, so no check. Are you sure I can’t interest you in even some whipped cream?” She picks up a spoon and drags it through a dessert.

With everything going on, a hook up isn’t on my radar tonight. “Thanks, but I should be leaving.”

My entire walk home is consumed with worries. What if Paige says no? Is there anyone left I haven’t asked? How about if Paige agrees, but Renovation TV turns us down? Where will I be?

Right back at the bank.

My shoulders droop as I trudge the remaining five blocks to my apartment. I pass the nondescript doors on the outside and stop at the row of mailboxes and retrieve my mail. All junk, except for a letter thanking me for my latest donation to Mothers Against Drunk Driving. I take their letter with me as I ride the elevator to the tenth floor, wipe my feet on my welcome mat that says, “Sawdust is Man Glitter,” and open my door.

I toss the letter into a file to be dealt with by my accountant and enter the bedroom to change out of my business suit. Now in a pair of worn jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, I return to the living room, stop in front of the bookcase, and pick up the framed photo of my family. It was taken fourteen years ago—half a lifetime ago. I trace my sister’s beaming face, recalling we took this the day she was accepted into Fordham. Good times. I consider calling my parents but I’m not ready to get into this with them until it’s real.

Only one person outside of my NYC circle knows about my desire to work with my hands. He’ll give me valuable advice, considering he’s never let me down before.

Picking up my phone, I call my high school woodshop teacher. “Jesse, how are you doing? How’s the big city treating you?”

“It’s good, Mr. Hooper.” Even though he’s asked me to use his first name, Marcus, I can’t bring myself to do it. He’s given up trying.

“And Handmade by JD? I checked your website, and you added another side table. Looks great.”

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure about the drawers but decided to go with one versus two. Thought if I divided them, it would be too shallow to be of use.”

“Smart thinking.” He coughs.

He can’t get sick. “Everything okay over there? Do I need to take you to a doctor?”

“No. This will pass. A gift from Covid.”

He coughs a few more times, and I make a mental note to reach out to him again in a week to ensure the cough’s gone. “If you say so.”

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