Page 54 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
I blink, surprised. “Wait, like, now, now?”
“I didn’t wear my work clothes for the fashion statement,” Franco says.
I look around at my house. I think about the bank account I’ve been scrimping and saving and pouring every extra dollar into for years. Then I close my eyes and try to picture my house as James, Jesse, and Franco are describing—open, airy, white cabinets and dark counters, a soaking tub, a marble shower, a master suite, a giant built-in fridge and freezer?
“Let’s do it,” I say. “But I want to help with the demo.”
Franco nods. “All right—done. Let me make the call to get the roll-off dumpster over here.”
Jesse gestures at the kitchen with a broad sweep of his hand. “We gotta clear out in here, then. Dishes and stuff out of all the cabinets, mainly. The fridge can stay as is, we’ll demo around it.” He looks me over—assessing, rather than anything inappropriate or untoward. “You’ll want to change, if you’re gonna help with demo—that shit gets messy. Jeans and a tee you don’t mind getting messy, and probably a ball cap so you don’t get your hair dusty.”
So I change into get-messy clothes and Jesse and I get to work boxing up my dishes and pots and pans, as well as the food from the cabinets and all the cleaning supplies under the sink. By the time we’re done, Franco is back with three sledgehammers and three sets of safety goggles, and announces that the dumpster will be here within about ten or fifteen minutes, and that we might as well get started.
He and Jesse unplug my fridge and move it across the kitchen, plugging it back in and leaving it basically in the middle of my kitchen near the pile of boxes containing the contents of my kitchen. Once the fridge is out of the way, they haul my stove away.
“Wait—where is my range going?” I ask.
Jesse gestures at the appliance. “Well, are you in love with this one?”
I shrug. “Not really. I replaced the appliances when I first moved in, but I went for the bottom of midrange, in terms of price. So…the appliances aren’t great.”
Jesse traces a giant rectangle in the air. “The island is going to be the new hub of your kitchen. Induction cooktop up top, with side-by-side ovens beneath it, more storage space on both sides, and a bar overhang with stools facing the living room. It’ll be pimp, trust me.”
I laugh. “Well, if you say it’s gonna be pimp, then by all means, let’s do it.” I gesture at the microwave and dishwasher. “So we’re replacing all the appliances with high-end then? What do we do with the old ones? They’re only a few years old and in great condition.”
Franco, speaking over his shoulder, says, “Sell them on eBay, if you want, or if you’d rather, I’ve got a connection that handles donating used appliances to families in need. Your choice.”
I grin. “Donate them, by all means. If I’m getting this amazing remodel for so little, then I’m sure as hell gonna pay it forward a little.”
Franco grins back. “Atta girl. I’ll get ahold of my friend and arrange a pick up once we’ve picked out your new stuff.”
Jesse hands me a sledgehammer and set of goggles; I don the goggles and grip the sledgehammer in both hands, leaving the heavy head resting on the floor at my feet.
Jesse gestures at the wall. “First swing is yours, babe.”
I swing away, and the head of the hammer bites into the drywall with a shudder and a crunch, leaving a giant hole in the wall. I laugh, yanking the hammer out and glancing at Jesse, who just shrugs and gestures at the wall.
“Go nuts,” he says. “Make a hole.”
I glance at Franco, who is holding a pair of massive crowbars; he just grins. “Demo is the fun part,” he says.
I heft the hammer, let the handle slap down into my palm, and then wind up and swing hard—and this time, the hammer goes through the wall completely, sticking out on the other side. I wiggle, tug, and then give it a hard yank, and the hammer comes free, taking a giant chunk of drywall with it. I can see daylight through the hole I’ve made, and now Jesse moves up to the wall a few feet away and swings his hammer with far more accuracy and power than me—his bites all the way through on the first swing, and then his second swing brings almost an entire sheet of drywall down. Franco tosses one of the pry bars onto the floor and uses the other to start ripping the upper cabinets off the wall, making quick work of it—within five minutes, he has a huge chunk of cabinetry on the floor.
I hear a beeping outside, and then a deafening metallic screech, a hydraulic whirr, and a thump—the dumpster is being delivered. Without missing a beat, Jesse finishes making a hole in the wall big enough for him to step through, and then sets aside the hammer and starts carrying chunks of drywall outside.
