Page 18 of I'm Your Guy
“I know you will. But comfort is not what Mom cares about. If you want to make that woman happy, take better care of yourself.”
“Me? I’m fine.”
“Fine is not the same as great,” my sister says quietly. “Mom worries about you.”
“That’s just her default setting.”
“No, it’s bigger than that. She thinks you’re lonely. And this year has been a big wakeup call. Her new motto is ‘never wait to be happy.’ You want Mom to relax? Show her that you’re settling into your life out there.”
“I’m buying a truckload of furniture.”
“That’s just window dressing, though. Even the nicest sofa can’t love you back.”
“So? What else do you want from me?”
My sister is quiet for a second. And then she asks, “Are you dating anyone?”
We never talk about this, and I can’t tell if the vague wording is intentional. Maybe I’m just paranoid. “Nope. Too busy.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” she says. “It’s been two years, Tommy. The world is full of nice people. Go find one.”
Again with the lack of pronouns. This conversation is making me uncomfortable. “I’ll get right on that.”
“You do that. Mom would be over the moon if you were dating someone nice. It would give her a real lift.”
“Gia, you’re laying it on a little thick, here.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “She also has a new thing for soup dumplings. And don’t forget how much she likes those chocolate-covered cherries at Christmas.”
“Right. I won’t forget.”
“Okay, it sounds like I gotta go break up another fight. Love you, Tommy! Bye!”
My sister hangs up on me, and I finally exhale.
SIX
Carter
While Mr. DiCosta takes his call, I pull up a bunch of photographs on a handful of browser tabs. I’m trying to predict what “normal” might look like to my new client.
Even though I hate that word. Normal. Such a loaded idea in a complicated world.
I choose four different living rooms. The first is very cheugy with a family-style overstuffed sectional. My second pick is a midcentury version, just in case DiCosta has powerfully good taste to match his powerful glutes. The final two images show rooms that fall somewhere in the middle.
When he returns, I’m ready. “Join me over here?” I beckon toward my side of the counter.
He does. Sort of. But he’s still three feet away from the screen.
“Can you even see from way over there? Okay, first takes—which one of these gets your engine going? If any?”
He moves closer, grunting an acknowledgement of the question. Big grunter, my potential client. After another scowl, he points at a photo before returning to his side of the counter.
“Ah! Nice,” I say. “That one has a kind of mountain-chalet vibe. Cozy and a little rustic.”
“Uh-huh. Nice stuff, but not… stiff? Doesn’t look like a hotel room.”
“Great! I agree.” Now we’re cooking with gas. “What else do you like about it?”
