Page 61 of I'm Your Guy
The formal sign-off makes me feel salty. But he makes a good point. When the warm weather comes, I’ll want to go outside, and a normal guy would use the deck to have a couple of friends over.
Normal. Carter said he hated that word. And I’ve never been a very normal guy. Or a very social one. I’ve always felt like I had to keep my guard up. There are people in my life who made sure I felt that way, and I really never questioned it.
Okay, this is a lot of overthinking about deck chairs.
I grab the pen Carter left and get to work on my reply.
Dear Carter,
I’m sure you’re right about all this stuff. Honestly, I don’t know why you’d put wallpaper up in the guestroom, but if you say it needs it, then do what you have to do.
Don’t forget about Christmas decorations, though. Mom loves Christmas. I’m really looking forward to getting a tree.
Deck chairs—yes. Why not. Come summer I’m sure I’ll appreciate it.
As always, thank you for your help,
Tommaso
P.S. Do you know where I should look to buy my mom a weighted blanket for Christmas? All suggestions appreciated.
I leave our sad little communications on the table and take myself up to bed.
TWENTY-TWO
Carter
Listen, bitches. I am a very good designer.
These are my thoughts as I step back to admire Tommaso’s guestroom.
It’s been seven days since I’ve set eyes on my client, but his guestroom looks smashing. I’ve papered one wall in a stormy, desaturated blue, printed with a life-size lattice of birch branches which “grow” toward the ceiling. It’s very organic and soothing.
I’ve pushed the new bed—with its white headboard—up against the birch wall. And I’ve ordered bedding in whites and faded blues.
When I’m done, it will be striking, yet cozy. Interesting, but not weird. And it fits the rustic, masculine vibe of the house.
I can’t wait for Tommaso to see it. Not that I’ll be here when he does.
After a glance at the time, I gather my wallpaper supplies and clean up. Tommaso usually comes home from practice around two, and it’s already noon.
Time to hustle. The new, professional me is never here when my client returns from a hard day of sportsing. Tommaso didn’t ask me to stay out of his sight, but that’s what I’ve done. It’s for my sake more than his.
I haven’t sent any cute texts or called him by a nickname. There haven’t been any silly videos. Or pink cocktails or late-night video calls.
Hitting the reset button on our relationship has been good for me. A lack of professionalism always gets me into trouble. I needed to remember that I’m capable of behaving like a grownup.
It’s boring, though. Every time I see something funny in a store or a catalog, I’m so tempted to tell him about it or take a silly photo and send it to him.
I miss him. It’s a problem.
On the bright side, I’ve used my big paycheck to pay down my credit-card bill and catch up on my student loans. I also set aside a few thousand dollars to secure a lease on a new apartment, and I’ve begun calling landlords.
Except they keep saying the same thing. There’s nothing coming open until after the New Year. But we’ll call you if that changes.
Something will come up, though. It only takes one. And Rigo knows I’m trying to get off his sofa.
“Don’t stress,” he told me last night. “Honestly, I shouldn’t be alone right now. Another holiday without Buck is depressing.”
