Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 107949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“YOU ARE seriously the worst at choosing produce ever.”
As I was unpacking bags from the market, Will was pulling certain things toward him and assembling a pile on the counter.
“These are all bruised. This shit’s like misshapen or something. And—are these all broken?” He pointed to the chocolate bars. “Do you shop blindfolded? No, even blindfolded you could feel that these are broken!”
I squirmed, putting a box of pasta in the cabinet and cheese and eggs in the refrigerator.
“Seriously, Leo, have you never been grocery shopping before? Oh shit, you haven’t, have you?”
“I have,” I couldn’t resist saying, no matter how many times I’d tried to learn the lesson that if I responded to Will, he’d eventually get any information out of me that he wanted.
He was gaping at me, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“I just… I don’t want them to get thrown away… so….”
“What?”
“Well, I just worry that no one else will buy them if they’re a little bruised or funny looking. You know. People always buy the most perfect ones. And I feel sorry for the ones that aren’t because maybe people won’t want them.”
“You buy the fucked-up ones on purpose,” Will said slowly.
“They’re not fucked-up—they’re still totally good! They shouldn’t have to get thrown away just because they look funny.”
Will was shaking his head at me.
“Oh my god, you personify produce.”
I started to say something, to defend myself. But he backed me against the counter and slid close, kissing me until my mouth felt as bruised as those rescued apples.
AFTER DINNER a few days later, Will groaned as a text appeared on his phone, and stalked over to the intercom to buzz someone up, muttering.
“Fucking Gus!” he said, like his coworker’s presence was the most outrageous intrusion he could imagine.
“Did he just show up?”
“No, he told me earlier.”
“Jesus, you’re so cute,” I said. Will’s grouchy, shocked at the burden of other people thing really did it for me. It was like, maybe since he let me hang around and didn’t seem as horrified by me as he did by others, then I was special.
I don’t know what I’d pictured, exactly. But based on what Will had said about Gus I had definitely not imagined the totally average-looking white guy in his midforties who walked in the door wearing gray corduroys, a red-and-blue sweater, and a black overcoat. Will had called him arrogant, pushy, obsessive—hell, he’d referred to him as Captain Ahab at some point. This guy looked like… an accountant.
“Gus, Leo. Leo, this is Gus Martelli.”
Gus smiled at me and shook my hand. I suddenly felt very weird being here, dressed in sweats and one of Will’s perfectly cut white T-shirts (which was totally not perfectly cut for me).
“Um, should I just….” I gestured toward the bedroom, to indicate giving them some privacy, but immediately blushed because that made it seem like I was a fuck toy or something, waiting for Will in bed when he was done with his business meeting.
Will snorted like he could read my mind.
“You’re fine here. If you’re interested, that is. I’m certainly not sure whether I am or not yet. You want a beer, Martelli?”
“Oh, it’s Martelli now, huh?” Gus turned to me. “He only calls me that when he’s trying to remind me that we aren’t friends.” He winked, like we shared a secret about Will.
“I don’t know why I’d need to remind you of something so completely self-evident, but whatever. Beer?”
“Sure.”
“Want one?” Will asked me, hand on my arm.
“Oh. Um, okay. Thanks.” I didn’t really, but I wanted to feel like I belonged there with them.
As Will took Gus’ coat and got beers, Gus started complaining about things at work. They were things Will had complained to me about before, but he didn’t agree with Gus, just let him talk.
“God, do you ever find yourself thinking, ‘How the hell did this become my life’?” Gus said finally when he’d tired himself out.
“No,” Will said. “The only people who think that are the ones who assume their lives will turn out great from the beginning.”
Gus opened his mouth, then shut it again and nodded, like he was evaluating Will’s mood and recalibrating.
We sat at the kitchen table because that’s where Will put the beers, as if he wanted no confusion that this was a business discussion.
“Okay,” Will said, leaning back and crossing his legs, drinking deeply from the beer. “Convince me this isn’t idiotic.”
I decided I liked Gus when, rather than bristling at Will’s challenge or taking it as a criticism, he leaned forward, excited, and started to talk.
“Okay, so,” he began. And then he proceeded to lay out what sounded to me, at least, like a pretty compelling list of reasons why he and Will were not only qualified to strike out on their own but would actually benefit from it, both in terms of money and job satisfaction.