Naja Aidt - Rock, Paper, Scissors

“When did you find all this out?”

“Yesterday. Before I went to the emergency room.”

“Thomas,” Maloney says. His face looks as though it’s going to fall apart, concern and sadness consuming him. “I don’t even know what to say. Are you all right? I mean, was it serious? Since you went to the hospital?”

Thomas shakes his head. “I just fainted. I forgot to drink water. Listen, I don’t want to make a big show out of all this with Patricia. Don’t want everyone knowing about it right now. By and large, there’s not fuck-all to say about it.” He studies his hands. “Maybe it’s a good thing.”

“What’s a good thing?”

“That she’s moving out.”

A short silence. Maloney regards Thomas, and Thomas considers his own large, knuckly hands, which resemble his father’s to a tee. He looks up again. “What’s most important is making sure The Other is off to a good start. Which reminds me — I need to order wine. .” He reaches across the table for the telephone, but Maloney puts a hand on his. “I’ve already done that,” he says. “I spoke to the cabinetmaker too. I’ve decided to get involved in all this. Jenny convinced me. You can’t do it all by yourself, especially now, when. . fuck, I’m really sorry, Tommy.”

“What did you order? Sancerre?”

“Ten bottles. He said it tasted like grass and vanilla. Sounds pretty damn good, eh?” Thomas gives him a mistrustful glance. “What did you say about your bike?” Maloney asks. “You don’t think she’ll come back?”

Flushed and out of breath, Annie comes through the door wearing a yellow summer dress and carrying two large paper bags. “Sushi!” she says, setting the bags down. “It’s looking really nice over there, now that the floors have been stained.” She smiles at each of them. “Peter!” she shouts. “Food!” It’s as if The Other has put everyone in a good mood, as if the place makes everyone expansive and happy. He’s never heard Annie shout so enthusiastically. I want to be happy and buzzing with joy too, Thomas thinks, lifting a maki roll with his chopsticks. He glances at everyone. They’re absorbed in their sushi, Peter desperately trying and failing to snare something with his chopsticks. Maloney uses his fingers, Annie carefully dips a piece of salmon in soy sauce. Sitting in the midst of a community, Thomas feels a little better than when he stood in the basement fifteen minutes ago. And the new store tugs at him. He feels a powerful urge to see the freshly stained floor. He decides to stop by on the way home. On the way home . It feels as though he doesn’t have a home at all anymore.

The floors are shiny as a mirror, and dark — just as they should be. Luke and Alice are putting away the painting supplies: the façade is done, it’s white with a faint trace of green, which, to his enormous satisfaction, really creates a connection to the color of the walls inside the store, as he’d hoped and believed it would. Standing in the doorway, Thomas regards his new place, so clean and humble, as though it’s waiting to be moved into, like a bridal chamber, or a bride on fresh, clean sheets the very first night of her marriage; he imagines shelves and cabinets and the products that will soon neatly fill them, all the life that will be here. Alice puts a hand on his shoulder. She’s standing behind him, and seeing what he’s seeing. She’s been such a quick learner since she started; it’s easy for her, the customers like her. She understands the business intuitively, but she also has a strong aesthetic sense, which he imagines she inherited from him. She’s grown with the tasks, and he’s already convinced her to quit working for the escort service now that she’s got a real salary. She’s also begun to write poetry. She’s thinking about signing up for an evening writing class. Thomas looks at her. “It’ll be great,” she says. Her hair has grown out, it’s standing straight up, black and thick. The little stud in her nose reflects the sunlight. Everything happens so fast at that age. Thomas remembers himself as a young man going through a melancholic, apathetic, insecure, aimless phase that became, in a very short time (after he met Maloney), energized: a feeling of freedom and independence, to have a goal . Alice has a goal now. She’ll stand behind the counter in this store, and some day maybe she’ll take it over. He hasn’t told her that, but it’s the plan. Lindström, Maloney, & Farrokhzad. To be eighteen years old and shake the past off you with a carefree shrug. That’s how it felt. And that’s how Alice looks now, as if she’s shaken off her mother, her father, and her entire childhood in one simple motion: cleansed and free. “Thomas,” she says, “How’s Patricia? Is she back to work?”

“Yes. And she’s well.” He almost says more, but stops short. Alice eyes him expectantly. “She’s doing really great, in fact,” he says.

“I don’t understand how anyone could get over something like that. It’s amazing.”

“Yeah. But she’s strong. You two wanna grab a bite?”

Thomas locks the door, and they find a tiny joint nearby that serves small dishes and salads. There are only four tables; they sit next to the window. The heat’s so intense that none of them are especially hungry. It’s almost 7:00 P.M. Thomas orders cold beers all around. Luke and Alice chat, and suddenly, watching Luke, who’s partly turned toward Alice, seeing his back in the threadbare white T-shirt — the smooth skin of his upper arms, the tattoo of the heart pierced by a sword, his moist, sweaty hair that’s nearly the same color as tiger pelt, his sonorous voice, and his big hand now lying heavily on the table — it swells in Thomas again: this mad desire, prickling and stabbing and dizzying, but only for an instant, like lightning or a shooting star, a powerful flash. Then it’s gone. Thomas clears his throat. “I want to pay you two for your work,” he says. “How many hours did it take?”

Luke shakes his head and pops a wedge of lime into his beer bottle with his thumb. “I don’t want anything. I told you this was a favor.”

“C’mon, Luke, I’m sure you can use a little extra cash?” But Luke shakes his head stubbornly.

“Besides, it’s only small change,” Luke says, sipping his beer.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean. .” Luke cocks his head and looks at Thomas. “I mean that the hourly wage for an under-the-table painting job is pretty low.” He breaks into a big smile. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Thomas says, confused. “I guess so.”

“If I’m going to make money,” Luke goes on, leaning back in his chair, “then I want to make big money.”

“And how will you make big money ?” Alice asks sarcastically, rubbing her eye. Her hand is speckled with white paint.

“I have a few ideas.”

Alice: “If a person wanted to earn a lot of money, that person must start small, then save in order to loan more and. . invest. Am I right?” The expression she gives Thomas is one of earnestness.

He nods. “Yes. The rich are rich because they are stingy enough to save. And save more. And take advantage of the system.”

“Exactly,” Alice says. She challenges Luke with a stare.

Their food arrives. Grilled chicken for Thomas, hamburgers for the others. Alice holds her burger with both hands, takes an enormous bite, and asks: “What do you plan to do then, Luke? Tell us.”

“Wait and see,” Luke says, shoving a French fry smothered in ketchup into his handsome mouth. Thomas looks at Luke, and Luke meets his eyes before narrowing his own. “Are you looking forward to the opening?”

Thomas nods.

“Does it have anything to do with fishing?” Alice tries, biting into a pickle.