Page 55 of Error Handling
Anger still races through my veins when Sarah lets me in the front door. Even so, I notice how cute she looks in her gray joggers and pink hoodie. For some reason, this makes me angrier. I choose not to take it out on her. I simply proceed to show her how to peel up the vinyl with the help of a putty knife.
I hoped the glue had deteriorated enough to make the job easy, but that’s not the case.
“See how well you can do,” I say after demonstrating. She’s kneeling beside me, and I make doubly sure no part of our bodies touch. “I’m going to go fix the sink.”
I can’t be around her right now. Not when I’m so angry. And not when she looks so amazingly beautiful.
Sarah
I watch Chris head into the kitchen. He seems upset, but I don’t know him well enough to speculate on the reason. I hope it has nothing to do with me.
Doubt tugs on my stomach. What if he’s mad at me for wanting to refinish the hardwood floor? If he didn’t want to help, he could have just said so. Surely there are other capable handymen on At Your Service that I could call.
Now I’m a little angry, mostly at myself for heaping so many positive expectations on this day. I even avoided texting Christopher back this morning when he texted me his view from atop the Eiffel Tower.
How stupid. Chris is just a handyman fixing my home, nothing more. I’m not “cheating” on him by texting Christopher.
With that settled, I pull out my phone and tap on the messaging app.
I thought you were afraid of heights.
I wait a moment, not expecting a response. He said he was heading to the airport before he texted me the picture.
I am, but I wanted to impress you, he texts back, ending it with a smiley emoji.
I smile. I like how forthcoming Christopher is. He’s interested in me, and he feels no need to try to hide it.
I am officially impressed, I text.
I’m glad because I nearly threw up and made a mess in my pants just to take that picture.
TMI
My flight was canceled. I decided to rent a car and drive.
Are you driving right now?
I’m using speech to text.
I’ll let you go. I don’t want you to wreck.
The scenery is beautiful,he says.I wish you could see it.
I smile again.Maybe someday.
A car just honked at me because I was going 55. I better sign off.
Smart. I’ll talk to you later.
Later.
I pocket my phone, feeling satisfied and ready to tackle the floor.
Chris started me off in the living room, but I decide to head to the hallway where the vinyl is already peeling up on its own. He showed me how to use the utility knife to cut a section before working on it, and then how to use the putty knife to try to work the glue free without hurting the wood. It’s not rocket science. But after several failed attempts to remove any significant portions of vinyl, I decide maybe it is as difficult as rocket science.
I manage to remove small pieces and throw them in a pile toward the end of the hallway. Most of my attempts result inpeeling off the top layer of the vinyl, leaving behind a layer akin to paper.
Forty-five minutes later, after making little progress, I decide maybe my dream of refinishing the wood is futile. It certainly isn’t worth hours of toil only to remove a few square feet.