Page 60 of Error Handling
I jump. I didn’t realize she’d sidled next to me. She raises to her tiptoes to get a better view of the catalog.
“Is this a group project?” Jack asks. He smiles too widely and with too much glee for my comfort.
“Oh. Um.” Sarah sinks into her heels. “I don’t know. Kinda?” She glances at me. “I found these.”
She clunks two knobs onto the counter. One is a silver, rectangular pull, and the other is a square brass handle. “Gold finishes are coming back into style. What do you think?” She looks at me.
“I have been selling more brass these days,” Jack says. “I think this little lady might have an eye for design.”
I cringe at the “little lady” comment, hoping Sarah isn’t offended. She doesn’t seem phased. “It depends on the price and how many we need, I suppose.”
“Which we won’t know until we—” Sarah falters. “I mean you, choose the cabinetry.”
“The lower cabinets,” I emphasize. “The uppers are staying the same.”
“They don’t have to look the same though,” Sarah says. “I love a two-toned look. If we refinished the uppers and paint the lowers, I think it could work.”
Jack chuckles.
“We’re refinishing the uppers?” I ask.
“We don’thaveto,” Sarah says, “but since we’re putting in new lowers and new vinyl, it will look weird if we don’t.”
The sound of cash registers cha-chinging vibrates through my skull. Not to mention the extra time it will take to strip and sand the upper cabinets. This is quickly becoming more than I bargained for, but Sarah’s enthusiasm is hard to resist. And isn’t this what I want to do eventually? Remodel and flip houses? Maybe this could be like a practice run.
“I have strippers in Aisle 9,” Jack says. “Not the kind on poles, but the chemical sort.”
“We definitely don’t need any poles,” Sarah says.
Jack slides off his stool. “I didn’t figure. You’re too sweet. You picked a good one, Chris.”
My face flushes.
“Lemme get you something to stand on,” Jack continues. “This counter wasn’t designed for short people.” He rounds the counter and crosses behind us.
“We don’t have to do this now,” I say over my shoulder. I’ve always gotten along well with the owners here, but today I’ve had enough of Jack’s southern charm. “I can just choose something basic later.” My voice trails off when it becomes evident Jack will not be deterred.
“Or we could choose something basic now,” Sarah says. “Since we’re here.” She pivots onto her tiptoes again and peers at the ratty catalog. “Did you bring the measurements?”
I panic and then pat my back pocket where the scrap of paper with the measurements is supposed to be. “I didn’t. I left them at your apartment.”
Jack returns with a milk crate. He turns it upside down beside Sarah. “Don’t sue me if you fall. I can’t find my step stool, and we’re clean out of step ladders.”
“I don’t think that’s OSHA approved,” I say.
“It’s Jack approved. I’ve got liability insurance for stuff like this.”
Sarah raises an eyebrow.
“Here, I’ll hold onto it while you step up,” Jack says.
“This place is so rustic.” Sarah sweeps her eyes around the hardware store. “I like rustic,” she says, and then steps up on the milk crate with the help of Jack’s shoulder.
Now she’s a few inches taller than I am. She gazes over the top of my head. “So, this is what it’s like being taller than you.”
I look up at her. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Why not? Does it make you feel weak?”