It was a strange thing to find myself lonely but not alone.
Over the next week I didn't see Mike once. He sent me messages I didn't reply to but they were short and mostly asked how my day was. Fucking smiley face included. I filled my time with working more than I should have, and painting. I painted a lot. I was running out of space to store everything. My not quite finished canvases had started to sprawl outside my paint room. It made me think I needed to reevaluate my space.
I got home that night, chest aching in a strange way. I rubbed my chest as I toed off my shoes on the carpet in front of the door and looked at my apartment. It was as empty as it was before, glaringly mismatched furniture. And the walls - were they beige or had they yellowed? Even the dining table was wobbly without the piece of newspaper I kept under the short leg. I didn't want my home to look like this. I couldn't live like this.
After the accident, I had reluctantly gone with Mike to the bank expecting overdraft fees and a judgmental teller but I actually had a financial advisor who managed my assets for me. It turned out I was fairly comfortable. The boom the shop experienced because of our unique tattoos was enough that each of my workers were comfortable and as co-owner I was even more so. I even owned the patent for the specific magic tattoo spells. Owning a spell wasn't unheard of but it took more magic and control than most people had. Before my accident I was apparently quite the warlock.
So if I wanted to go to Ikea and blow thousands of dollars on furniture then I would.
I checked the time, Mike should be done work by now. Maybe he could pick me up and we could go together. I chewed on my lip, holding my phone in my hands and unable to press send. The way he had left my apartment a couple days ago had been awkward, in fact more than awkard. After he left, I had drawn random sketches as the night bled into day, and went into work like the walking dead. Chrissa had asked what was wrong but I hadn't been able to voice what happened, it was too embarrassing.
"Hello?"
I stared down at my phone realizing my fingers had betrayed me and called Mike. I put the phone against my ear and his warm, deep voiced rumbled comfortably in my ear, "Derrick? Hello?"
"Hi." I said stupidly, pacing around my living-room just a bit.
"Hi Derrick," Mike laughed suddenly, something like mirth bubbling through the phone, "Can I ask why you called, although it's nice to hear your voice." I heard background noise and realized Mike must have been with a group of people.
"Oh, sorry if I interrupted." It came out sarcastic even though I was being serious.
"You never do." Mike said softly.
"Can you-Can you come with me somewhere?" I got so tongue tied around him lately. It was so annoying.
I assumed Mike put his hand on the receiver and cancelled his plans with what sounded like his colleagues. They jeered a bit and implied Mike was accepting a booty call but he only laughed it off saying he wanted to save money anyways.
"I'm yours for the evening, Derrick." Mike said when he came back on the line, "What did you have in mind? Dinner? A club-"
"That's funny, Mike." I interrupted lightly, "I definitely don't go clubbing."
He snorted, "Right. Maybe not now, but I remember uni. It was actually crazy, I drank way too much back then. I'm glad I don't drink anymore."
"You don't drink?"
The background on his end had gone silent and I imagined Mike connecting me to his bluetooth as he got ready to drive. "No." he said in a clipped tone, "I drank to get drunk and it got pretty ugly." he breathed heavily, "You were the one who lead my intervention. All my other friends were hinting I was developing a problem but you just- you sat me down and yelled at me until your voice got hoarse." he laughed easily, "which is definitely the wrong way to do anything, The worst way actually. But I don't know. It was different coming from you. Everything is different coming from you." His voice got deeper at the end.
I had been silent not sure how to process any of this. "I'm sorry." I said, not sure what else to say, "That must have been really hard."
"Yeah," he said quietly, "It was. But you helped me through it. Like you do with a lot of things. It helped that you don't drink either."
"I don't?" Now that I thought about it my apartment didn't have any alcohol and even though I had the constant urge to paint, or draw, I never wanted to drink.
"You know how you were in a lot of foster care homes right?"
That had been a difficult converstaion to have. Mike telling me in lowered lashes and hushed tones things about my childhood that I couldn't imagine happening to me, couldn't imagine telling anyone. "Yeah," I said, throat suddenly dry.
"There was one guy..." Mike's voice was harsh, and he struggled, "Damn, I don't want to tell you things if you don't remember Derrick. I don't want to do that to you. Especially not over the phone."
"I want to know." I said, not understanding the feeling of trepidation deep in my chest. I cycled around my apartment, opening my fridge, pouring a glass of water for myself and nearly inhaling it.
"No. I'm not going to tell you." Mike said quickly.
"You can't- You can't hold information over me."
Mike made a dissatisfied noise with his mouth, "Why do we have to talk about this? It's not my job to tell you. Ask your therapist, Derrick. I don't want to tell it to you wrong. I don't want to hurt you." he said in a sad voice. "But, I was adopted and you had been in foster care and in high school that's part of how we became friends. You don't drink because you always said it brings out the worst in people."
"Okay," I conceded, making a mental note to call Dr. Rutherford. "Wait- I didn't know you were adopted."
"Yep," he said popping the p. "I'm fifteen minutes away. Where are we going, Derrick? You still haven't said."
"I hate my apartment." I complained, "I wanted to revitalize it. Can you come with me to Ikea?"
Mike's voice suddenly grew quiet, "You want me to go furniture shopping with you to Ikea?"
"Yes, is that okay?"I said, nervously. Fuck, maybe he didn't want to go.
"Of course it's fucking okay." he said excitedly, " Wow I have ideas and I mean ideas Derrick. Do you know what you want? I have been pushing you for years to move. This is the first step to moving, right?
"No." I said firmly, making sure I started charging my phone, "I just need some new energy in my apartment. I still like that my apartment is close to my therapist, the grocery store and work. What other place can give me all that?"
Mike echoed my last sentence like he had heard it before. Okay, so maybe he had heard this before.
"If I find places that are close to all the amenities and your store would you consider moving?" He sounded so hopeful it was adorable.
I scrunched my nose even though he couldn't see me.
He groaned on the other side of the line almost as though he had seen me, "I won't quit y'know? I won't stop trying." I felt like he was talking about more than trying to get me to move.
"About the other night..." I started.
"I liked the way you felt against me." His voice warmed me from the inside out, "And I want you Derrick, I do. And it feels so good to say that out loud instead of just thinking it. But I won't keep on harassing you-"
"You don't harass me-" I said honestly.
Mike laughed softly, the warmth permeating through the phone. "Well, I'm almost there. Come meet me downstairs." and he clicked off.
--
We decided not to go to ikea. I tried not to pout but Derrick made a point that I should repaint my walls before buying a lot of furniture. I was having trouble deciding between abalone, pearl grey, harbor grey and smoke embers.
I held the swatches up to the light, "The differences are subtle, but there."
Mike made an impatient noise, "They're all the same colour, Derrick. Grey, grey, grey and wait a second- oh. That one's grey, too." He rummaged through the brushes, paint, ladders, and other painting materials in our cart. He checked the time, rolex watch a casual display of wealth against his wrist, "You know, if we hurry. We could have dinner at my parents'."
I dropped the abalone in surprise and bent to pick it up, Mike's eyes following the bend of my body. I swallowed, "Your parents?"
"Yeah, I think it's time to re-meet them. They all know you and by the time we get there my extended relatives will be gone. My mom is making arroz con pollo, empanadas, and you love my dad's boliche and he's making those dulce de leche cookies you really like."
I touched my stomach, "You're making me hungry but I still need to choose a colour." I looked between the four shades, ignoring the sound of other customers milling between the aisles and the worker hovering and waiting for me to make a decision. "I think..." I started, and then paused thinking about it further.
Mike came up beside me, carding his fingers through my hair. The big curls had started to flop onto my forehead. He was standing too close, "Your hair looks really nice like this." he said, running his fingers through the strands, "It feels good, too." his mouth was close to my ear and if I closed my eyes I could imagine it was a kiss.
I parted my lips to reply but just licked them instead. His hand fell from my hair, and he stepped away to stand in front of me, almost waiting. I looked at Mike's eyes wishing I could find a paler grey like that for my walls. I turned away, settling on a mix between pearl river and harbor grey. The closest thing to the colour of Mike's eyes.