Chapter 89
After he got into the habit of working on his art every day (which took some adjustment), Andrew gained a new kind of confidence, or rather, one he hadn’t felt in years. He also accepted the possibility that the gallery might despise his new work when they saw it, but what did it matter? He was young, goddamn it, and there were a million galleries in the city that might want him if this one didn’t. Too many fish in the sea to put up with one that didn’t appreciate him. God, he was starting to sound like a pathetic single woman.
His mom told him via e-mail that, surprise surprise, his dad was drinking again, and it sent an old familiar chill through his body. The fucked up thing is that hearing this news made Andrew want a fucking drink of his own, but he restrained himself, and in fact drank significantly less booze than usual for several weeks thereafter.
The old Irish song “Whiskey, You’re the Devil” started running through his head, and he knew he needed a distraction. He called Julia and told her about what had happened. They talked for a while and she did her typical Julia thing, changing the subject, awkwardly comforting him, completely at odds with the concept of true sympathy. She often admitted that she worried she was too uncaring. Romy used to call her an ice queen, back before she became her girlfriend-in-law, or whatever you want to call it. Girlfriend once removed?
Julia said she had to go because she was going out to a bar. Andrew asked who she was going with and she said none of his business, then hung up. Cunt. The fucked up thing is that she used to do this exact same thing even before they had an open relationship.
Romy called and asked if she could come over, and he said, but of course. She showed up wearing an oddly shapeless dress, the kind only skinny girls like her could pull off without looking like a retarded clown.
She told him she’d just been shopping, and she’d bought some new “fucky underwear,” and that she was wearing it right now. Andrew had heard enough. He got her good and naked and had his way with her. They then got back dressed and ate some stuffing, which was probably Alex’s, but Andrew didn’t think he’d care. They ate the stuffing in the kitchen, standing up in their bare feet. Romy, with her hair mussed and lips pink from making out, looked so cute, so incredibly and painfully attractive, that Andrew felt like maybe they should just scrap this whole three-way relationship thing and go steady. But he wanted to give it some more thought, and so he made out with her some more and lifted her onto the counter. She wrapped her legs around his torso.
“I’m thinking about getting a job, maybe next week,” she said.
“I thought you liked having some time off.”
“Yeah, but I looked up my account balance on the internet today, and it’s substantially lower than I thought it would be.”
“Yeah, that can happen.”
“I’m probably going to try to get a cocktail waitressing job.”
“Aren’t the hours for that kinda rough?”
“It’s usually like eight to four, yeah. That’s when bars are open.”
“I’m probably going to be taking on another day at work soon,” Andrew said. “It’s getting kind of tight with only three days a week, you know? I’m just saying, I work nine to five. We’re, like, never going to see each other.”
“I know, it sucks,” Romy said apologetically. “What can you do? Hopefully it’s only going to be temporary.”
“I hope so,” Andrew said, pulling her in protectively.
“Hey, you know, I was thinking how we might be able to save a lot of money…like, five hundred dollars a month…”
Andrew smiled, knowing where she was going with this.
“What do you think?”
“I like it here, and I don’t think I want to move anytime soon, but if you want to move in with me, be my guest.”
Romy grinned. “Really? Oh my god, poor Djamila. But still!” She jumped down off the counter and attacked Andrew in a death clutch of a hug.
Andrew’s mind raced, but he knew he was making the right choice. Life with Romy was a good life. For now, anyway.
