Preview: "I Don’t Trust Myself"

Just a sneak peek at the opening scene of what I'm working on :)

***

“Hi! Come on in.”

The customer’s name was Mika, according to the work form. She turned out to be a woman about my age, with bouncy bobbed hair and a bubbly smile. She was dressed in a baggy t-shirt with an obscure cartoon character on it that had been my favorite as a kid. It was long enough that I wasn’t sure until she turned to lead me inside that she was wearing shorts underneath.

I trained my eyes upward, to the back of her head, as we walked.

“Coffee? Water?” she asked.

“Coffee would be great,” I said, and took a seat at the kitchen table where she directed me.

I pulled up the visit checklist on my tablet.

“Okay, so, we’re running a new cable to the router today, right?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what has to happen,” she said, sliding into the chair across from me and setting two mugs and a bottle of creamer between us. “The guys renovating the apartment downstairs swear they didn’t touch anything, but one second the internet’s working fine, and the next, crash, it’s gone.”

“That sucks,” I said. “But it’s an easy fix. I’ll run a direct line right over the balcony, so it doesn’t have to go through your neighbors’ units at all.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said.

“Cool. Before I get started on that, I have to run diagnostics on the dead line. It’s not that I don’t believe you—”

“Oh, I know, you’ve got protocols to follow. Go ahead. It’s next to the TV.”

I got up to connect my monitor to the physical hardware, tried connecting wirelessly with my tablet, and set both scans to run on the completely nonexistent internet connection.

“While that’s doing its thing,” I took my seat again and savored a sip of the coffee, “is this a good time to go over some of the other questions I’m required to ask?”

“Shoot,” said Mika, pouring a shot of the vanilla creamer into her own mug.

“Cool. Who handles your cell phone service?”

“The other guy,” she answered, playfully to-the-point.

“May I ask why you chose separate companies for phone and internet?”

“Because the other guy doesn’t cover this building for internet,” she said, just as bluntly. “I’ve been with their phone service since I was on my parents’ plan.”

“So, you haven’t had any experience with our service on that end?”

“Nope.”

“Well, if you’re bundling internet and phone together, there’s a good chance I can get you better deal for basically the same service, same phone number and everything.”

This was where most customers, even the politest ones, shut me down. The rapport between us was never quite the same after that step. I’d switched from the guy who was here to solve their problem to the guy who was here to upsell them. And they had to be more on guard for that guy.

I couldn’t say I didn’t do the same when I was dealing with salespeople. It was the ugly dance we had to do.

Mika drummed her fingers on her mug and said, “Is it actually better, or does it just look that way before you add all the fees and stuff?”

I quickly swiped away from the diagnostic screen and brought up my bill calculator.

“Here, I’ll just run the numbers and give it to you straight,” I said. “No surprises, promise.”

Mika listened attentively, with mild interest, even, while I walked her through the math, and went hunting through her bills to compare.

I felt about as sure as I could by then that I wasn’t going to mess this up by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, so I decided to get the next usual sticking point over with.

“I should tell you, I can get you all set up today… it’ll just take a couple extra hours on top of the repair.”

Mika paused, neatened the pile of bills she’d been sorting through, and dropped them near the edge of the table.

“Let’s do it,” she said.

“You sure?” I asked.

No one was ever quite this ready to change their wireless carrier on a day when they hadn’t been planning to, even when the deal was great. Maybe especially when the deal was great, and therefore harder to trust.

Mika stretched her arms over her head, making her shoulders click, and I became aware that she was not wearing a bra. The thick fabric of the shirt didn’t show much, but it pulled tight enough with this movement for me to make out two soft, natural, uncontained mounds, with the small prick of a resting nipple at the peak of each one.

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” she said. “I’m only going to get taken advantage of. But you could probably sell me a fucking landline today, if it came with a couple extra hours of company.”

“…Oh,” I said, not sure how I was supposed to respond to this.

I knew how I would have responded, once, but things were different now.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

Mika shrugged and shook out her shoulders, a clear, silent translation of, It’s a long story.

“I don’t know. I just… I moved out here for a job last year, and it’s been really hard. Who knew social work would be hard, right?” she chuckled at herself. “I mean, it’s good, too, sometimes. I love getting to help people out. But I’m so tired at the end of the day, I never feel like going for drinks or anything, and it’s just been really hard to get out and make friends. And now I’m not going to be able to fly home for my birthday like I was planning, and…. I’m not sure when was the last time I spoke to a human being on my day off.”

She shook her head.

“Sorry. I know it’s not a day off for you. You’re just here to fix the wi-fi.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I told her, reflexively. “Hanging out is half the job, really. It can be awkward, being stuck with a stranger in your living room all day. I like to know that I’m making it as good an experience as it can be.”

Mika smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and laid her hand on the table between us.

“Well, in that case,” she said, “you’re doing an amazing job so far.”

I knew the next move in this dance.

I was supposed to reach slowly across the table, to see if she would move away, which she wouldn’t. I would put my hand on top of hers, gently squeeze it in a way that could be mistaken for an innocent gesture of comfort.

She would lick her lips and look at mine. I would lean a little closer. She would meet me in the middle.

There would be a long moment of contact, softness, shy tongues, warm breath. We’d drag it out as long as we possibly could, savoring it as if it might be the only moment of its kind, and putting off the dicey next moment of looking each other in the eye and deciding what to do next.

Then I’d tell her how much longer we needed to wait around for the diagnostics anyway, tacking on a few more minutes than the truth, and she would either make a suggestion for how we could pass the time, or coyly ask me for one.

I looked down, took a sip of my coffee, and asked, “Could I use your restroom?”

Mika pulled her hand back to her side of the table, searching me for meaning with a precision that made me feel already naked. “Sure, of course. Just across the hall.”

I half-sprinted back through her living room and across the hall, and locked the bathroom door behind me. I gripped the sides of the sink and gulped in several deep breaths.

I’d done it.

Kind of. I wasn’t out of the woods yet. But every self-help book and YouTube video I’d consulted had drilled the importance of celebrating small victories.

I was doing it. The right thing. So far.

God, why did the right thing feel so wrong in my body? Why couldn’t my instincts just be good?

When my doctor sprung the news that I was pre-diabetic, in spite of looking like I was in pretty good shape, I’d felt something like this the first few times I had to turn down sharing a basket of fries with my friends. But even with my mouth watering at the scent of the fryer and the sweet, smokey barbecue sauce, breaking a habit had never been harder than it was with sex.

I felt shaky, horny past the point of fun, almost sick.

And it wasn’t just my body that was shuddering. I felt so… rude. What if Mika thought she’d done something wrong? What if I was hurting her feelings, when she was already obviously going through a tough time?

How much more hurt would you cause by saying yes?

Huh. At least one vocal fragment of my brain seemed to be on my side.

Another victory to celebrate.

I took another breath and practiced a few versions of “Hey!” in the mirror to make sure my voice was steady.

Then I pulled out my phone, and called my girlfriend.

Four rings crept by. Then,

“Hey, you.”

Haley was whispering, close to the microphone.

“Hey,” I said, sounding normal enough to my own ears, but not to hers.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” I said. “Sorry to bug you at work.”

“You never bug me,” she said. “But I do have to get back soon.”

“I know. Sorry. I just wanted to hear your voice for a sec.”

“Aww.”

“And to let you know that I think I’m going to have to take off early here.”

“Again?” she asked, with grave, gentle concern. “Is your stomach still acting up?”

“…Yeah.”

I couldn’t find my way out of that old lie, not at such short notice.

“Do you still want to come over tonight?” she asked. “I’ll pick up chicken soup. We’ll do a Marvel marathon.”

Another mad, self-destructive cluster of neurons wished viciously for her to be less nice to me.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I said.

“Okay. Well, I’m hiding in a supply closet, so….”

“Yeah, I’m hiding in a customer’s bathroom. So…. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And then I was alone again, surrounded by Mika’s towels and preferred shower products