Page 78 of Rival Season
The bathroom door flies open, and through the cloud of steam around me, the hazy outline of Fisher taking shape as he waltzes in. “So I was thinking,” he begins as he walks up to the vanity.
“That we really need to get our bathroom lock fixed? Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”
“No, not that,” Fisher says with a shake of his head, squirting toothpaste on his electric toothbrush. “I was thinking we should go out tonight.”
“You couldn't have waited a couple of minutes until I was done in the damn shower to tell me that?” I love Fisher, I really do, but sharing a bathroom with him might be my least favorite thing about living in this loft, because the guy has zero concept of privacy.
“Don’t bullshit me, Matthews, you always take forever in the shower.”
“It’s where I do my thinking.” I wipe my palm on the door of the shower, smoothing away some condensation to make a little window for myself to glare at him through the glass. “Or at least, I try to when I’m not constantly being interrupted.”
“Well, think about this then,” Fisher says, totally undeterred by my annoyance. “You know that painting I bought for the living room?”
“No.”
“Of course you do. The incredible piece of the bay that I hung by the couch.”
“Oh yeah, the one you never shut up about.”
“Yes, that one! Well, there’s an art show tonight, and rumor has it they’re featuring a piece of that artist’s work for sale.”
“Nice,” I say neutrally. I have nothing against art—it’s pretty impressive that some people’s brains can create like that—but I don’t know or understand enough about it to get jazzed about it like Fisher.
“Nice? I don’t think you’re grasping what a big deal this is,” Fisher blabbers on. “This is Santi we're talking about.”
“I have no idea who we’re talking about.”
“Okay, so Santi is this artist who’s suddenly on everyone’s radar here. I randomly found that painting at a tiny gallery inMonterey a few months back and bought it on a whim without realizing this artist was like the Banksy of San Francisco.”
“Okay I know nothing about art, but isn’t Banksy a graffiti artist while this person paints stuff you can hang in your living room?” I ask as I lather myself up with body wash. My roommate’s obviously not going anywhere anytime soon, so might as well start washing myself.
“Yes, but like Banksy, nobody knows who this artist is. Their paintings just randomly pop up in galleries around the city from time to time, and they’ve become infamous, developing a name for themselves in trendy art circles. I want to buy as much of their art as I can before they blow up worldwide.”
“Sounds like a fun night,” I say, sounding about as salty as I currently feel.
I’ve been grumpy since my interaction with Chad-dick this morning, and I know I’m to blame for the heavy mood in the air after he left—I let Chadwick mess with my head, and it made me clam up. When I get out of the shower, I’ll go down to her place and apologize for being a downer after she put so much effort into making a nice breakfast for us.
No matter where things might be between us, Hazel and I are friends, and I care about her. That will never change. Instead of moping about Hazel’s asshole ex, from now on I’m going to channel all my negative Chadwick energy into beating the Fire Cats on the ice next week.
“I’m getting tickets now,” Fisher mumbles with his toothbrush dangling between his lips and his phone in his hand. “You in?”
“Nah, I can’t.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be a buzzkill. It’ll be fun. Free drinks. Plus, Noah and Ally said they’d come, too.”
I laugh despite myself. “Did they actually say that, or did you beg them like you’re begging me right now?”
“The latter,” Fisher admits with a grin. “But they said yes, and that’s what matters.”
“Well, I’m glad they’re going with you because I honestly can’t go. I’m hanging out with Hazel tonight.”
Or at least, I’m going to try to.
“I’ll get her a ticket as well. She’ll love it,” Fisher says.
“You say that like you know her so well.”
“I barely know her at all,” my roommate responds. “But you talk about her more than I talk about my Santi painting, so I know enough about her by proxy to know she got all twitterpated over the mosaic steps when you took her.”
