Page 51 of Pot Shot
Julian thrusts a pot of sad, purple pansies at me, discounted to $4.99. “I know they’re terrible, but it’s all the twenty-four-hour Acme had. I’ll get you better ones later.”
“What’s going on here? Why are your shorts so short?” I donottake the pansies.
“I couldn’t sleep, and I’ve been waiting out here for you for over an hour, and Aunt Edna told me to—andugh, just take the damn pansies!” Julian shakes them at me, frustration building in his face.
“No!” I finally grasp the keys, then shoulder past him to open the door.
“Please, wait, I’m sorry! I need to talk to you!”
“Well, I don’t need to talk to you.” I step inside quickly and shut the door, but he squeezes one of his obscenely toned thighs in to hold it open.
“Nomi, listen—I’m withdrawing the complaint!”
“You… are?” The fight goes out of my arms, and without the resistance, Julian’s thigh cranks the door all the way open, and he stumbles inside.
“Yes! I’ve already completed the paperwork, it’s here.” His chin jerks toward his armpit, where a beige folder is tucked. “See for yourself.”
I yank it out so fast, he hisses.
“Are youtryingto give me a paper cut?”
Inside, a printed form creatively titled “Withdrawal of Zoning Complaint” is already filled out, Julian’s signature slashed across the bottom.
“But why?” I’m still staring at the form, trying to understand how we got here, where I’m holding the solution to all my problems, and Julian’s holding a pot of drooping pansies wearing a pair of retro polyester briefs. I glance up as he places the flowerpot down by the register. “You changed your mind?”
“Does it matter?” Julian plops down on a counter stool and runs his palms down his face. “I’ll withdraw the complaint… on one condition.”
My shoulders immediately tense. I should’ve known there’d be a catch. “What.”
“Can I have a cup of coffee first?”
“No.”
“I’ll buy it.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Of course it’s for sale.” His chin drops to the side, and he gives me anoh, reallyglare. “You sell coffee.”
“Fine,” I bark out, then slam a mug on the counter and pour him a day-old cup of coffee I should’ve cleaned out yesterday. Now I’m glad I didn’t.
Julian looks down at the old, cold cup of coffee with sorrow.
“That’ll be fifty dollars.”
He flinches but pulls his wallet out and throws a fifty on the counter. “Can you heat it up at least?”
“Nope.” I cross my arms. “And creamer’s extra.”
A stream of emotions pours over his features, but with great difficulty, he forces a smile and plucks a set of notecards from his pocket. He begins to read from the top. “Nomi, I—” His eyes snag on his loose cuff, and he pauses to roll both linen sleeves up to his elbows.
“Julian, what is this? I’m opening in twenty minutes. I have work to do.”
“I’m groveling. Don’t you want to hear me grovel?” His pale-blue eyes interrogate mine.
I blow out a long, tired breath. “Yes.”
He clears his throat again. “Nomi, I first want to express how regretful I am for successfully thwarting your ill-advised and amoral business venture—”
