A Guy Like Him

by Amanda Gambill

  As he spoke, I realized what I’d thought was him being a perfectionist about art was really more about passion.

  “I’ve had more commissioned artwork this year than ever before, and I kind of wish I … didn’t,” he said, kind of laughing at what he was saying. “I know that sounds irrational,” he added quickly. “But I’m an artist because I love painting. And if I only created two paintings in a year, but they were incredible, the light was stunning, every leaf was perfect, if I just totally lost myself in the process, I’d be happy. Or if I only worked on my gallery show and didn’t even deal with any other clients for six months, I’d be happy.”

  I nodded, feeling like I understood. “You want to do what you like. Not because you have to. Not because it’s on your to-do list.”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding.

  He turned away from the painting, taking a breath. I sat down on the floor, patting the spot next to me, and he sat.

  “Well, where do you see yourself in five years? Maybe you’re still painting, but not doing it necessary to make a living?”

  “I have no idea, Skye. I’m not really a planning kind of guy.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I disagree. Think of all this stuff you’ve been managing for your dad. Even if you don’t identify as one, it sounds like you’ve been a planner since you were twenty-years old. Maybe you haven’t done it for yourself, but you’ve definitely got a knack for thinking ahead. I mean, think about how you approach paintings or even how you make coffee at home. All of those things are intentionally deliberate, planning kind of actions.”

  He glanced at me, fiddling with a ring on his index finger. “Yeah, maybe I’ll just be a manager at the coffee shop or something.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  He shrugged.

  I faced him. “You’ll always be an artist. And I think you’ll always be a carefree, chill guy, too. Those parts of your identity won’t cease to exist just because you have an idea of what you want in the future.”

  He kind of laughed. “I’d probably need a degree for something like that, and I’m definitely not going back to school. It’s kind of annoying because it’s not like I haven’t spent the past three years working with our vendors, doing inventory, making everyone’s schedules,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “Wait, you do all of that?” I said, trying not to sound too shocked.

  He glanced at me and shrugged again. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve worked there for eight years. And I started to get curious how it all worked, and our manager kind of sucks. It’s a plus because when I forecast sales, I can easily account for all the free coffees I slip you,” he said with a grin.

  I laughed, shaking my head. “Dean, those are awesome skills. Pair those with your coffee snobbery and barista skills, and you could totally be a manager. You don’t need a degree for that.”

  He laughed and looked back at his painting. “Yeah, I guess.”

  I looked at him, feeling like something else was on his mind.

  “Have you ever … did you ever talk to your dad about this kind of stuff? What do you think he would say? Was he a big planner?” I asked, thinking of how Dean had said his dad had immediately sketched out the plan for his care as soon as he’d been diagnosed.

  He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Yeah.” He glanced down at his ring, back to twisting it again. “Apparently he was more of a planner than I thought.”

  I looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I guess I’ve never really talked about this, but I’m in control of my dad’s finances because he can’t be.”

  I nodded. “Oh yeah, I remember learning about that in one of my business classes … what’s the term, like durable power of attorney for finances or something?”

  He kind of laughed. “Right, you probably know all about this stuff. So earlier today, I met with my dad’s, well, I guess, my financial adviser. We were going over everything because the deal on his house is closing. And, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m not part of the finance world or because I’ve been so focused on his health and never really had to dig into things this way before, but I didn’t realize that my dad set up a trust for me, like, when I was born. And, um,” he said, moving a ring to his middle finger, “it’s, like, a lot of money.”

  “That’s good, right? I understand it’s under sad circumstances, but it’s nice he’s been looking out for you,” I said, placing my hand on his leg.

  Dean glanced at me. “Yeah, I guess. I never asked for this. I’ve never asked him for money or help or anything. I’ve had a job since I was fifteen. I paid for my own school even though that was a waste,” he said with a slight laugh. “This is just a lot. I mean, I could own a coffee shop, not just manage one,” he said with a laugh, running a hand through his hair again. “Isn’t that crazy? It doesn’t feel real.”

  “Remember when you told me your dad once said that magic exists in real life, but you have to create it on your own? Maybe he was trying to do that for you,” I said quietly, taking his hand.

  Dean looked at me, taking in what I said, before speaking.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right, Skye,” he said, smiling softly.

  “Hey, what did your dad do?” I asked after a moment, surprised it had never come up before. “What was his job?”

  He kind of laughed. “He was a lawyer.”

  “Really?” I said, shocked. I would have never guessed Dean was the son of a lawyer. “What kind of law did he practice?”

  “Um, well, he specialized in contract law,” Dean said, unable to contain the teasing smirk that appeared on his face.

  I burst out laughing, shaking my head, pushing him so he was lying on my floor, telling him that his dad would be very proud of his own contract negotiation skills. Dean laughed, wrapping his arms around my waist as I sat on top of him, and glanced around my room.

  “Speaking of planning,” he said, smiling in a way I found absolutely irresistible, “do you think you’ll invite me over once you’re all moved in? And not just to hang up my, well, your painting. I’ll bring my Aeropress if you give me a heads up. Serve you coffee in bed, let you reap the benefits of an in-home barista.”

  I bit my lip, nodding. “But until then … you know, we’re exactly where my bed will go.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

  I nodded once more, barely having time to answer before he kissed me deeply, passionately, how I’d thought he would, exactly how I wanted.

  ★☽★★☽

  I closed my eyes, feeling overwhelmed by the screaming children.

  “Why’d we agree to do this?” I asked Krista with a pained look.

  We were at a back-to-school bash, a volunteer thing we’d been roped into, stuffing backpacks with supplies in a middle school gym full of kids running around, throwing basketballs, and jumping rope.

  She laughed. “Because Mom asked us to. And for the past ten years, we’ve shown up,” she said, taking the pack of pencils I handed her and dropping them inside the backpacks.

  I focused on counting just the right amount of bookmarks and erasers for each backpack, annoyed this was how I was spending my last Saturday in August before the fall semester started.

  “Kyle seems to be having fun,” Krista added with a laugh, nodding to where he was playing basketball with a couple kids, his summers of being a camp counselor in high school coming in handy.

  Our mom came over to us with a bright smile. She smoothed her hands over her skirt, looking so put together as we all wore jeans, and checked our progress carefully.

  “How are my two beautiful daughters doing?”

  “Amazing,” Krista said with an equally bright smile. “Just being busy bees.”

  She was extra chipper, her wedding less than two months away, almost all the things that had been stressing her out in July finalized.

  “You know Michael’s mother is here,” Mom said.

  I rolled my eyes, not caring if she thou
ght it was rude. She just couldn’t let him go no matter how many times I told her that we weren’t getting back together. I hadn’t even seen him since May.

  “Do you think you two can work things out? His mom is worried about him because he didn’t get that internship he interviewed for.”

  I sighed, deciding it was best not to respond. Once I’d learned he hadn’t gotten an internship, I’d realized that was why he’d been so determined to get back with me — I was a perfect, pretty distraction, a win he could claim.

  “Mom, Michael and Skylar don’t make sense,” Krista said. “I’m honestly glad they aren’t together.”

  “Wow, thanks,” I said, slightly shocked she was coming to my defense. “Yeah, Mom, I’ve been trying to tell you, Michael and I are over. We aren’t good for each other.”

  And finally, after years, she finally heard me. She looked at Krista and then me, nodding. “Just between us girls, I never really cared for the way he kept suggesting I try his mother’s pot roast recipe.”

  I laughed, taking what I could get, feeling like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

  “You should hear about this new guy she’s dating,” Krista said.

  My stomach immediately dropped.

  “He makes her really happy,” she continued, as if she knew him.

  “No, no, no,” I said with a frantic laugh, hoping Mom didn’t hear Krista correctly. “I’m not dating—”

  I stopped myself short, not sure what to say.

  The last time I’d seen Dean was after a bachelorette party research outing, some sort of jazz club downtown neither of us enjoyed.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered, his hand just barely touching my bare shoulder. “This is weird, and you look too hot in this dress to waste our time on this.”

  I grinned at him, both of us feeling like we were sneaking out as we ditched the place in the middle of the set. We walked outside as the sun was setting, laughing, and he put his arm around me as we headed to my parked car a couple blocks over.

  “Oh, wait a sec,” I said, stopping as I noticed the bridal shop where my bridesmaid dress was. “This is actually perfect timing. I need to pick up my dress. I was going to do it tomorrow, but since we’re here, do you care? It’ll take five minutes tops.”

  He shrugged, following me, a little bell chiming our arrival. The shop was about to close so we were the only ones inside, surrounded by white dresses. As I walked to the counter to ask for my dress, he looked around, clearly having never been in a store like this.

  The woman handed me my dress, but when I stepped back to take it to the register, she pulled it away.

  “You have to try it on,” she said, gesturing to a fitting room.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ve tried it on before.”

  I’d come here with Lindy and Krista’s other bridesmaids when I’d bought it, unable to stop comparing myself to them, feeling like I was in a pageant all over again as my sister judged each of us in our dresses. And I’d done my fitting with Mom, her poking and prodding me as she babbled on about how Krista’s dress seemed to fit her perfectly on the first try.

  “But this time it’s different,” the woman said.

  Not waiting on me, she walked to the changing room and opened the door, hanging my dress inside.

  “I really don’t think it will be,” I said, glancing at my watch and then at Dean, feeling bad this was becoming a whole thing. “Plus, I’m with him, and this isn’t his scene—”

  “It’s cool, I don’t mind to wait,” Dean said casually, looking up from the dresses he’d been flipping through with a curious expression. “Take all the time you want.”

  I stepped inside the dressing room, slipping on the full-length strapless sweetheart chiffon blush dress, reaching back to zip it. I sighed, struggling, realizing I’d never done this alone, unable to get the last two inches up all the way.

  “Everything okay, miss?” the woman asked after I sighed for a third time, twisting and turning to try to get the damn zipper up.

  “I guess it doesn’t fit,” I said, frustrated that I’d have to go through this whole fitting process again. “I can’t get the zipper up.”

  I opened the door and stepped out, looking down, careful not to step on the hem since I didn’t have the right heels on.

  I looked up as Dean looked up at me. His expression completely changed from tepid curiosity at this place to one I’d never seen on his face before. Somewhere between surprise and seeing something for the first time.

  “Let me help you,” he said, stepping forward.

  I turned, holding my hair back, already feeling my chest tighten. “It doesn’t fit, Dean. It’s not right,” I said, looking down at the carpeted floor as his fingers touched my skin. “My sister is going to totally panic that I’ve somehow messed this up. And my mom is going to freak—“

  Dean gently shushed me, brushing his hands over my shoulders, leaving them there.

  “Skye, it zipped. It fits.”

  I looked up in the mirror, dropping my hair over my shoulders.

  “Oh,” I said, blinking. I looked at his reflection as he stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders, his body closer to mine than how strangers stand, a smile in his eyes, his expression still unreadable, a look I’d never seen before. “It’s perfect.”

  “You look absolutely beautiful, princess,” he said quietly, lightly rubbing my shoulder with his tatted thumb, his other hand falling to my waist.

  I let out a small breath, feeling something stronger than desire, more than sex, my heart pounding, begging, bursting, wanting to never lose this visual of us standing like this together.

  I couldn’t stop that feeling, even after I changed, paid for my dress, and we walked out.

  “Skye,” Dean said, stopping on the sidewalk as I ducked my head, figuring this feeling would pass if I could just focus on something else. “Wait, can we talk about—”

  “Let’s go back to your place and hook up,” I said, unable to control how my voice seemed shaky. “Right, this is just sex, remember?”

  Dean shook his head, falling into step with me as I walked briskly in the direction of my car. “We both know this isn’t just sex.”

  I wasn’t sure what happened next, but just like old times, I stumbled, feeling a sense of freedom snap underneath me, making me fall. Except this time, I didn’t hit the ground, my knee didn’t smack against the concrete, my breath didn’t escape me.

  I looked at Dean.

  “You caught me,” I said quietly.

  He nodded, somehow his arms around me, the bright stars above him in the sky. It felt so right, a magical moment in reality, so perfect.

  He righted me, kind of laughing. “That was, like, such a classic move,” he said, sounding slightly impressed with himself, willing to make this into a joke if I wanted to brush it off.

  Except, as my chest rose and fell, I didn’t want to.

  “Are we dating?” I asked, breathless. “Is that what we’re doing, Dean?”

  He looked at me, his brown eyes so rich, and nodded. “Yeah, Skye, we’re dating.”

  I exhaled the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, unsure just exactly how long I’d been holding it.

  Now I found myself holding my breath again, looking at Krista and our mom in a gymnasium.

  “Who is this guy?” Mom asked.

  “He’s an independent contractor,” Krista said, smiling at me, excited she’d remembered something important to me.

  Mom looked confused. “What does that mean? A contractor of what?”

  “Um,” I said, trying to come up with a response that wasn’t a lie.

  I didn’t want to lie. I didn’t want to seem like I was ashamed of Dean, but I wanted people to get to know him for him, not a list of qualifications they would instantly be against, would immediately write off, judge, and refuse to understand.

  “He’s in the art business. Like, he makes sure that people get the artwork that they want.”

 
; Mom thought about this, slowly nodding her approval.

  “He’s twenty-six,” Krista chimed in. “So I bet he knows exactly what he wants in life, you know? I bet he has his whole life plan mapped out.”

  I made a face at her, wishing she would stop trying to help, but she didn’t notice.

  Mom’s face lit up at this thought. “That’s great to hear he’s such a planner,” she said, even though I hadn’t agreed with the assessment. “Does he want to get married?”

  Only my mother would ask this question after two seconds of knowing a guy existed in my life.

  “Mom,” I said with an eye roll, deciding it was easier to get chided for being rude than try to answer that question.

  “Honey, rolling your eyes is rude,” she said like clockwork. “When do we get to meet this man?”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no. I don’t think that makes sense.”

  “Why not?” Krista asked, smiling at me, really thinking she was being supportive. “You haven’t been this happy in, like, forever. I want to meet the guy who makes you light up. Mom, Skylar even hums in the mornings. She hums all these little love songs when she’s making coffee, and she doesn’t even notice she does it,” she said with a laugh, making our mom smile, as she put her arm around me. “It’s so sweet, baby sis.”

  I buried my face in my hands, wishing I could disappear.

  “Well, if someone makes you that happy, then we have to meet him,” Mom said, placing her hand on my shoulder.

  I was literally stuck between my sister and mother, wishing I could get hit in the head with a basketball, anything to get out of this situation. I took a deep breath, dropping my hands from my face.

  “I don’t think you two will…” I hesitated, not wanting to say they wouldn’t like him, hating there was a world where that could be true. “He’s not like the other guys I’ve dated.”

  It was the most honest I’d sounded all day.

  “You probably just think that because you actually know him,” Krista said, and in another world, this could have been reassuring. “You know all the little details. And over time, we’ll know those, too. But in the meantime, tell us when we can meet him.”