Grown-up (2 page)

The furniture store was located in a light industrial zone and shared the neighborhood with warehouses and various small fabrication businesses. Sam had a corner property, which meant that on nice days, he could roll up one of the big metal doors and he and his dozen or so employees could work with fresh air and a view of the loading docks cross the street. It was, Sam had announced on multiple occasions, his own personal miniheaven.

Austin parked near the front door and climbed the concrete stairs to get inside. The space was big and noisy, with wood dust settling thickly on anything that stayed still for long. Near the entrance was a small area, partially walled off, that served as the office. Austin ducked his head inside, although he didn’t really expect to find his father there. Sure enough, he found only Ben, who kept Sam’s books and dealt with personnel and shipping and sales and… well, basically everything except designing and making furniture. Right now Ben sat in a black chair, eyes glued to a computer monitor. As always, his desk was scrupulously neat, every item lined up precisely and the few papers carefully stacked. There was no extraneous clutter—no family photos or desk toys or empty coffee mugs.

“Hey,” Austin said. “Do you know where my dad is?”

Ben blinked at him for a moment. He was medium height and skinny, with black-rimmed eyeglasses and sandy hair that looked like it would curl if it were longer. He had a pointy chin and a short, slightly upturned nose. Maybe it was the glasses, or maybe the button-down shirts and khaki pants, but he always struck Austin as being kind of old. Until he smiled—at which point Austin would remember that Ben wasn’t much older than him. And he was cute, in a geeky way. But man, the guy really put the
A
in anal—and not in the fun way.

Ben was smiling now. “A new shipment of nice madrone just came in. You know how he is. Like a kid with a new toy.” He gestured toward the back of the building.

“Thanks. I’ll go track him down.”

“I can call him over the intercom if you want.”

“Nah. I need the exercise.”

The building had a high ceiling, and the sounds of power tools, conversations, and radios echoed around in a slightly dizzying way. But Austin loved the smell of the place—freshly cut wood and pungent varnish. The odor always took him back to his early childhood, before his parents divorced, when his dad used to spend all his free time in his garage workshop. Austin’s older brother, Dallas, was generally too caught up in video games and football to take an interest in Sam’s work, but Austin spent hours keeping his dad company. They learned early on that Austin and tools were a dangerous combination, but that was okay. Austin just sat in a ratty old armchair watching Sam work, chatting about school or TV shows or whether Batman or Superman was cooler. Their mutual interest in superheroes in tights was probably a portent of things to come.

Austin exchanged waves with a few of his father’s employees as he crossed the room, heading toward the wood storage area at the far back. Sturdy racks held planks of oak, walnut, cherry, maple, and alder, plus large blocks and smaller bits of rarer stuff. Mahogany. Ebony. Teak. Indian rosewood. Austin’s dad drooled over wood the way other guys drooled over porn.

Sure enough, Austin found Sam leaning over a metal table, reverently stroking a length of light reddish wood.

“Does Bill ever get jealous that you’re cheating on him?” Austin asked.

Sam didn’t even look up. “Nope. He gets his revenge by snuggling up with really sexy depositions.” Then he waved Austin over and gestured at the madrone. “What do you think? I’d originally planned to do a coffee table—wavy along the edges to match the grain. But now I’m leaning toward a tansu.”

“A tonsil?” asked Austin, who knew perfectly well what Sam was talking about, but liked to tease.

“Tansu. Stepped cabinet.”

“Yeah, those are really cool. That’d be pretty.”

Sam nodded decisively, straightened up, and brushed his hands together. People said Austin and Sam looked a lot alike, although Sam’s hair was now more gray than brown and he had a paunch he tended to frown over. “What’s up, kiddo? Or did you come all the way across town to consult on furniture construction?”

Austin tried a boyish grin. “I can’t just stop on by for the pleasure of my progenitor’s company?”

“A four-syllable word—this must be serious. Come on. Let’s head to the office.”

Like an obedient puppy, Austin trailed him back across the floor. Sam had to stop three times along the way to answer employees’ questions, and each time Austin hung around nearby, pretending fascination with drill bits and sandpaper. They finally reached the office, where Ben was typing industriously. He glanced up at them, and maybe Austin looked serious, because Ben said, “Want me to give you guys some privacy?”

Sam looked expectantly at Austin, who nervously scratched his head. “Uh… I guess we can go outside instead. I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

Ben stood. “It’s not a problem. I need to talk to a couple of people about the storefront anyway.” He hurried past them.

“Storefront?” Austin asked Sam.

“It’s just a maybe right now. We’re looking into the possibilities.”

“Of what?”

“I was thinking about retail space. We’re busy enough now, but I wouldn’t mind hiring a few more people. Doing my part for the local economy.” He shrugged. “We’d do okay with it, I think. But we haven’t decided yet. And if we go for it, I don’t know whether we’ll rent a space somewhere else or carve out a showroom here. Pros and cons either way.”

“Sounds fun, Dad. Good luck with it.”

Sam sat in his chair, which was dusty. He didn’t usually spend much time in the office. He motioned Austin to Ben’s seat. It was still warm.

“So?” Sam asked.

“Uh, yeah. It’s… kinda related to that local economy thing you mentioned a few seconds ago. And jobs.” Austin squeezed his eyes shut, sighed, and opened them again. “Can I borrow some money?”

“Again? What now?”

“I sorta got fired from BFF. I talked to Gopal today and he can give me an extra shift, but not enough to cover the bills. I’ll find something else soon. You know me. I just need a little to tide me over.”

“A little, Austin Phoenix Beier?”

As always, Austin winced over being middle-named, and not just because it meant his father was displeased with him. Austin’s mother had named him and his brother after cities where she’d lived. Poor Dallas got stuck with Duluth as his middle name, so Austin couldn’t complain too much.

“Just a few hundred bucks,” Austin mumbled.

Sam rubbed his face. “This is my fault.”

“Um… I’m pretty sure I’m the one who showed up late and got canned.”

“I know. But I’m your father. When you were younger… well, I should have given you more guidance, I guess. Urged you to be more responsible. It’s only—I married your mother very young, and then Dallas came along right away. I wanted you to enjoy the kind of youthful freedom I never had.”

“Jeez, Dad. It’s not like you bought me coke and hookers.”

“I might as well have. I never taught you responsibility.”

“You never…. God. I’m not a serial killer or anything. And you’re not hard up for cash.” Bill made a good income as a lawyer, and although Austin had never seen his father’s books, he had the impression that Sam’s Furniture was doing pretty well.

“Yes, we can afford to help you out. But that’s not the point,” Sam said. He looked up at the ceiling beams for a moment, then sighed and turned his gaze back to Austin. “I’m going to write you a check for a thousand dollars. But this is the last time. I love you and I want you to be happy. But you need to learn to stand on your own two feet. You’re not a young kid anymore.”

Austin’s stomach gurgled unhappily and his face burned with shame. “I’m sorry I’m not like Dallas.”

“I don’t want you to be like Dallas, son. He’s him and you’re you. Besides, I can’t really picture you as an insurance adjuster.” Sam gave a small smile. “Your brother’s a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. Maybe I should be relieved you have a little of your mother’s free spirit.”

Free spirit
was one way to describe her;
fickle as a feather in a windstorm
was more like it. She was currently on husband number five or six—Austin had lost track. They traveled the country in an RV, collecting Pez dispensers and antique golf clubs. She called every few months, and occasionally she even sent postcards. She sounded happy.

“Look, Dad, I’m sorry I’m a screw-up. I really am. But—”

“You’re not a screw-up, kiddo. You have a good heart and you always mean well. I love you.”

A little of Austin’s humiliation and anger ebbed away. “Thanks, Dad. I love you too. And I’ll try harder.” As he looked down at the dusty floor, he had an idea. He smiled at Sam. “How about if I help out here until I get another job? I can work off at least part of the thousand bucks.”

His father looked slightly alarmed, no doubt remembering several unfortunate incidents involving Austin and power tools. “That’s nice of you, Austin, but—”

“I won’t try to cut, hammer, or attach anything. I promise. But I can push a broom. I can help move heavy stuff. Um… without the forklift.” That was another unhappy memory. “But I can carry things. And I can fetch things, or… or….”

Sam held up his hand. “I get the picture. And it’s a good idea, actually. As long as you don’t forget to look for a real job. We could always use an extra pair of hands around here.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Austin stood and looked down at his shoes. They were good ones—expensive, even with the discount from BFF. He didn’t want to scrape them up or drip varnish on them. “Um, can I start tomorrow?”

With a fond shake of his head, Sam waved him away. “I’m sure you’ll be here bright and early at eight.”

“Uh… ten? I’ll stay late to clean up at the end of the day.” Austin was not a morning person.

“Fine.” Sam pulled a checkbook from a drawer, scrawled on it, and tore out the check. He handed it to Austin, who tucked it into his wallet.

“See you tomorrow, son.”

“Thanks, Dad. See you.”

Austin set off directly for the bank, vowing not to misplace this check as he had so many others.

Chapter Three

“H
EY
,
DUDE
.
Want a slice?” Rob sprawled across the couch with a pizza box balanced on his stomach and the remote control in his hand. He was watching
The Brady Bunch
and laughing loudly at whatever Marcia and Greg were up to.

Austin shut the front door and tossed his keys onto the coffee table. “That’s my leftover pizza.”

“It is?”

“And it’s not gluten-free.”

Rob blinked at him. “So… you want a piece?”

“Never mind.” There was no point in arguing with Rob—he’d just lose track of the discussion, shrug, and grin. In theory, Rob was working on a graduate degree in something with-ology in the name. But if he ever actually cracked a book, he did it in secret. When he wasn’t sleeping, he spent most of his time in front of the television. He spent his student-grant money on weed. He seemed content with his life.

Kyle wasn’t home, so Austin slid an envelope with the rent money under Kyle’s bedroom door. Kyle kept it locked, as if he were afraid someone might get into his stashes of PowerBars and
Playboys
. Austin was interested in neither item. Rob might possibly eat the protein bars if he was really desperate, but he likely wouldn’t touch the skin mags—his sex life seemed to consist mostly of stroking his bong.

Austin collapsed onto his bed, stared up at the ceiling, and considered his options. He could head to the mall and put in some job applications, or he could get online and see who was hiring. He could call up some friends to see if they had any employment leads. Or… he could catch up on the most recent season of
Supernatural
.

Dean and Castiel were, as far as Austin could tell, about two seconds from getting naked with each other when Austin’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the text, which was from his friend Randy:
JayJay’s 2night?

The ghost of Jägerbombs past tickled Austin’s taste buds.
Can’t. Gotta work tmrw.

Cmon. Sleep when ur dead.

Austin snorted.
Dad’ll kill me if I flake. Then I’ll b dead.

I need u. Come to JayJay’s or I’ll decide u don’t love me.

For several minutes Austin stared at his phone. Finally, he typed,
Fine. 10.
He could stay at the club for an hour, have just one drink—or maybe two—and be home in time to get plenty of sleep.

J
AY
J
AY
’
S
WASN
’
T
the best club in town. The music was so-so and the dance floor too crowded. The drinks were overpriced. And Austin had already fucked a lot of the guys there, and they’d all fucked each other, so some nights it felt like one big incestuous bitchfest. But it had the major benefit of being within walking distance of Austin’s apartment, so he didn’t have to hassle with taxis or any of that crap. He’d driven drunk a few times when he was in his early twenties. Luckily he hadn’t killed anyone, and he hadn’t been arrested. But he did end up with his car on the front lawn of the house he was living in at the time, and he vowed the following morning not to repeat the performance. That promise, at least, he’d managed to keep.

Having spent a long time deciding what to wear, then styling his hair and dithering over whether to shave, Austin arrived at JayJay’s well after ten. The club’s music spilled out onto the sidewalk, where Randy waited impatiently along with four of their mutual friends.

“You look hot,” said Colton before giving Austin a noisy kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go in. I’m parched.”

When they went inside, the noise hit them like a wall, all rushing, pounding beat and electronic twang. Music without a soul, Sam had said the one time Austin convinced him and Bill to double-date with Austin and… whomever he was seeing at the time. Sam preferred classical, while Bill had a thing for old-school blues. House music wasn’t Austin’s favorite either, but it was good for dancing.