The Drawer Handle
Erin was pissed. She was pissed that she had a massive stack of final exams to grade, she was pissed that her fiancé was prioritizing work over her, she was pissed that a complete stranger had the audacity to pass judgements about her choice of partner, she was even more pissed that her best friend had the audacity to pass judgements about her choice of partner, and above all, she was really, truly pissed about the stupid handle on her dresser that had fallen off that morning.
She was running late when it happened. It had been loose for weeks, but she’d been ignoring it until the moment when she tugged too hard and it came right off, sending her flying onto her ass. For the first time in days, she was glad that Phil wasn’t around. She could just imagine his distasteful sneer if he’d witnessed that.
She went off to work pissed, and got through her day pissed, and came home pissed, and now she was sitting in front of her dresser with the handle in one hand and her address book in the other and debating the ethics of calling Holtzmann. Part of her wanted to stand her ground and make a point, and another part of her knew that she was overreacting (and it wasn’t like Holtzmann had said anything bad about Phil, even if there was some implied judgement).
She contemplated for a few minutes, then picked up her phone and dialed.
“Hello,” came the voice on the other end, “I’ll take a large pepperoni and pineapple pizza with extra cheese.”
Erin blinked. “Uh, sorry? I think you have the wrong number?”
“You called me, Erin.”
“…Holtzmann?”
“That’s who you dialed, isn’t it?” She could hear the smile in Holtzmann’s voice.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen, I’m not in the mood for this. I have a job for you to do, but if you’re going to be difficult then I’ll call someone else.”
Holtzmann was silent on the other side of the line. After a pause, she cleared her throat. “I can be there in 20.”
***
Erin paced back and forth in her bedroom and willed Holtzmann to move faster. The handyman was crouched in front of the dresser with the drawer in her lap, methodically screwing the handle into place. If Erin didn’t know better, she’d say Holtzmann was taking her time on purpose.
“You carry a lot of tension in your shoulders,” she said softly.
Erin froze. “Sorry?”
Holtzmann glanced back at Erin. “You seem tense. Is it because of me, or…”
Erin pressed her lips together. “Of course it’s not because of you.”
Holtzmann held her gaze for a second longer, then turned back to the drawer. She was silent except for the squeak of the screwdriver. After a few moments, she slotted the screwdriver into her toolbelt and slid the drawer back into place, then stood. “Good as new,” she said, her voice hard.
Erin fiddled with her fingers. “That’s that, then.”
“Yep.”
“My chequebook is downstairs. We can—”
Holtzmann held a hand up. “Forget it. That was a two minute job. I’m not taking your money.”
“Exactly,” Erin replied, growing exasperated. “I made you drive all the way over here for a stupid job. Of course I’m going to pay you.”
“Erin. Don’t worry about it. You clearly have a lot going on. It’s on the house.”
“No.”
“I’m leaving, okay?” Holtzmann backed towards the door of the bedroom. “I’ll see myself out. Take care, Erin.”
She slipped out before Erin could say anything else. She stood there for a few moments, listening to the soft thump of footsteps going down the stairs, and then darted forwards.
“Holtzmann!” she shouted from the top of the stairs.
The woman paused at the bottom and crossed her arms. “What?”
Erin stumbled down the stairs to meet Holtzmann. “I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch.”
Holtzmann hitched her toolbelt higher around her waist and lifted an eyebrow.
“I’m going through a rough patch and I’m taking it out on you.” Erin sighed. “I don’t know why I’m even telling you that, because you’re still a virtual stranger, but I feel like I need to explain myself.”
Holtzmann ran a hand through her poof of hair. “I get it, Erin. Don’t worry about me. I’ve had my fair share of mistreatment over the years. Everybody has bad days.”
“But I’m…not usually like this. Or maybe I am, I don’t know. I’m just sorry. There’s no excuse for being rude.”
Holtzmann winced. “I dunno, it’s probably not entirely unwarranted. I think I overstepped the last time I was here. I didn’t mean to…I was just a little worried about you after our first meeting.”
“Worried?” Erin crinkled her nose. “Why?”
“The fight you had with your fiancé. It’s always worrying to me to hear about someone becoming violent when they’re angry, because—” Holtzmann coughed. “Never mind. I should leave.”
Erin caught her arm as she turned to leave. “No, what were you going to say?”
Holtzmann shuffled her weight and squinted. “It’s just…my dad was like that, so I guess I’m a bit more sensitive to that sort of thing than most people.”
Erin didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m sorry…about your dad. But Phil’s not like that, and I consider myself an intelligent woman who—”
“You are, of course you are. So was my mom. It’s just…hard sometimes to see it when you’re that close to someone. Love can cloud a lot, you know? I don’t want to imply anything about your fiancé, because obviously I’ve never met him, but I couldn’t help but…sorry. You can tell me to fuck right off, if you want.”
Erin studied her for a moment, and then, finally: “Do you want to stay for a cup of coffee?”
***
Erin wasn’t exactly sure what had shifted between her and Holtzmann, just that something had. She couldn’t even pinpoint when it happened—sometime between their conversation at the foot of the stairs and their second round of coffee.
“Tell me more about your mom.” Erin took a sip from her periwinkle mug and gazed across the kitchen table at Holtzmann, who was tapping out a rhythm with her spoon on the rim of her own mug.
“She was a painter. Died of a brain aneurism when I was 14, and I was pretty crushed. Left my dad alone to raise me and my siblings, and me and him didn’t see eye-to-eye on a whole lot. It was the gay thing that eventually shattered what little relationship we had, and after that I packed up and embarked on the road trip that led me here.”
“You’re gay?”
Holtzmann made a face. “You’re surprised?”
“I didn’t want to assume based on…your profession.”
Holtzmann smirked. “And the flirting didn’t give me away?”
“Were you flirting with me?” Erin let a smile twitch. “I didn’t notice.”
Holtzmann pointed the spoon at her. “Did that faux-ignorance shtick work on your fiancé?”
“As a matter of fact, it did.”
“Intereeesting.”
Erin blushed. “So, how many siblings do you have?”
“Three, now. Two brothers and a sister, all older. My baby brother died a few years back. Work accident.”
“Big family.”
Holtzmann hummed. “What about you? What’s the Gilbert family like? You said your parents got divorced?”
“Not much interesting to report there. It was a fairly standard situation. They didn’t love each other any more. Fought constantly, but kept it a secret from my brother and I. They didn’t tell us they were having problems until the divorce was already underway, and I was well into my adult life by that point. Like I said, I got the house out of the whole fiasco, so I can’t be too angry about it.”
“Younger or older brother?”
“Older. Ten years older, actually. They were only supposed to have one…I was the accident.”
Holtzmann pouted her lower lip. “Ouch. So it was just the four of you in this big house growing up?”
“It was a symbol of wealth, not a practical home. My father was a very successful businessman, and he wanted to show that off.”
“You sound bitter. Why do you still live here? Why not sell it and move someplace smaller?”
Erin shrugged. “It would feel dishonest to do that when it was a gift. When they’ve both passed away, maybe. It’s not like there’s a whole lot of sentimental value in keeping it. It’s just a house. At this point, the cost of maintaining it is becoming irritating.”
“Hey, I take offence to that,” Holtzmann joked.
Erin laughed.
Holtzmann glanced at her watch. “Is that really the time? I gotta get going. I have another job today.”
Erin consulted the digital clock on the stove. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry for keeping you for so long.”
“No, no, don’t apologize. This was…nice.”
Erin thumbed a drop of spilt coffee from the surface of the table. “I’m sorry again for being so crabby earlier. Like I said, there’s no excuse.”
Holtzmann cracked a smile. “And like I said, it’s all good.”
They stood simultaneously with a scraping-back of chairs and Erin led Holtzmann to the foyer.
“Are you sure you won’t take money, Holtzmann?”
Holtzmann shook her head. “Erin, please. A few cups of coffee and a pleasant chat with you are well worth the drive over. By the way…you can call me Holtz if you want.”
“Holtz,” Erin repeated. “Do you not have a first name?”
“I lost it,” Holtz deadpanned.
Erin laughed.
“Anyway, I really should be going,” Holtzmann said as she opened the door. “Thanks again for the coffee.” She stepped outside and jogged down the steps, then paused and turned. “Oh, and Erin? If you want to get some of that tension worked out, I know a guy.” She tapped her own shoulder. Then she smiled goofily and waved. “See ya!”
Erin stood in the doorframe and watched her climb into her truck and drive away, and it wasn’t until her feet started to get cold that she realized she’d been standing there for too long, and disappeared back into the house.