The Handymann

Holtzmann felt like shit.

Her tendency to cut through bullshit and say what others wouldn’t was just as much a detriment as it was an asset. Why did she have to call out what they were doing, anyway? If she’d just stayed silent, like most people would, then they wouldn’t be here.

But where would they be, exactly? Still dancing around each other, each knowing how dangerous this was but doing it anyway?

No, this was better.

She still felt like shit, though.

***

She threw herself into work, taking on every job offered to her, letting herself get lost in mind-numbing menial tasks. A few days passed and her mind was just as fried, although now she was as physically exhausted as she was mentally.

She was childproofing a house for a client on Friday evening, just fitting her third toilet with a safety lock, when her cell rang. She fished it out and glanced at the screen, then froze.

Seriously? She’d only lasted three days?

She shouldn’t answer. They’d agreed, no more calls.

She accepted the call.

“What, Erin?”

“Holtzmann?” Erin sounded slightly hysterical, and like she was crying.

“What’s going on?”

“I n-need you to come immediately; it’s an emergency!”

“What’s going on?” Holtz repeated.

“A-a pipe burst. Please, please, I need you. I don’t know who else to call!” She sounded like her hysteria was mounting.

Holtz stared into the toilet in front of her. Was she going to regret this? She had a number of friends she could send over there.

“Hang on, I’ll be there soon.”

***

Holtz screeched to a stop in front of the house and unloaded her stuff faster than ever. She reached the front door, knocked a few times, and waited. There was no sound of movement inside. She tried the knob. Unlocked. Erin was probably busy trying to keep the house from flooding. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Instantly, something felt wrong. It was too quiet. No rushing water, not a drip. Maybe Erin had got it under control?

“Erin?” she called.

Nothing.

An unsettling feeling pricked at her skin. She set down her tools in the entranceway, suddenly feeling like she was at a crime scene.

Oh, fuck.

What if it had been a distress call for another reason? What if Erin was in trouble?

She choked down the sickening feeling rising in her, grabbed her heaviest wrench to use as a weapon if need be, and crept through the archway into the living room. Her eyes swept the room but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She moved into the kitchen.

There was a whimper.

She stepped around the island in the middle of the kitchen, and there was Erin, on the floor in front of the dishwasher with her knees curled to her chest, shaking and crying.

In a flash, Holtz dropped beside her, the wrench clattering to the tile. “Erin, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“There’s n-no burst pipe. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who else to call. Oh God, I’m such an idiot, I’m an idiot. Abby warned me, and you warned me, and I’m an idiot.”

Holtz froze. “The fiancé.”

Erin, if possible, contracted further into herself and nodded.

Holtz’s hands clenched into fists. “Did he hurt you? Where is that motherfucker?”

“No, no, he didn’t, he—oh God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Stop saying that. What happened?”

“I-it’s our anniversary, and he said he had to work late, and I thought I’d go surprise him at work instead of moping around here, and—” She started crying harder.

Oh. Holtz could see where this was going.

“He’s cheating on me,” Erin wailed. “He’s been cheating on me for months. With his secretary. It was all there. How could I be such an idiot?”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“I am! What kind of awful alternate universe am I living in that my fucking fiancé is cheating on me with his secretary?”

Holtz had never heard Erin swear before.

“It’s so clichéd!” Erin continued. “But she’s not even young and hot! She’s older than me, and he would still rather sleep with her than me! What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s him. Everything’s wrong with him.”

“Her name is Phyllis. Phyllis. How conceited do you have to be? She’s like the female version of him!”

“I’m sorry, Erin.”

“And then here I am calling you afterwards, and I realize how that looks, and God, seriously, what is wrong with me?”

Holtz sighed and slid down to her ass so she was sitting across from Erin with her back against the island. “This stuff happens, Erin. Not just in movies and books.”

“But not to me. When did my life become like this?” She gestured between them. “I’m just a high school math teacher from a small town. I’m supposed to get married to a nice guy who works a boring 9-5 office job, and have a few babies to fill this big house, and grow old and retire and lead a perfectly normal, stable life.”

“Well, first of all, that sounds boring. Second of all, that woman you described? That’s not you. That sounds like some two-dimensional stock character. Drama like this? Makes for an interesting life.”

“What if I don’t want that? It’s like you said, I don’t want to live out a terrible, one-star drama, queer or not.”

“Erin, your life isn’t a movie, okay? It never will be. You want to know why? You’re a person, not a character, and you have agency. Besides, if we were in a movie, we’d be having some big scene right now where I say something cheesy like ‘I can fix your broken heart. I’m good at fixing things’ and you realize that you have nothing holding you back, and we have a passionate kiss right here on your kitchen floor while the camera pans out, all the way to a wide view of the house. Then it cuts to five years later, and we’re still in the house, except now we’re together and living out a perfect picture of domesticity.”

Erin snorted through her tears.

“But obviously that’s not going to happen, because even if something’s gonna happen between us, it’s not gonna happen for a while. You’re just getting out of a five year relationship, and it’s going to take time for you to process that.”

“Of course.”

“Maybe even years.”

“I know.” Erin’s tears are subsiding a bit.

“You know the great thing about not being in a movie? Your life isn’t already written. In time you’ll feel freer, now that you don’t have marriage-babies-retirement all mapped out with what’s his name.”

“You’re right. I just don’t know what to do with myself now.”

“Well,” Holtz said, “I know what we’re going to do right now.” She stood up and grabbed Erin’s hand to pull her to her feet as well. “We’re going to walk into your living room, and we’re going to watch some X-Files, and that is as much of a plan as you need right now.”

Holtz stopped to get Erin some water, and then they did just that. As they settled into the couch and Erin pulled up Netflix, Holtz reached out and took Erin’s hand.

“I’m going to hold your hand, because that’s what a friend would do for a friend in crisis,” she announced.

Erin said nothing, just pushed play on a random episode. They watched the opening scene in silence. It was only as the theme song started that Holtz glanced down at their linked hands.

“Your ring is gone,” she observed.

Erin looked there as well. “I, uh, threw it down the garbage disposal.”

Holtz shook her head. “See, that was a mistake. Now you lost out on the money you could’ve made selling it, and you’ve probably broken the garbage disposal in the process.”

“I’m not too worried,” said Erin, “I know a great handyman.”

***

Five years later

Erin swung the sledgehammer into the drywall, sending up a cloud of dust as she broke through.

Holtz took another step back and slung her crowbar over her shoulder. “Good one!”

Erin looked back at her through her safety goggles. “I’m getting better at this!”

Holtz grinned in response. “You’re doing great, babe.”

Erin turned back to the wall and swung again. Holtz watched her put her all into it. Were there sleeker ways of taking a wall down? Absolutely. Did Holtz care? No.

Erin paused and wiped sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. “Can I take a break?”

“No. Never.”

Erin set the tool down and gave Holtz a shove.

“Hey, now you got drywall dust all over my shirt!”

“It’s everywhere anyway.”

Holtz stuck her tongue out. “Come on, Demolition Diva, let’s go get you a drink.”

Erin pulled her work gloves off and let them fall to the plastic-covered ground. “Whose idea was it to sell a perfectly good house and buy a fixer-upper, again?”

“Yours, hon. All yours.”

Erin pushed her safety goggles to the top of her head. “That is not true. I would’ve been happy buying a new build, and you know that.”

They made their way to the kitchen, which had been completed during the first phase of renovations. Erin took a seat at the table while Holtz poured her a glass of iced tea from the pitcher in the fridge. She sat across from her and pushed the glass towards her.

Erin took a big gulp and set it back down. “You’re the best.”

“I’m aware.”

Erin drummed her fingers on the sturdy oak, and light from the low-hanging chandelier glinted off the ring on her left hand. Holtz smiled to herself. She never got tired of seeing it there. Smaller than the one that came before it, but Erin concurred it was more her taste. It melded together with the simpler band nestled beside it.

“Come on, drink up,” Holtz said. “I’d like to get that wall down by lunch.”

Erin groaned. “Can’t you do it?”

“I’m saving my energy for the more difficult tasks later.”

“This is hard!”

“Yes. You’re right. It is. But I mean technical difficulty. Like, skill level.”

“This takes skill!”

“Erin, I love you, but no.”

Erin pouted. “I’m going to go on strike to protest unfair working conditions.”

“I’ll join you.”

“What are you striking about? You haven’t done anything!”

“I did the entire kitchen!”

“I helped. I picked out the cabinets and tile and countertops and just about everything else.”

“And I installed them, yeah.”

“If I knew marrying a handyman was going to be like this, I never would’ve done it.”

“Hashtag not all handymen.”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Seriously, help me out with the wall.”

“Okay, but only if you agree to tear up the bathtub when we get to the bathroom in a few weeks.”

Erin’s face contorted. “Oh.”

“How ‘bout after you finish this, you can go back to picking out the paint colours for our new open-concept living area?”

Erin considered that. “But breaking stuff is kinda fun.”

Holtz dropped her head into her hands. “Good Lord, woman, I can’t keep up with you.”

“I want to keep demolishing stuff, but I want you to help.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. “You committed to teamwork forever, remember?”

“Forever’s such a long tiiiime.” Holtz reached across the table and grabbed Erin’s hand in hers, giving it a kiss for good measure. “I’ll help you out. Can you blame me for standing back and admiring the view, though? You look hot tearing down a wall.”

“That is neither here nor there.”

“It’s very important.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“And yet, you married me.”

“You weren’t my first choice.” Erin smirked over the rim of her iced tea.

“Buuuuurn. You take that back.”

“No.”

“Erin Gilbert, I swear, take it back or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

Holtz got up and climbed into Erin’s lap, straddling her. “Take it back.”

“Or?”

Holtz hooked a finger under Erin’s chin and tilted it up, then dipped her head down so there was only an inch of space between their faces. She studied Erin for a few moments, then closed the distance to kiss her.

When she broke away after a few seconds, Erin looked a little dazed. “I take it back. You were my first choice.”

“Damn straight.” Holtz swung her leg and dismounted Erin’s lap. She extended a hand to Erin. “Now come on, this house isn’t going to remodel itself.”

Erin took her hand with a smile. “Let’s do it.”