Denying Dylan | ✔️

(14) "How did he die?"

Jenny's antique furniture store has this mothball smell about it. It reminds me of my grandmothers closets. Rest her soul. There's this musk scent that gives me some major nostalgia as I wander around and dust the glass cabinets, vacuum the floors and polish the glasses.

It's my third shift. A Thursday morning and the customers are slow. As far as jobs go, there's little excitement in this one so far. Jenny, Ho's cousin is younger than I thought she would be. I'd guess mid twenties with pin straight black hair and a doll face with swollen cheeks. She's beautiful and her beau who runs the store with her, Paul, is a handsome born and raised athlete from Michigan. He comes in with her breakfast most mornings. It's cute.

As I circle the cluttered store for the fourth time and look for something new to clean, I see a middle aged woman with short hair and an old designer bag. She's staring at an arm chair that would be better set on fire than put in someone's home. It's got a floral pattern and a big brass frame.

"Hello," I smile and sidle up beside her. "How are you?"

"Oh," she looks up as though she's surprised to see me. "Hi. Not bad thanks. How much is this chair?"

"It is," I look over the chair as fast as I can, find a tag and read it. "Three hundred and sixty dollars," I gape but cough and cover my outrage as fast as I can.

She frowns, her thin lips almost disappear and I panic. Not this again.

"It's uh, it's vintage," I tell her, adopting a saleswoman worthy smile. "It's old. So old. And uh, it would look wonderful in your living room."

She folds her arms and gives me a bored stare. "How would you know?"

"Because I'm a medium," I nod and fight the urge to tell her that her frown is going to wrinkle her forehead. What's with the attitude? "I can see your living room. And I know that it'll look so great next to the sofa."

"My sofa is against the wall with a bookshelf on one side and a side table on the other."

I wince. Her living room sounds cluttered. I hold a hand to my head and pretend to be whimsical. "I'm envisioning that you'll move shit around to make it fit."

She lets out a frustrated exhale. "I was considering getting it for my mother in law. But I think that I'll take my business elsewhere."

I watch her turn around and storm toward the exit. "Wait!" I call out. Jen is going to kill me. "I can see how much your mother in law will love this seat. She'll be so disappointed if you don't get it for her!"

The chime of the door is followed by a loud slam and my shoulders fall. Middle aged white women are the worst retail customers. Ever. Jen appears from behind a distressed bookshelf looking not one bit impressed.

"Bethany," she snaps. "That's the fifth customer in three days. I don't know how this is possible, but you're actually making my job harder."

"She just didn't have vision," I shrug as if to say, what can you do? "I mean, that whole medium thing worked on that dude that bought the old guitar on Monday."

"Yeah. It's shocking. Because a medium is someone who communicates with spirits in the afterlife. I don't know what that has to do with someone's living room or future career as a guitarist in a band."

I slap a hand across my mouth and gasp with amusement. "I've been using the wrong word this whole time?!"

Jenny sighs. "I hate to do this, but I have to let you go. It's just not working."

It should be concerning that I'm not disappointed at all. I'd thought about quitting but I would have felt like I was letting Ho and Allie down. Plus, three shifts in, I knew that I needed to give it a fair chance. However, I was not going to be begging for the position back. Perhaps I'd just be one of those people that skips from job to job. A floater. No career. Just a string of random positions that I don't need a qualification for. Mhmm what could I do next? I've always liked the outfits that waitresses wear.