Part 1
“Yeah, sure. I can fix this,” the plumber tells me. His legs are the only thing still visible after the rest of him disappeared entirely under the kitchen sink. “Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Hang on...”
Still not fully awake, I take a sip from my coffee watching him. Some scrambled eggs and a half-eaten PB&J sandwich are spread out on the plate in front of me. Early breakfast that is. Why do these people always have to come by so early? Not that I don’t appreciate their help, but still.
“So,” he says. “What do you do?”
“Huh?”
“Like, as a job?”
“Oh, right. Uh, I work in IT. If you wanna call it that.”
“So you’re good with computers and stuff?”
“Right.”
“Huh,” he remarks. “How’s that paying off?.”
“I get by,” I tell him. “I mean, I get all the benefits from my employer. Insurance, paid vacation, stuff like that. The money could be better, but you won’t see me complain.” I sigh. “Lately, most of my salary’s been spent on cat food anyway.”
“Yeah, I saw the dumpster outside, just loaded up with empty cans,” the plumber wonders. “What’s up with that anyway?”
“Well, you see,” I start to explain, but I don’t really have to. The answer to his questions comes strolling into the kitchen just then, and he’s just as much a sorry sight this morning as I probably am.
Wings folded against his back, Marco wearily drags his 300-something pounds forward. Stopping short of the plumber’s legs, he stares at them bemusedly for a moment. A yawn escapes his throat, briefly exposing his fangs.
“Did you turn another light on out there?” the plumber wonders. I didn’t, of course. It’s just Marco’s halo radiating throughout the room in a sickly lime green color that doesn’t look healthy to me at all. Unsure how to phrase my response, I decide to just not say anything at all. The plumber doesn’t seem to mind.
“I was wondering what all the noise was all about. Forgot this guy was gonna be over,” Marco grumbles, as he attempts to push the pair of legs aside. “Hey, excuse me. But I have the worst hangover right now.”
I frown. It takes a lot of red wine to get a fully grown lion into the state he’s currently in. I don’t know if the wings or the supposed sainthood implied by that Ikea lampshade behind his skull have any influence on his drinking capacities, but I don’t really care either. Right now, I shake my head in disapproval, trying to make him feel bad. He just brushes me off.
“Who’s that?” the plumber asks. He doesn’t see what’s happening out here of course. “That your son or something?”
“More like my roommate.”
“Oh, I see. That job of yours not paying so well after all?”
“How about you just do yours?”
“Uh...sure. On it.”
Marco’s gaze slowly wanders back and forth between me and the plumber’s legs during our short interaction. Once or twice, he absent-mindedly tugs at the blue shirt that covers his upper forelegs, shoulder blades and part of his torso. The part on his chest reads something like Avanti Azzuri in capital golden letters. Whatever that means.
I suppose I should be happy if half of what was said even arrived in that thick brain of his. He doesn’t look very attentive. More like he’s gonna be sick, really.
“Care for some breakfast?”
“Not hungry,” he mumbles. “I could go for some painkillers though...what?” he adds, seeing my disappointed look.
“We talked about this,” I say, and his face turns sour. He turns his back on me and strolls back towards the hallway. When arriving with the plumber, he gently tugs on his pants again.
“Hey mister, there’s a purple bucket somewhere under there. Care to pass it over?”
“Sure, just a second...”
The plumber reemerges from beneath the counter a moment later, the bucket in question firmly in his grasp. Finding himself face to face with Marco however, he quickly freezes and stares into the lion’s face with wide eyes. Marco regards him with a crooked grin, before he grabs the bucket and turns to leave. Just before he disappears into the hallway, he shoots me another resentful look.
“Up for two minutes because I can’t even get any sleep in this house, and I’m feeling like crap already,” he complains. “If I throw up all over your boyfriend’s cashmere again, it’s your fault and yours alone. For the record.”
As he leaves for the living room and the glow from his halo slowly dissipates in the kitchen, the plumber snaps out of his stupor and shoots me a wide-eyed look.
“That’s where all the cat food went,” I say.
“Boyfriend, huh?” he wonders. “Well, don’t worry about it. I got a couple friends like, uh, like that. Still, uh...what’s with the kitty? That’s your pet, or...what?”
“You call him a pet, I call him an annoying jackass,” I muse. “And that’s me being generous.”
“Uh-huh. What pet shop sold you anything this big, anyway?”
“Why, do you want him?”
“Well, no,” he admits. I feel my shoulders slump. “But my daughter, well, she turns five next month. And she wants nothing more than her own pony. I told her it’s not gonna happen. But if someone can keep an animal like this one, I just thought, well, maybe it’s not so unrealistic after all.”
“Ponies suck,” I say. “Bunch of arrogant pricks. Anyway, I didn’t really want to get Marco. He just kinda...showed up one day. I was in the living room writing some code with a movie set in Venice running on TV in the background. Next thing I know there’s a thump on the floor beside me, and he’s just laying there, looking at me awkwardly. Then he mumbled something about feeling dizzy, and, uh...”
I wince.
“Then he threw up over your boyfriend’s cashmere.”
“...yeah, he did.”
The plumber folds his arms.
“I’m not an expert on animals or anything like that, but that sounds pretty rude. Don’t you think?”
“I guess it is,” I say. “But I’m no expert either. So, not really my place to judge.”
“Right.”
He ducks back under the sink and keeps working, while I keep going on with my breakfast. Once or twice, I check my phone for any new messages, but there’s nothing really worth mentioning. By the time I finish my sandwich, it’s gotten all cold and soggy. Go figure.
“Alright, that should do it,” he says after a few minutes, and gets up. “Let’s try this now.”
He turns on the tab, and no doubt about it. The water comes flowing as flawlessly as it did the day I moved in here. As he turns it back off, I scratch my head. That’s at least one thing properly taken care of.
“Okay then. Unless there’s anything else, I’ll be on my way,” he says. “I’ll mail you the bill in a couple of days. Sound fair?”
“As fair as it gets,” I say. “And hey, thanks again. I don’t know what else I would’ve done.”
“Eh, don’t mention it. It’s what I do.”
He strolls into the hallway, slips on his boots and leaves. After I finish my scrambled eggs, I place the plate and cutlery into the sink, thinking that’s all I can do for now. A moment later, I remember that’s not all I can do for now, turn back around, and clean them all off. Who knew life can sometimes be easier with a broken sink.
