Chapter 19

August 2nd, 2004

I sat down gently and squeezed my hands together as the man across from me put on a pair of reading glasses that still had the sale tag on them. He picked up the neat folder and opened it, adjusting his glasses and holding the papers at arms length. Clearly he had bad vision.

"It's Weiss, right? I ain't sayin' that wrong?"

"Yes sir, that's correct."

"Ah, good. Y'know if I say it wrong, ya gotta tell me."

"Of course."

He flipped through the pages.

"So yer a musician?"

"I'm… a high school student, sir. I play music as a hobby."

"Which high school do ya go to?"

"Sir Robert Borden."

"Huh."

He paused, studying the pages like they were some epic novel.

"You uh… Says here you don' wanna be a cashier."

I paused, trying not to sweat.

"I would prefer not to, but I am willing to learn."

He pushed out his bottom lip and nodded towards the folder.

"Arright. That's good. Ya came right to me, though, not to the ladies up front to drop this off."

He looked over at me over the top of his glasses, holding my folder in one hand.

"Y-yes, sir."

"So you're tellin' me you wanna work in Automotive."

"Preferably, yes."

He put the folder down.

"Okay, so why should I hire you out of all the other resumes?"

"W-well, I'm a passionate hard worke-"

He raised a hand to stop me, and pointed back down to the folder.

"I don' need you to recite yer resume to me, I want you to tell me what's interesting about you in your words."

"Isn't… that what my cover letter was for?"

He blinked, frowning, before opening up my folder again.

"Oh, you wrote a cover letter. See, no one else ever gave me one before, I didn't notice it."

He shrugged and closed the folder.

"So instead of me wasting your time an' reading it now, why don'tchu tell me about yourself personally, instead of in writing?"

"Uh, well, I'm really passionate."

"Passionate about what?"

I paused.

"Not being broke?"

He seemed to take a second for his brain to process, before smiling and chuckling loudly with a big toothy grin.

"That's uh… that's a good thing to be passionate about." He wiped the corner of his eye on his wrist. "Good answer, I like it."

"Thank you, I worked hard on it."

"Excellent, excellent…" he rocked back on his chair. "Kay, so why Automotive? Why not see Shelley in Hardware or Marc in Proshop?"

"I-I guess because I like cars?"

He paused with a smirk.

"You like cars?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know a lot about cars?"

"I would say so."

"Huh…" He paused. "You seem a little… young to be sayin' you know a lot. Normally that takes time."

"I read a lot, sir."

"You ever work on cars?"

I tried not to grin or seem smug.

"I helped my sister rebuild a seventy-three Pontiac from the ground up."

"So you know your way around a set o' wrenches, then."

"I would say so."

He clasped his hands together and set them down on his desk.

"Why isn't that on your resume, then?"

I bit my lip.

"I di- I did - I didn't think it was relevant."

"You didn't think that was relevant? You mean to say that you wanna come work for me, here, in the Automotive department of Canada's national car parts supplier, and you don't think it's relevant to tell your potential employer that you know about and can fix cars?"

"I thought resumes are supposed to be professional."

He shrugged.

"Depends on the profession."

"Oh, I-"

"This isn't a suit an' tie law firm, ya know. It's retail. This is a very nice resume. Way too nice for us here. But that's good. DO you have your own toolbox?"

"Uh, my sister has one, but we share it."

"What does the inside of it look like? Tools thrown in whatever drawer ya opened, all messy?"

"No, it is very organized and neat. Tools are put back only exactly where they go."

"Spend a lot of time fixin' it, do ya?"

"Yes sir, my sister is very messy with her tools."

"You'll notice I'm the same as you with my department. It's very neat. Organized."

"Yes, I saw on my way in."

"You think you can keep it that way?"

"Yes, I can."

"Good." He smiled, reaching down and opening a drawer. He tossed a plastic package onto the table between us. "Take this."

I reached for it slowly. It was a bag with a red shirt in it.

"What is this?"

"Put it on. It's a good thing you're wearing black pants already. I'll be at the desk out there."

He stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him. I was at a loss. I really didn't know what to do further than submit a resume and perform sufficiently in an interview in front of some kind of board of directors. I glanced down at my right palm, which I had scribbled a short cheat sheet on how to impress in an interview as told to my by my sister. I hadn't used any of the hints. Which was fine by me, since due to the nervous rubbing of my hands, I had rubbed the note right off. Oops.

"Wait, does this mean I'm hired?"

Since there was no one to confirm or deny me, I shrugged, sighed, and grabbed the plastic package and tore it open. I pulled the red golf shirt out and held it up, looking at the low-quality plastic buttons and the not-exactly straight stitching around the sleeve cuffs. Whatever, I didn't have to pay for it, so what did I care. Since the door had a window on it that looked directly into the auto shop, I elected to forgo a proper change and just pulled it down over the argyle sweater vest and white blouse. Yeah, it was gonna get warm, but that was fine, there was air conditioning. I stood up, and tossed the empty plastic bag into the trash can before stepping back out onto the store floor, coming out behind the service desk. I didn't see the manager anywhere.

"Mister Port?"

"Over 'ere. 'Hind the batteries."

I stepped carefully around the corner to the parts desk, seeing the manager behind a rack of car batteries that separated the retail floor from the warehouse. I was tentative to follow. I stepped through the little swinging Employees Only door and into the dimly lit back warehouse. It was very cramped, and it was absolutely full floor to ceiling with parts and products. My head was spinning a little.

"Now, I can't remember, I was jus' lookin' at it too. Is it e-i or i-e the spelling of your name?"

"Uh, e-i."

"Okay, good. Two s's?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cyool."

He fiddled with a label printer for a second, the device crick-cracking as it a label out. He took it, and slapped it loudly onto a door in the middle of a row of lockers that was hidden out of sight by a curtain.

"This is your locker. You can use it for yer coat or whatever. Throw pens in it, put candy in there, I don't care. Now c'mon, I'll give you a tour."

I nodded and followed the rotund manager through the very narrow aisles, the light from the retail floor dying out as we pushed deeper into the warehouse. The smell of oil from a fifty-foot long row of boxes was pungent.

"So, where're ya from?"

I balked.

"Uh, thirteen twenty Midland Crescent."

Mr. Port chuckled.

"No, I meant geographically. Your accent, it's very subtle. Where're ya from?"

"Oh, uh, sorry, Hamburg. Germany."

"A kraut, eh? I thought I recognized that accent."

A peculiar point, since my native accent had all but vanished by this point in my life. I mean, there were still some hints of it in my speaking, but so very few that I could pass for a native Canadian pretty easily. To that point, Mr. Port's accent was out in the open, very brash and very Quebecois. But I guess when you work in the service industry, you start to gather an understanding of vocal patterns whether you know it or not. And I suspect he took great pride in this.

"Yeah, I moved here when I was six, but I did learn to speak German first. Then French, then English."

"Oh, you speak French, do ya?"

"Yes sir. But Parisian French, not French-Canadian. And not very well, it's been a few years."

He shrugged.

"Well, you're the only person on staff who's tri-lingual, I'll tell ya that. And you can call me Peter, you don' have to keep sayin' 'sir' all the time."

"Alright, I can do that."

"Good." he said, accentuating the d sound. "So over 'ere is where we keep paint, you'll notice it's supposed to be a closed cage, but I got tired of the door so I took it off."

"Is that what this is, then?" I asked, pointing to a large metal grate that was shoved sloppily in between two shelves.

"Yeah, that'd be it. You know why paint's supposed t' be locked up?"

I paused.

"Uh, in case a can explodes?"

"Heh, no, it's to stop employees from stealing it. But I figure that my employees are pretty reliable 'round here. Well, most of 'em."

I tried not to think too hard about how Peter viewed his team, and followed him up a very rickety flight of metal stairs to the warehouse's upper floor. Which appeared to be made of plywood loosely screwed to the regular shelving. If this was to code, the code was extremely out of date.

"So this is the tire warehouse. You'll probably spend a lot of time up here. It is in th' name of the store, after all. We get a shipment of tires every day, and somebody has to put them up off the floor, eh?"

"I guess so."

The smell of rubber was immense. But so was the sheer quantity of black and round that lined the shelves. There must have been close to two thousand tires in this cramped space. How Peter could even move around with how thin the aisles were was a mystery. I suspect it had something to do with how fast he moved, brute-forcing his way through and around a corner.

"This is hardware, you won't have to worry about this. Straight down here at the end is seasonal. You'll see people milling about up here when they don't wanna be seen. C'mon."

I followed him back down another set of sketchy metal stairs and into a more open area of the warehouse, with two big metal garage doors on the far wall.

"This is receiving, we typically get two trucks a day to those doors full of product."

"Do I have to unload them?"

Peter chuckled and tucked his thumbs into his pockets.

"No, no, that's what the receiving staff is for. They take the product out of the trucks, put it on red carts, then push it out to the departments. Then it's your job to put the product on the shelves. That's the system we got goin' on here. Let's head back and I'll get you acquainted with the computer."

I was led back through the cramped and overstocked warehouse and back to my locker, and through the swinging door that led back to the parts and service desks. On the parts desk were a pair of computers, both displaying green-on-black DOS-style screens covered in numbers that I didn't understand yet. I was guided up to the close one, and Peter moved himself around to the far side of the desk.

"Right, this is our part supply system, called LaserKat. Don' ask me about the name, I don' know why either. Generally when a customer comes up to the desk, they're either gonna want to bother you or they're gonna want a part. And so first thing you gotta do is figure out what kinda car it's for. Click on the thing that says 'Parts and Service'."

I fiddled with the mouse for a second, clicking on what he had asked. A pop up window came up.

"Okay, now, everything that comes up on screen like that, you generally wanna ask as a question to get more information. Now, what kinda car did you say your sister had?"

"A seventy-three Catalina Grand Safari."

He nodded with an impressed look.

"Big car. Said you worked on it?"

"Yes, I did. I helped."

"Good, good. Okay, let's say I'm you, comin' in and I need a wheel cylinder for that car. Click the button that says 'Automotive'."

I did as I was told. A big menu came up on screen with every year from nineteen fifty to two thousand five. Funny, that was next year. It made sense though, since some new cars were marketed as Oh-Fives. Remembering what he had said, I looked to him and posed the pop-up as a question.

"What year?"

He smiled.

"You got this already. Nineteen seventy three."

I clicked.

"Make?"

"Pontiac."

I clicked again, having to search through like seventy names.

"Model?"

"It's probably gonna come up as 'Full-Size' in there."

"Oh, I see it. It says 'Full-Size', and then in brackets 'Catalina' and a bunch of others."

"Yeah, click on that."

Another pop-up.

"Engine? Uh, it's a four-hundred. That's not either of these."

Peter leaned over the desk.

"Yeah, these are in litres. So, you're smart, what's four hundred cubic inches in litres?"

I paused, gritting my teeth.

"Six and a half?"

"That's right, so pick that one. Or, Six-point-six in this case. Most car engines in here are rated in litres, 'cause most are Japanese and metric. The only conversions you'll have to remember is that three-fifty is five point seven, and three-oh-five is five litres."

I nodded and clicked on the motor.

"I mean… I could just do the conversion in my head for everything."

"Yeah, I guess so, but remember that most normal people can't, so don't go showin' off."

I broke a smile, which quickly went away as a menu of about thirty different headings popped up.

"Uh, what next?"

"Well, I asked for a wheel cylinder, and that's part of the braking system. So, which button do you think you should click?"

I studied the list. It was pretty obvious.

"I'm gonna guess 'Brakes'."

"I knew you were smart. Go on."

Another, shorter menu.

"Uh…"

"Well, it wouldn't be under pads and rotors, so…"

"Brake hydraulics."

"That's right."

I clicked. A new list filled the screen, covered in product numbers, quantities and prices. Peter stood up and sauntered around to my side of the desk, and fished his glasses out of his pocket again.

"Okay, this is the sales and inventory list. This shows you whatcha got in stock and how much it , I wasn't specific with which cylinder I wanted, but they're all here on the list, front left, front right, rear left and right. Now, at this point, you'd as the customer…"

"Which wheel cylinder are you looking for?"

He nodded.

"Let's uh… front right." he pointed at the screen. "Now, you read here for which one it is, then you read across for how many we have and how much it is. Oh, would you look at that, there's one in stock."

"It's nineteen-ninety-nine."

"Twenny bucks. Not bad. Alright, there, you looked up a part. Real easy, right?"

"Uh, I guess so."

"Good." He slapped me on the shoulder, almost knocking me into next week with how meaty his mits were. "Now, the most common thing a customer is gonna ask for here is oil and filters. So let's do that now."

I nodded and moved my mouse up to the top corner to close the program and reload it.

"Ah, wait, now hold on."

I paused.

"You don't gotta close it every time. Go up to the top of the page and click 'New Vehicle'."

I followed his instruction. Only the popup for year showed up. It was all starting to click in my head.

"Okay."

"Right, let's find us a filter. Pick another car."

I thought for a second.

"My sister's truck."

"Go fer it."

I spun the mouse around the screen to see where it was, lining up with 1996, then Ford, then F-Series. Since the old truck had been a Royal Canadian Navy service vehicle before we'd bought it surplus, it had the biggest engine available, the black-hole fuel vacuum of a Four-Sixty. Seriously, it would have been more efficient to set fire to the truck and roll it down a hill. I clicked the correct selection.

"Okay, now, since this system is a li'l bit helpful sometimes, they put the most used button first. Click on Oil and Filters."

I did. Another list popped up, and without prompting, I clicked on Filters & PCV. This brought up a list like before, with a long list of product numbers and pricing for a whole slew of different products.

"So, at this point, you can offer yer customers a choice. High-brow synthetic filters, cheap and cheerful Motomaster brand, or somethin' in the middle. Most people don' really care, so I usually feed 'em the middle of the road and they don't complain. Now, scroll to th' bottom of the page, you'll see viscosity and capacity. 'Cause once they pick their filter, nine times outta ten they come back askin' 'bout what kinda oil they're gonna need. So I like to have it ready."

"I think that's a good idea."

Peter chuckled, grasping at his belly.

"Of course it is, it's my idea. Now, when you 'n yer sister work on the Catalina, what kinda filters do you guys use? Fram? Mobil1? K&N?"

"Uh, usually genuine General Motors replacement parts."

"Geez, is your sister made of money?"

"Well… she does like her car to look original. And it did win Best in Show at the Valentine's day car show this year."

"Oh, that's good." he paused to sigh. "Well, next on th' list then, if oil filters are gonna be big 'round here, and they are, why don't you grab a basket, head into aisle four, and uh, fill up any holes you see in the shelves of filters."

I nodded assuredly. "I can do that."

"I like your attitude. If only the rest of the department was like you. Now, there's a buncha ways you can do this, you can write down all the product numbers you need and only get the right amount, or you can load up a cart with all of them and just fill the shelves that way. Up to you. Just don't try to be like me and try to remember all the numbers in yer head, you'll go crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy. Besides, I'm really good with numbers."

He smirked.

"Alright, then let's see how much you can do without writing it down. Get on it."

/.../

I have a head for numbers. I'm good with patterns. I mean, this should be obvious, but it's theorized that people with high math skills also make for good musicians. And I believe the inverse is true, those who are skilled in the musical arts make better mathematicians. Thusly, it isn't hard to make the connection that since I have perfect pitch and am a fairly competent piano player that I'd be good with remembering the hundreds upon hundreds of product numbers that come with a retail job.

And truth be told, I was. Numbers were easy. Sorting product was easy. They weren't products, really, just neatly organized numbers. And I like numbers. For the two years I worked for that store, I was good with numbers, and I made sure all the numbers were right. Funny that the very first day I was given a clipboard and instructed to count every product in the Automotive department and compare it to a master list to make sure the inventory count was correct, then. Because I was good at that. So come the middle of the day, I had already cruised through the first two aisles and submitted a list of adjustments for Peter to pass on to the lady upstairs. Now I was up to aisle four again, and now that I had refilled all the shelves, counting product and filling out my clipboard was easy.

I sat back on my knees and held my tongue in my teeth. This wasn't exactly a hard job. Write down product number, check product number, make a series of tally marks, then compare it to the master list. Easy. It just meant you were uncomfortable for a bit while you checked the lower shelves. And I'll be honest, the fancy dress pants I had picked out for my interview didn't lend a lot of flexibility to being on the floor. And the floor was making them dirty. That was a shame. But, you know, I had a washing machine and I knew how to use it. A few customers had come up to me for questions, and the few I didn't know off hand I sent to Peter at the desk. But some of their questions were easy, like 'where's the washroom', and 'how late are you open', so it wasn't like I was completely helpless. Just mostly helpless. I sighed and reached out to count one of the rows of filters.

"Excuse me, could you help me find a filter?"

See, most customers would ask for help from about six feet away, but this one came from right in my ear. I coiled up like a spring and dropped my clipboard.

"Juu-ahhhh!" I turned to look at the offending party. It was a blond idiot. "Holy shit, Jaune, you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"A little."

"Dick."

"Also that."

I picked up my clipboard and stood up, brushing off my knees.

"What're you doing here?"

"Exactly what I said. I'm here for parts. And since you told me you were going in for an interview today, I thought I'd stop by and see if they hired you. So imagine my surprise when I come in to see you wearing the Red already."

"Jaune were you… doubting me?"

He chuckled. I punched him in the arm.

"No, I didn't doubt you. See when I was interviewed at the theatre they asked me if I could start like, after the weekend. What did they do with you?"

"Well, uh, I was kind of thrown into the deep end. I was handed a uniform and my manager said 'go nuts', and here I am. Doing inventory. On my first day."

"Hey, you haven't collapsed yet."

"That I haven't. Now, you said you needed parts?"

"Yep."

"Follow me, then."

I guided my dumbass friend back over to the parts counter and slid myself up behind the right computer and diddled the mouse for a second to find it on screen. I pulled up LaserKat and leaned over the counter to my 'customer'.

"This for the Previa?"

He put on a sly smile.

"Nope."

I frowned.

"Uh… what other car could it be? I thought you guys only had the van?"

He crossed his arms and looked smug. God I hated his smug face. And by hate I mean… you know.

"Well, since I got a job, and I finished grade ten with high grades, and I got my learners they decided that I deserved some kind of award for some reason, and they offered to help me buy a car."

My eyebrows reached orbit.

"They did what?"

"Yeah, a little while ago they gave me some money, which combined with my measly salary at the theatre, led me to buy myself something I can learn to drive in. You know? It's nothing special, in fact, you helped me pick it out back in June."

"I did?"

"Yeah, you remember, we were in my kitchen with an Autotrader."

I frowned. It seemed just a little unfair that his parents were able to front some cash for him to buy a car, but I guess it made sense since none of his sisters lived with them anymore, and he was now their only dependant. I'll admit I was a bit jealous.

"Oh yeah, I remember now. So what'd you pick, lucky boy?"

"Well, you remember how I said I wanted a truck?"

Of course I did. He had told me a while back that he wanted something quintessentially American and old-school, even though this is the twenty-first century and, you know, Canada.

"Yeah."

"Well, I went and bought a truck. It's a little rough around the edges, but it's solid."

I nodded. A wave of pride washed through me.

"I would expect nothing less. Alright. Let's find you some parts then. Uh, Year of maufacture?"

"Nineteen ninety one."

I nodded.

"Make?"

"Chevrolet."

"Aaaaaand model?"

"C1500."

I turned to him.

"A two wheel drive?"

Jaune shrugged.

"It was cheaper. And I figure it'll teach me patience."

"I guess that's fair. Alright, final question. Which motor?"

I had expected him to say the small six cylinder. The most economical of choices. See, with my knowledge of Jaune thus far, I knew he would have jumped all over a base model truck because of how simple and reliable it would be. He wasn't exactly fond of excess and fancy options because they would only break and he wasn't exactly the best repair person on the planet. He liked low-profile and unobtrusive. So I hovered the mouse over the the little 4.3L V6 button on the screen, and looked back at him.

To see a sly and devious smile.

I was unprepared.

"Four hundred and fifty four American cubic inches."

I blinked.

"I'm sorry, I think I misheard. What?"

"Four-fifty-four."

I took a moment to glare at him over the counter.

"Jaune, did you buy that 454SS."

"Uh huh. You told me to."

I shook.

"Jaune, that was a joke. I pointed that out in the book as a joke."

"Yeah, I know. But then I looked it up on the web and found some pretty interesting articles about it. Every car reviewer who's driven it seems to like it. And you praised it pretty highly, so I figured I owe'd it at least a look."

"Jaune, you can't go making large purchase decisions based on what I say!"

He shrugged.

"Why not? I went and test drove it, and it was exactly what I wanted. I mean, it fit within the criteria of what I wanted, it was just a lot cooler that whatever I was gonna pick."

I dropped my face into my hands and gripped at my hair in vain.

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah. But I'm an idiot with a 454SS."

"Ugh."

"Hey, now that you work here, you can help me get parts, can't you?"

I stood up and did the most dramatic eye roll of my life.

"Oh, so you're an asshole, too."

He laughed.

"Yuuuup."

"Ugh. Uuuuughhhh Jaune, you should not have bought that truck."

He nodded.

"Yeah, I know. I have to pay for my own gas for it. It's certainly not a Prius."

I drummed my fingers on my desk.

"Did you drive it here today?"

"Yes I did."

I bit my lip.

"May I see it?"

"Sure! I mean, are you allowed to leave?"

I looked up at the clock. It was one o'clock.

"I can now. Just a sec, let me find my manager."

I spun around and slipped behind the service desk and around the corner to his office, seeing him through the window. I knocked out of courtesy, but barged in anyway to find him elbow-deep in a bowl of soup. By the smell of it, cream of mushroom. He put it down as I stepped into the office.

"How's it going out there? Got my inventory done yet?"

"Uh, not yet, but I will soon. It's uh… do you mind if I go for my lunch?"

Peter paused briefly, before looking down at his watch. His eyes went wide.

"Oh shit, it's time fer yer break. Yeah, yeah, go. Sorry, I got caught up with my soup, I didn' realize what time it was. Go on, I'll be out inna second."

"Thanks, Peter."

I turned and fled the office and hopped back over to my counter to a bemused idiot.

"Okay, now we can go."

"Sweet. C'mon."

We made our way towards the door. But of course, a sudden realization hit me as the summer sun of outside did too. I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Oh, fuck."

Jaune stopped and turned slightly. "What's 'oh fuck'?"

"I just remembered that I don't have a lunch."

"Oh."

"Yeah I uh, didn't think I'd be working on day one so I didn't think to pack one."

"Huh. Well that's convenient."

"It is?"

"C'mon."

I furrowed for a second. Seeing as he had already stepped off the sidewalk and towards the parking lot, I didn't have much of a choice but to follow. So I did. Jaune seemed much more at ease than someone normally would who had just spent a shit load of money from such a minimal income. I caught up to him just as we reached the edge of the parking lot, where there was only one car parked all by its lonesome. I stopped just short.

"Oh my."

"Pretty, ain't she?"

The black paint sparkled back at me like a big hunk of onyx. The subtle red trim of the decals only made it cooler.

"Oh my."

"You starting to understand why I bought this truck?"

"Jaune, you're a nut job."

"Pfft, yeah."

It was beautiful. Like it had just been washed and waxed within an inch of its life. I couldn't take my eyes off the dark sea of shining black body and the bright sparkle of the chrome wheels. In my opinion, single cab short bed trucks were pretty cool, and this particular truck dethroned them all. I wanted to reach out and caress the silver and red 454SS badges on its flanks. But I didn't because I have self control.

"Holy shit. That's a lot of truck, Jaune."

"Oh, I know. I'm still getting to grips with it."

"How long've you had it?"

"Since Monday. I've been keeping it under wraps while I learned how to drive it and clean it."

"Damn."

"It is a lot of metal to have to polish. C'mon, have a seat."

He dropped the tailgate with a bang, and I hopped up on it. Jaune joined me after a moment of digging around in the cab of his new toy. The truck sagged a little from our weight, and I took a second to notice how tall Jaune was getting. His feet touched the ground while mine swung freely in the air. He was getting taller than me. I tried not to let this show either.

"Hey, remember I said it was convenient that you didn't have a lunch?"

"Uh, yeah?"

From his side, he produced two plastic bags with the green and yellow markings of Subway on them, heavily laden with a pair of eleven inch long sandwiches. The smell of mustard wafted over.

"Well, I figured you wouldn't pack a lunch, so I picked up your favourite sandwich on my way in."

"Well that's awfully sweet of you, Jaune."

"Hey, on my first day at the theatre you and your sister took me to lunch over at that Thai place next door. Think of this as me repaying the favour."

I rolled my eyes and took the sandwich, pulling it out of the bag. It was a familiar smell.

"Well, thank you, that's very kind of you."

"Yeah, see, normally this would be the part where I would say 'you'd do the same for me', but you already did do the same for me, so that loses all of its dramatic appeal."

I sighed with a smile and unwrapped my sandwich. It was my usual order, cold cut combo, toasted on Italian herb and cheese. You know, I was starting to think he didn't remember anything about me. Well, I was wrong.

"Well. I'm certainly appreciative." I took a bite. It was still warm from the oven. "This is great. Not just the sandwich. Or the new truck. Just… you know. Thanks for putting in the effort, Jaune."

"I do my best."

"Yeah, you're pretty good at it."

"Yeah."

We sat for a moment in silence as a warm breeze whooshed across the parking lot. The sandwich was warm and delicious, and dripped mustard-mayo-hotsauce mix out the back and onto the napkin on my lap. I sniffled a second and wiped a piece of shredded lettuce off my lip.

"Hey, so, have you spoken to Emerald recently?"

Jaune turned to look at me over his sandwich.

"Uh, yeah, actually. She had me over 'bout uh, two weeks ago?"

I frowned.

"She did? Jeez, she hasn't spoken to me in like, a month and a half. Why'd you get special privileges?"

Jaune chuckled.

"Weiss, you were in Germany for all of July."

"I mean, yeah, but still."

"She said she's been busy with her new job and all that."

"I just miss her, though. Why did she have you over?"

"She needed my help with the twins, and she remembered that I have experience with young children."

I paused a second.

"Twins? What twins? Emmy doesn't have kids."

"Yeah, but for one day she did. Apparently her aunt dropped off her baby cousins at like seven in the morning and then just fucked off to work without so much as a note, so she just woke up to two crying babies in her house and didn't know how to deal with them."

"Oh damn."

"Yeah, oh damn is right. So she calls me, crying like a baby herself, and tells me to come over and help 'cause she remembered all those times you guys would come over when I had my nephew Adrian with me. I-I guess she assumed I was the most capable person available, I dunno."

I squinted.

"What about her mom?! Or her dad for that matter?!"

"Her mom was at work before the babies showed up, and she works past Orleans so I don't think she was gonna come back quick enough, and her dad's in, like, Paris right now. Or something like that, he's an airline pilot, he's indisposed. You know."

I scratched my head and went back to my sandwich.

"Oh yeah, right. So what'd you do?"

"Well, I hopped on my bike and went over immediately. I showed her how to change diapers, because let me tell you they needed it, I showed her how to warm up bottles, without a microwave. Fun fact, you stick the bottle in your armpit for ten minutes, it gets right up to body temperature."

I shrugged.

"Guess you'd be alright at this, eh. You're a pretty good uncle to Adrian."

"I pride myself on being the best uncle, thank you very much."

"Jaune you're… you're his only uncle, you idiot."

"And that makes me the best, now doesn't it."

"I hope Em asked for a refund when you guys were done."

He put a hand to his chest.

"You offend me so freely. I get off my ass to go help your best friend with her baby crisis and you treat me this way? So rude."

I nudged him in the shoulder.

"Yeah, but you love it."

"You are mistaken."

I laughed. I was not mistaken, Jaune was wrong.

"So what else did you guys do on your date?"

"It wasn't a date, we were at her house, taking care of her nightmare cousins. But anyway, since you're so interested, ya pest, I helped her get the children bathed and put to bed at like, three in the afternoon, and then I had to get her bathed and put to bed because she was covered in puke and like five seconds away from a breakdown."

"You bathed Emerald?"

Jaune rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I sat on the edge of the tub and sponged her, no, you idiot, I shoved her towards the shower and let her be."

"Okay, jeez, I was just curious."

Jaune seemed genuinely amused by me. I was doing my utmost to irritate him.

"Anyway when she was done, we uh, decided to check on the young'uns, I broke out my guitar, played them some Blue Rodeo to keep them soothed-"

"You brought your guitar?!"

"Of… course, I was taking care of little kids. They all like the soft, dulcet tones of my playing, don't ya know."

No Jaune, I don't know. It's a struggle to get you to play for me. And here Emerald and her unappreciative cousins get it for free."

"You're very irritating. That's why I don't play for you. Besides, I wasn't playing for them when they were awake, they'd have just screamed louder."

I grimaced and had more sandwich.

"Gosh, were they really that bad? Like, crotch-goblin bad?"

"Eh, not quite, but pretty close. They were… let's say challenging, and I can see why Em got so overwhelmed so quickly. She was really upset when I showed up, crying and bawling and saying how much she didn't want kids and how woefully sad she was about it."

"Well that seems like overkill."

Jaune shrugged.

"Yeah, that's what I said too. I told her that she was way too young to be saying she was never going to have kids just 'cause of a bad experience with two demons that showed up by surprise one morning. Having kids is like one of those learning experiences, right? Where-where you gotta make decisions and choices in real time, and how you learn to grow and raise kids, hopefully with someone else to help you, doesn't matter who. That day, it was me, 'cause I was convenient. But you understand what I'm saying, right?"

I nodded.

"I think so."

"Like, I told her 'no one's gonna show up one day and drop and evil villain into your life, that takes planning and time' and of course she goes and asks what I would do if someone did, and I told her I would hike up my pants and deal with it. But I would ask for help, and immediately. But I'm not in any danger of waking up tomorrow with a child in my custody, mind you."

"Well geez, Jaune, I would certainly hope not."

"Of course. See, what would you do if you woke up tomorrow and had a kid."

"Uh, be really disappointed that I didn't get to experience the sex that made said kid?"

Jaune laughed into his sandwich.

"Jesus, Weiss, you're unbelievable."

"Not unbelievable, Jaune, human. But, I dunno, if it was sprung on me, I'd probably cry and call you. Sounds like Emerald made the right choice here."

"Well, probably. But she was so… despondent. She was so upset. She was really adamant about not wanting kids, it was coming from something deep inside her, you know? I did my best to convince her that it's fine to not want kids now, like to focus on her future and her life, but that's not to say never. I mean maybe she really doesn't, but normally people make that kind of lifetime decision when they're not crying their eyes out and trying to feed an infant that's trying to bite their arm off."

I chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah. What about you, Jaune? After your experience the other day, do you want kids?"

"Oh, I'm not going to let one bad experience tarnish me. Of course I want kids. Just not tomorrow. But you know, if I get to that age where I'm an adult and in control of my life and I decide 'hey you know what, kids aren't for me', that'll be fine too. But as of right now, yeah maybe one day. And you?"

I thought for a moment, looking over at him. I tried to be subtle. If I wasn't, he either didn't notice or didn't mention it.

"Yeah, I think so. But. As you said. Not tomorrow. I literally only just now got my first job, let me rake in some green before I make a decision that affects an entire other person."

"Weiss, this is Canada, our hundreds are brown."

"Yeah, well, 'raking in the brown' doesn't sound as good!"

"Also it's 'racking'."

"Oh, fuck off."

"I'm just sayin'."

"Yeah, well so am I!" I almost shouted. "My point stands, though, I don't think I am responsible enough for it right now, both financially and mentally, for that kind of thing in my life. When I'm a grown up, then ask me if I'm ready. 'Cause right now, yeah, I'm with you. I ain't ready for that."

Jaune shrugged.

"That's what I figured, and that's pretty much what I told her, too."

"She ever come around?"

A sigh.

"Yeah, eventually. By like, six o'clock, when we were making dinner. Well, actually, when I was making dinner and she was trying to entertain the kids."

"Ooh, what'd you make."

"Fettuccini Alfredo. It was all she had in the fridge that wasn't labelled in Arabic so I could actually figure it out. And then after dinner, the psychos were asleep again and she was finally down off her high, she wanted to go for a bike ride, and since conveniently I had mine too, I obliged her. And apparently, unbeknownst to us, she's actually extremely big into fitness."

I frowned.

"Really?"

"Yeah, she's like, got this full athletic kit she wears, fancy running shoes, a really trick racing bike, she's totally nuts about it all of a sudden. I asked her how long she'd been doing this and she was like 'since spring', and her reasoning was that for one, being fit is good for your health, and for two apparently to be a pilot you need to pass some strenuous fitness exam or something, or so she says. And we all know how much she wants to be a pilot."

"I wonder why she never mentioned that to us."

"I dunno. I mean, she never really tells us about her hobbies. Did you know she plays Sitar?"

I thought for a second.

"You know, I did know that, I just forgot."

"Yeah, I heard her play. She's no professional, but she's a hundred percent better than me."

"I would suspect so."

"Well. Maybe this is just another one of her hobbies that she doesn't tell us about. I wish she would. She seems like she keeps a lot of secrets."

I sighed.

"Yeah, I know."

"Yeah."

We sat in silence for a moment, the midday sun beating down on us and baking our faces. I tried to change the subject to something we would both enjoy that was still within the same bounds.

"Say, have you noticed that Em's… filling out a little?"

"What do you mean?"

I gestured to the upper forty percent of my torso.

"Y'know, like…"

Jaune pursed his lips at me.

"Weiss, I am a heterosexual teenaged male in the formative years of mental and social development. Obviously I noticed. I noticed that when it started when we were twelve."

I pouted through a giggle.

"It's unfair. I got shafted with the short and thin, while you and her get the tall and the feminine."

"Oh, please, don't be so dramatic. You've got years left, don't worry about it. I'm sure you'll end up both tall and bodacious, like, you know, your sister."

"Hey, don't compare me to Winter."

"I'm just sayin', It's more than likely where you'll end up."

I chuckled.

"I hate to say it, but I certainly hope so."

He bumped his shoulder into mine. I tried not to flush.

"One day, Weiss. One day."

"Then will you think I'm attractive?"

"Oh Jesus Christ, Weiss."

We laughed at each other. It was pretty good. I sighed and put down the empty sandwich wrapper.

"So what happened when her aunt came to pick up her kids again? Were you still there for that?"

"Yeah, I was, actually. You know how Emerald's a huge fan of violent confrontation? Like, she's always raring to go?"

"Oh yeah."

"Well, when her aunt finally showed up again at like, seven thirty at night, Em handed them back, all sleeping and bathed and happy, and her aunt thanked her with that insincere smile like family members who mooch off you have, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Well, I could tell that she was about a millisecond away from losing her shit and tackling this woman to the ground, but since the children were sleeping, she elected to put on an equally fake smile and was like 'no problem, any time', but we all knew that meant 'if you do this again, I'll kill you' and honestly I've never seen someone leave as quickly as her aunt did. I went home after that, so whatever went on between Em and her mom when she got back is news to me."

I smiled.

"Well, thanks for looking after her for a day. I'm glad I can trust you to play house husband sometimes."

"Do not make the mistake to think I enjoyed any of it. It was still hell with those two. But y'know, I am always eager to help out, and I'm free during the day."

"Oh yeah? What about tomorrow?"

Jaune nodded.

"Yeah, tomorrow's open. What were you thinking?"

"How about I swing by. We'll go bother- I mean check up on Emerald together."

"Alright. Sounds like a plan."

"Cool." I checked my watch. "I need to get back to work soon."

He held up his hands.

"Don't let me keep you. Wouldn't want you to get fired on your first day."

"Guess not, eh? Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah, see ya."

I hopped off the tailgate of his truck and stepped away, turning back.

"Nice truck, by the way. It suits you."

"Aw, thanks."

I turned back to Canadian Tire with a grin.