Revised 3/1/2021...

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The Customer Is (Not) Always Right

Chapter 12: The Girl from the Item Check

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There is no food.

The eggs have expired. The bread has turned to dust.

The teacups are all piled in the sink. Alas, it is impossible to drink. The kettle is rendered useless.

A jar of pancake mix sits on the counter. But it is empty. It taunts me with its presence.

In the cellar, the last scraps of pumpkin stew have just turned three weeks old, and the salad I bought today is already browning.

There is no food.

I guess it was my turn to buy the groceries. And here I thought it was hers. This wouldn't be the first time we've had a miscommunication due to not communicating.

I peer over my shoulder at my mother, cautiously. She is currently lounging on the sofa, reading one of her schmaltzy romance novels in silence, as she has been for innumerable hours. She hasn't been quite as, shall we say, demonstrative lately. But she's still shunning me. Now, it's more like I don't even exist at all.

I fling the entire container of old pumpkin stew into the trash can. I think it was starting to accumulate a bluish fuzz, but I didn't want to look at it and find out for sure. After tossing out all the rest of the expired food, I move on to do some of the dishes. I think this is the only reason my mother hasn't kicked me out yet. Because I'm like her live-in maid. She hates housecleaning. Well, I do too. But while we both have a strong vehemence for filth, she seems immune to clutter. So I almost always crack before she does. There's no space for my mind to think with all this musty old junk of hers lying around. It seriously hinders my ability to work.

Once the kitchen is mostly spotless, I go back to my side of the house and retire to my desk for the evening. I haven't sold a single Sacred Shield yet, and as much as I don't want to, I'm considering lowering the price to see if that makes any difference. I pick up my abacus and run some calculations. Over and I over, I choose a price, and then I recalculate how much money that price will make me if I sell any given number of shields.

This has become an obsession, something I have to stop myself from doing once it starts turning too hypothetical and crossing into the realm of fantasizing. Which only serves to get my hopes up for nothing. I haven't lost faith in my new shield yet, but as my initial excitement over them wore off and more days went by without a single sale to show for it, I started to find myself wanting to go to work for another reason.

Peatrice.

Lately, I keep catching myself searching for that white scarf she always wears on her head, and subconsciously preening if I know I'm going to see her. I've come to accept that I'm into her; I'm no longer in any denial over it. I would go so far as to say she's become the reason I've stopped sleeping an extra ten minutes in the morning.

With each passing day, I'm more and more anxious to get to the Bazaar to see her. And each day, I smile at her when she passes by my shop. But she always stares straight ahead and never sees.

But in some demented part of my brain, this just makes me even more determined to get her to notice me. Like it's a game. Am I just doing this because I'm bored? Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not.

This whole thing still feels a bit surreal. She barely existed to me not a week ago, and now I'm suddenly head over heels for her. When I think back on the year I've known her, and the limited interactions that have occurred between us, there aren't a great deal of noteworthy memories to speak of. Obviously, she caught my attention her first day of work, that day she showed up to replace that crusty old crackpot with the remlits. In my memory from that day, she was more bright-eyed then, more...happy. Hopeful.

I remember scoffing and rolling my eyes then, when I saw the hope on her face. Give her few years, I thought to myself. But it didn't even take one, did it? Before she fell into step with the rest of us. Before she started to look as jaded as I feel day after day.

Another wistful sigh leaves me. I can't get her out of my mind. Her smile, which she almost always hides, is her best feature. She doesn't smile often, but when she does…my heart flutters in my chest remembering it. The funny thing is, her scowl is attractive to me too. I keep thinking of the way she glared at me other day, when she caught me in my lie and threw my words back in my face. Aha. She really is witty. And pretty. But not like...how do I put this. She's not too pretty. This is a good thing, because it makes me feel like I actually have a chance with her. But this is also a bad thing, because...it makes me feel like I actually have a chance with her.

Unfortunately, for every exciting thought that occurs to me, there's a depressing side of the coin as well. To tell the truth, I have difficulty picturing myself in a relationship with another person. Even though a part of me does want that...even I don't entirely think I'm suited for it, when I really start to think about it. I've always been alone, and have come to prefer it that way. Why should anything suddenly change now?

And what would I have to offer a woman, really? I'm just some miser who still lives with his mother in his mid twenties, whose hobbies consist of scheming up new ways to make money, occasionally doing art that's not good enough to make me money, and drinking alone. Who has already had it with with life. I'm not fun. I'm not interesting. I'm like a grumpy old man in a mid-twenties body. I'm a joke. A failure. A loser. When it comes down to it, I'm just...not that loveable. I don't even really like myself all that much.

As for my positive qualities? Honestly, the first thing that comes to mind is that I'm not balding yet. But with my luck, I probably won't even be able to say that in a few years. I sigh to myself. I'm not very good at giving myself pep talks in the relationship department. I throw myself back into my work and try to forget about it.

But my mind inevitably wanders back to my crush. I've started to wonder...what occupies her thoughts during those long, uneventful hours at work? Which customers does she secretly harbor grudges against? And what is her favorite flavor besides pumpkin? If I could only work up the nerve to ask her on a real date, I would ask her such questions.

Ugh, what am I doing?! I need to get a grip! Going after women is entirely unprofitable. Unprofitable, I drill into my head. Doubly so, because all this daydreaming is distracting me from the task at hand. I need to figure out what I'm going to do about this cursed shield if I actually want to make any money off of my endeavors.

Just when I'm starting to refocus and get back into a zone, there is a sudden knock at the door. My mother promptly jumps up to answer it. An unsavory moan makes it's way out of my throat. Why tonight? If I knew she was inviting company over, I would have gotten the heck out of here when I still had the chance and taken my little workstation to the Lumpy Pumpkin.

Too late now. Loftwings can't see well in the dark, so civilians are prohibited from flying after sundown for safety reasons. Only fully certified knights who possess the proper training and equipment are permitted to do so, and they are constantly on the lookout for anyone trying to break curfew.

I look on idly as my mother exuberantly greets her guests and steps aside to let them in. Gondo's mother, Greba, walks in through the door, followed by Mallara...Mallara?!

I keep my head down and pretend like I didn't notice her come in. What's she doing here? My stomach churns as Mallara takes a seat at the kitchen table, right in my line of sight. She happily chats with Greba while my mother scrambles to wash the stack of dirty teacups in the sink. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to have noticed me, but it's not like I'm well-hidden back here.

I return to my calculations, half-listening to the three widows' conversation. It's not as if I have a choice.

"Everyone, listen to this! Apparently, there's a ghost haunting the restroom at the Knight Academy!" my mother brings up after not even five minutes, as she is putting the tea kettle on. Cue gasps of surprise. "I heard it's residing in the toilet of all the places. How outrageous is that?!"

Again? What is with this unhealthy fixation on this toilet ghost? What is the big deal?! If it's not in your toilet, why do you give a crap? Ugh! I can't concentrate with all this inane chatter going on around me. I throw my quill down and rest my elbows on the desk, letting my head slide in between my hands. Forget it. I can't work like this.

A movement on the edge of my vision draws my attention, and I notice Mallara get up from her seat at the table. I don't react, at least not outwardly, and distract myself by checking over my math thus far. She puts me on edge, that woman. I can't relax when she's around, much less think straight. She's got this hazy, yet pungent presence I can't seem to ignore, one that fills up whatever room she's in. I don't know how or why, but it's simultaneously enticing and repugnant.

I am very aware of her as she slowly paces along the edge the room, craning her neck slightly to admire my mother's antique vases and fans displayed around the house. I glance up from my charts on occasion, letting my gaze drift to her momentarily before flitting back down again. For some reason, I feel the need to keep tabs on her. Like when there's a giant bug crawling around on the ceiling and I need to know where it is at all times for my sanity.

"Hey Robin."

A velvety voice mere inches from my ear almost makes me fall off my stool. I shoot straight up and grip the desk, screaming on the inside. How did she get back there without me noticing?! She normally makes so much noise when she walks around! Did she purposely sneak up behind me? I peek over my shoulder and immediately turn back around. Oh Gods. They're right there.

"Whatcha doin'?" she asks playfully lazy air. I can feel her gaze on the papers I have spread across my desk. She slowly leans over my shoulder, until her face is right next to mine and I can smell her perfume. I remain stock still, her tangy scent drawing me in against my better judgment.

"Ah, just busywork," I say after an awkward pause, trying to pretend like her face isn't centimeters from mine. "Counting my gains and losses." I snatch up my quill and poise it above the paper in an attempt to look busy.

"Uh huuuh," Mallara mumbles, giving no indication that she processed any of that.

"It's nothing that would interest you." I keep my eyes glued to the paper and scribble down a nonsensical equation, hunching my shoulders in a vain attempt to get away from her. She is still way too close for comfort right now. Does this woman have no concept of personal space?!

"That's too bad that you're so busy..." she whispers. I flinch as her breath tickles the back of my neck. "Your mother told me you're really good at cleaning, and...well, I've been looking for someone to help me out around the house." She slides around me and leans against my desk, gazing into my eyes. "I dug out my broom and everything! So how about it? Lookin' for a side hustle? I'll pay you good if you help me out."

Somehow I doubt that. And somehow I doubt she is talking about cleaning. "No thanks. I'm doing fine." Just fine. "I already have a side hustle."

"Awww, but I don't want to sweep alone," she says, giving me a little pouty face. I am so skeeved out right now.

I offer her something between a cringe and a smile. "Maybe some other time." Like half past never.

"Okay," she perks up a little at this, a lazy smile breezing over her face. "Feel free to drop in any time when you feel like it. I live right around the corner from you, you know. We're practically next-door neighbors."

I swallow. "Really..."

She just bobs her head up and down, and up and down, staring at me with those dull blue eyes of hers, and I have to wonder if there's really anything other than air in that head. Yeesh, she does weird things to me. I don't think I've ever been so physically attracted and mentally repulsed by the same person at the same time. I wish she would go away already...!

Suddenly, the front door swings open and in walks yet another surprise house guest. It's Gondo. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see him in my life.

"Gondo! Hello, friend!" I plaster a wide grin on my face, beyond grateful for the diversion. "I've been expecting you!"

"Hey, Rupin!" He waves. He lingers a second on the welcome mat, eyebrows pinching in confusion. Or at least that's what I picture them doing behind those goggles. "You have?"

"Of course! Get over here." I flash him another inviting grin, paying no heed to the hovering Mallara. He approaches.

"Your name's Rupin?" Mallara mutters, looking bamboozled. "I thought it was Robin."

"Yep," I say. "It's Rupin."

"But...I've been calling you Robin."

"Oh. Hadn't noticed."

Mallara hovers next to me another moment before awkwardly wandering away, her eyes staring off somewhere surely not of this world. My shoulders sink in relief, my nerves dissipating faster than I thought they would. Finally. I turn to Gondo.

"So, I take it you're here to sell some treasure?" I say, leaning on my hand.

"You know it." Gondo strolls the rest of the way up to my desk and plops a black bag down on it, loosing the string at the top. "I think you're going to like what I found this time."

"I'll be the judge of that," I yawn, taking out my treasure buying schedule. "All right. Tonight I'm buying these treasures: Eldin ore, amber relic, blue feather, hornet larvae. Just those four. Hopefully you brought some of those."

Gondo removes several large chunks of Eldin ore and six amber relics from the bag. I scoop up one of each and inspect them individually, testing their weight in my hands. I blink awake, impressed with what I'm seeing. "Wow. I must say, these are remarkable. Where did you find these?"

By the expression on his face, I can tell he's just been waiting on the edge of his seat to reveal this. "At the landfill!"

Only Gondo would go digging through the landfill on the off-chance that he might find a piece of scrap metal buried under heaps of garbage. "Ah," I say. "I was wondering what that awful smell was."

He laughs deeply. Gondo has a pretty decent sense of humor. I can say honest things around him and he doesn't flip out on me or get offended, mostly because he thinks they're jokes. The thing is, they kind of are jokes. But they're kind of not.

"So what possessed you to hunt for treasure at the dump of all places?" I humor him.

He grins, folding his arms. "I flew down there on Sparrot's recommendation, actually. Would you believe old Bugeyes really pulled through this time?"

"Heh." Bugeyes. Although somehow it doesn't sound mean when he says it.

"When I asked him where I should look to find treasure, he hinted that he saw a giant hole full of garbage inside his crystal ball. So I went snooping around the landfill and found all this! How lucky is that? You really should try asking the little guy where to find treasure sometime. It only costs 10 rupees for a reading."

I sigh in exasperation. "Gondo, we've had this conversation before. It's a scheme. A scam. I mean, come on. You just happened to find an entire bag of treasure lying around the landfill?" I sneer. "That's not luck. It's not even a coincidence. Sparrot knew about that treasure because he was the one who planted it there to begin with."

Gondo scratches his head. "Hm. Yeah, I guess that's possible," he agrees. I knew he'd see it my way. "You're pretty smart, little buddy."

I allow myself a smirk. "I know."

"But what about all that other stuff? Like looking into the future and telling peoples' fortunes and all that. How do you think he does it?"

"That's obvious. He spies on people," I answer instantly. "What else would he be doing during those long, customer-less hours, with those giant eyes of his? He's probably keeping secret files on every one of us."

Gondo gives an unsure laugh. "I don't know. That seems a little paranoid, don't you think?"

"Does it?" I quirk an eyebrow. "Come on, Gondo. If Sparrot could really see the future, I could have gotten him to predict the outcome of the Wing Ceremony and I'd be rolling in rupees right now."

"I don't think his powers work that way. I was talking to him about it and he said his visions are more 'far-reaching'. Or something like that. I don't really know how to explain it. It was kind of lost on me."

"Yeah. That was Sparrot speak for 'vague' and 'inaccurate'"

Gondo purses his lips in thought. My stone cold logic seems to have won him over. "I guess you could be on to something," he admits. Because deep down, he knows it's true. He just wants to be a believer. "But even if it was all a giant set-up, I still got a bunch of good treasure out of it, right?" He flashes his teeth and gives two thumbs up. "So it was totally worth it!"

I have to pause to think about that. "That is true," I concede. Darn it, Gondo. Stop outwitting me. "So, how much of this treasure did you want to sell to me?" I backtrack to the business at hand.

"Actually, I was hoping you would help me out with something instead. If you do, I'll give you half my findings for free!"

"I'm listening..." I prop my elbows on the desk and rest my chin on my hands. "Just what kind of 'help' are we talking?"

"Uh. Can't tell you here," he coughs. He lowers his head and throws a furtive glance his mother's way. "Come to my place and I'll explain?"

I think on it a moment. Gondo's house is only a short walk from here, so it's unlikely we'll run into any trouble on the way over. And he is offering a good hunk of treasure. And I really don't want to be here right now anyway, so...

"Sure. Why not." I get up from my chair.

"Great!" Gondo claps his hands enthusiastically. He shoves the promised treasure across the desk toward me. "I'm stoked you agreed to help me out. I thought maybe the remlits would put you off."

I give a shrug of indifference. "You seem to have made it here unscathed."

"Oh. About that..." he bites his lip. "I didn't."

I look at him incredulously. "You didn't?"

He nods, and turns his leg around. "Yeah...It's just a little scrape, though. Rascal nailed me in the back of the—YAH!" He yells out in surprise and reels backward when he actually sees his leg, looking as shocked as I am at the sight of two deep puncture wounds in his calf. Trails of dark red blood are oozing from them and dripping off his ankle.

"G-gondo! You're bleeding all over the floor!" I cry out, springing to the closet.

"I didn't think it was that bad! It didn't hurt that much when it happened!"

I grab a towel, drench it in soapy water, and rush over, bending down to wipe up the mess. Gondo snatches the towel out of my hand.

"Thanks, bud," he says, wrapping the wet towel around his bloody leg. I rise to my feet awkwardly. That was actually for the floor, but okay.

As Gondo finishes cleaning and wrapping his leg wound, I soak another towel and use it to sop up the blood on my carpet. Gondo's obliviousness boggles my mind sometimes. I mean, he didn't even notice a remlit bit him? Is he that dense? Well, to his credit, he's not really dense. He's actually quite a brilliant mechanic. His priorities are just a little screwed up. Literally. The guy can't get his mind off his stupid robot for five minutes to pay attention to his surroundings. I suppose that quality that make him tolerable, though. I don't feel bad about pretending not to see him when I pass him in the Bazaar, because most of the time he doesn't notice me either.

"There we go," he says, using a piece of string to secure the borrowed towel tightly to his leg.

"You sure you don't want an actual bandage for that or anything?" My face crinkles up in disgust. "It looked bad. Could get infected."

"Nah, I can handle things at home. This works for now," he waves my suggestion off, seeming eager to get going. "What do you say we head out?"

"I guess so," I reply, a little apprehensively. After this, I've been having second thoughts about going outside tonight. But then one glance in Mallara's direction convinces me to follow him to the door.

"Gondo," his mother calls after him when we're about to leave, in a creaky voice. She sounds testy. Like how my mother sounds when she's irritated at me. Which is pretty much all the time. Gondo and I turn toward Greba at the same time.

"Did you separate your laundry like I asked you to?" she asks him. All three ladies are looking at us now. Gondo hesitates to answer.

"Uh...yes?" He grins. Liar.

The corners of Greba's wrinkled mouth pull up into a slight smile. Kind of unsettling on someone who's normally so stoic. "Good. Then it should be all done by the time I get home."

Still grinning back at her, Gondo nods in silence and reaches for the doorknob. We go outside and shut the door behind us.

"Laundry?!" I break the silence once we're out of earshot. "That's what I signed up for?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Well, yeah, it's a problem!" I say, steamed. "I thought you wanted my help with something normal. Like you were making surprise for your mother or something."

He cringes. ""Wellll you see, my mom...she kind of threw a little fit after I came back from the dump," he explains, fidgeting nervously. "I guess it was the straw for her. She took one whiff and told me she'd had enough and that I would have do my own laundry for once. But it's a lot to do, and um...I don't really know what I'm doing. I need help!"

Sometimes I wonder which of us is more of a man-child. Now I know it's him, without a doubt.

"I tried asking Luv first, but Bertie said she was asleep and we shouldn't wake her up. And he was busy taking care of their baby, so...I was trying to think of who else was within reasonable walking distance? Then I remembered, 'Hey! Rupin has his life together! And I bet he'll do anything for some treasure!'"

I snort, "Not anything! Don't say that! People might get the wrong idea. My night market is just that-a night market!"

"Please do it for me," he begs me shamelessly, clasping his hands together. "I'll give you another amber relic."

"No. You might be shameless, but doing other peoples' laundry is just a little too intimate for my liking. No thanks." Then it occurs to me. "This is about your robot, isn't it? You just want to saddle somebody else with your chores so you can keep tinkering with it."

"No!" he bursts out, but then he yields under my accusing gaze. "Well, yes. Yes and no. But I'm about to reach a breakthrough, I can feel it!"

He always says that.

"This isn't just about Scrapper, though. I seriously don't know what I'm doing. Man, you gotta help me out! My mom's going to go ballistic when I mess up my clothes and she realizes I still don't know how to do my laundry! As far as she knows, I've had it down for five years!"

"Not a chance," I hiss, narrowing my eyes. "Here. I'll just pay you for the treasure. What all did you give me again? Six pieces of Eldin ore and three amber relics? Here." I count out the money and press it into his outstretched hand. "Done and done."

For a while, he just stands there holding the rupees, looking pathetic.

I sigh. "All you have to do is wash the whites and colors separately so you don't turn anything pink. It's really not that hard."

"So that's what my mom meant when she said to separate my laundry..."

"Uh, yeah. What did you think she meant?"

"Okay. I guess I'll give it a shot," he says uncertainly, pocketing the rupees. "See ya...thanks for the advice."

He pivots on his good leg and starts to limp down the road. Sure, now he limps. Ugh. It's so pathetic.

"Wait, Gondo."

He stops. I jog past him, motioning for him to follow, and head around back my house to the shed. Gondo's uneven footsteps trail me to the entrance. I unlock the doors and pick up the pure purple shield leaning against the table—an old prototype of the sacred shield that wasn't suitable to be sold. Nonetheless, I've found uses for it and even discovered a few more abilities.

"Here, take this with you," I say, passing it over to Gondo.

"Oh, is this a new shield?" he asks curiously. He carries it outside to get a better look at it in the moonlight. "I haven't seen anyone bring one of these to the Scrap Shop yet."

"Because no one bought one yet," I tell him. "This one in your hands is actually the prototype. I discovered nighttime remlits are averse to this shield, among other things. They sort of...shy away from it when you brandish it at them. It's as if it repels whatever demonic force possesses them at night."

"Whoa, how about that. So you made this with a goddess plume, huh? I never would have thought of that." He holds the sheild up with both hands, examining it. Probably already thought of ten different ways to improve it. "And it glows in the dark too! Amazing."

"Right?" I can't help but gloat a bit. "Pretty useful for seeing in the dark! But just between you and me, not so useful for being stealthy." I omitted that detail from the sales description. "It won't protect you from a sneak attack, by the way, so do yourself a favor and don't space out."

He chuckles. "So I just have to thrust it toward the remlits to ward them off. Great. Sounds easy enough. I always feel a little bit bad about smacking them around when they charge me. They're so nice during the day."

I give a sardonic laugh, leaning against the shed door and crossing my arms. "I don't trust those cute faces one bit."

Gondo starts to leave again, but then stops and turns when he realizes I'm not following him. He points over his shoulder. "You going back in or…?"

I shake my head. "I'm going to stay outside and work a while. I'm not terribly fond of some of my mother's friends." He gives me a puzzled look. "Not your mother. The other mother."

"Who, Mally?" He rubs his head. "Seems like a nice lady."

I stare at him, unbelieving. "Gondo. She's a bimbo. A middle-aged bimbo."

"I guess she is a bit strange," he admits, looking guilty over doing so. "But the reason behind it is sad. I heard from my mom that ever since her husband died some years ago, she's never been totally right in the head."

Cute awkward silence when someone says something depressing and you don't know how to respond.

"Oh. That's...depressing."

"Yeah. It's almost like all that dopey optimism is her a way of coping."

Oh, for the love of—just stop. Stop making me feel bad for being a jerk. "Ah. That's too bad," I grunt, too tired to come up with something sympathetic to say. "Well, it looks to be that time. Have a safe trip home!" I smile wide, snapping into phony mode to leave a good final impression.

"I will now that I have this," he says, holding the shield in the air again. "Thanks a lot for letting me borrow it. I appreciate it."

"Sure. Just make sure to bring it back."

"I will! And I'll bring back the towel too."

"Ahaha." I put a hand up in refusal. "Please, keep the towel." Please.

"Aw, really? Thanks, bud! You're a real pal."

I watch him stumble off into the darkness for good this time before shutting myself inside the shed.

First things first, I light the lantern and assemble my materials on the table, deciding it would be a good use of my time to make some arrows. Now that I'm alone with my thoughts, I start contemplating things. It's one of those nights when thoughts about my distant future invade my mind for no reason in particular. When you live next to the town graveyard, it can be difficult to keep existential thoughts away. Earning enough money to become completely independent and break away from my mother has always been my goal ever since I started up my business. But what then? What comes after? Even then, I'll still be going through the same daily grind. Every. Single. Day. Until I die.

All of the sudden, my future seems to stretch out before me, and it looks very bleak indeed. Do I really want to be alone for the rest of my pathetic life, with no one but Wingy to lean on?

No. I don't. When I'm completely honest with myself, I don't. Not really. I don't like looking so far ahead, but lately each year has seemed so much shorter than the last. I'll be thirty before I know it. Then forty. If I don't want to end up a hermit for the rest of my miserable existence, I will have to start acting on these romantic inclinations sooner or later.

And now I find my thoughts wandering back to a certain girl. Yes, all thoughts seem to lead back to Peatrice. The image of her sitting there at her desk by her lonesome comes to mind, drearily staring out into the Bazaar as if waiting for something to happen. Or waiting for someone. My face turns hot and the knot in my chest pulls tight at the thought of approaching her, but I can't shy away. It's up to me to make a move.

But what to do? I've said to myself over and over that I'm inept with women. I don't even want to think about my past failures.

-:-:-:-:-

In what I estimate to be about two hours, the soft buzz of chatter on the other side of the cement wall has died down, and I sense that my mother's little social gathering has broken up. My eyelids becoming heavy, I finish chiseling one last arrowhead and extinguish my lantern, my bed on my brain. I close up the shed and check for remlits before dashing around the house and through the front door to safety.

"Good evening, Rupin."

I freeze. Is this a trap? Am I hallucinating? Did my mother just speak to me?

I turn my head to see her sitting on the sofa in contentment, her hands in her lap. Her lips are pressed into a taut, but cheerful smile.

"Erm...hey?" I respond, caught off guard by her sudden change in demeanor around me. I let the door slowly click shut behind me.

"Did you have a good visit with Gondo?" she asks pleasantly, as if nothing ever happened between us.

"...Yes. It was fine." A safe answer.

She just keeps smiling at me. Is this some sort of test?

"Good," she says after a pause. "It's so nice to see you picking up the pieces of your social life and spending some time with a friend for once."

What social life? And hold up. 'Friend'? When did I ever refer to him as such? Well, technically I did. But that's how I address all my customers.

I give a sniff of acknowledgement and go back to my side of the house. I don't like the direction this conversation is going. Shortly, I hear a small creek that signifies my mother has gotten up from the sofa. I look over my shoulder, half expecting her to reprimand me for cutting our little exchange short, but she doesn't.

Instead, she waltzes over to the kitchen and puts on a fresh pot of tea, humming to herself. What has gotten in to her? Has she really come to peace with the whole jail incident? Or maybe all that gossiping just put her in a good mood. Well, she's notorious for switching moods in the drop of a hat, so I'd better keep treading lightly around her. Talking to her is like navigating a field full of land mines.

Just then, a crazy idea pops into my head. An insane, mental, barking mad idea. Hey. She was...out there once. Dating. She was an eligible bachelorette at one point, as nauseating as that is to think about. I exist, so obviously someone must have liked her enough to...let's not go there.

The point is, she must know what women want. She holds the answers. If only there were some way to pick her brain without actually having to talk to her. I recoil at the thought of asking anyone, much less my own mother, for relationship advice. I could never put myself in such a vulnerable position. My ego can't handle that.

With a fresh cup of tea in hand, my mother strolls back to the sofa, which gives a moan of protest as she sits herself back down. Maybe there's a more indirect way I can approach this topic. Maybe if I'm subtle enough and I ask the right questions, I can coax some answers out of her, just to give me an idea of where to start. It can't hurt.

I take a deep breath and and face her. I might as well do it while she's still in a good mood. Oh, how should I phrase this?

"Mother," I say, before I've given myself a chance to piece my thoughts together and back out of this. She doesn't turn, but straightens up. She's listening. Even as the words tumble out of my mouth, I can't believe I'm asking her this.

"What did you like about my father?"

There is a long, tense gap of silence, and I immediately regret that I asked. "Father" seems to be a bit of a taboo subject with her. Any time I bring him up, my mother, normally so talkative and vivacious, becomes withdrawn and aloof. Few of words. It's strange. It's a contradiction. For all the times she wants to talk, this seems to be the one thing she doesn't want to talk about. For all her hoarding tendencies, she doesn't appear to have kept a single picture of him. And that disturbs me more than anything. For all I know, Rufus wasn't even real.

I've always assumed it's too painful and traumatic for her to talk about him, or maybe she just couldn't stand him as a person? I don't know. I've never seen her become visibly upset over his passing, but then again, she's never been the sort to cry. Unless they're tears of rage.

Finally, she turns to look at me. To my surprise, she's still smiling.

"Why, he was a hunk, of course!"

I just stare at her in amazement."…What else."

"Mmmm. Well he was high in status, you know," she replies, lifting her chins and gazing up at the chandelier dreamily. "Every woman in town wanted him, and I had him. And he was very rich and very, very generous. He bought me whatever I wanted and positively showered me in precious jewels!" Her eyes shift to me suddenly, widening ever so slightly in suspicion. "Why?"

"No reason. Just curious." Not like I was planning on getting hitched and moving out one day or anything. Preferably in the opposite order.

She gives me a hard stare, the same one I inherited. "A likely tale. You're never curious about me." She rises up from the sofa, fixing me in her distrustful gaze. "You've got your eye on a young lady, don't you?"

I pale at being found out so easily. I should have known I couldn't beat her at her own game. She sees right through me.

Before I can deny it, she tilts her head in concern and asks, "It is a lady, right?"

"Y-yes!" I snap back, blood rushing to my face. "Of course it is."

She gets a look of unrestrained glee on her face, like a toad who just snapped up a juicy fly. I fell right into that one.

"Ahh, so it is a young lady. I thought you seemed a little distracted these past few days, hoo hoo hoo," she chuckles to herself, daintily waving a fan in front of her face. She points it at me and looks down her nose in her typical judgmental fashion. "Well then, if you want my advice, forget everything I just said. What you need more than anything is an attitude adjustment. You're so sulky and standoffish all the time. No woman in her right mind would love you as you are now."

A glancing blow. But she can't pierce this hard shell I've built up over the years, not when I've already told myself as much. But for some reason when she says it, I feel like I want to rebel. To prove her wrong.

"Not...all the time," I respond, looking away. I mustn't let her get to me, and most importantly, I must never show it. As far as I'm concerned, that's like letting her win.

After a moment of silence, she sighs. "Oh, don't be discouraged, dear. I think you have it in you. You used to be such a sweetheart when you were a wee one, you know." She sinks back down onto the couch and mutters just loud enough for me to hear, "don't know where I went wrong..."

Okay. So I take it she's still mad at me. I face away from her, grabbing my key ring off my desk. That backfired miserably. I can't believe I let her goad me into that. Although come to think of it, I really wasn't as subtle as I could have been. What was I thinking, asking about my father out of nowhere? It's only natural that she would suspect I had other motives.

She's wrong about one thing, though. I am curious. I never knew my father, but every so often I wonder about him.

I know very little about him. On occasion, my mother offers up information on her own, but nothing substantial or meaningful. When she speaks of him, she places him on a pedestal, in a way-for what he was, not who he was. I'm sure I have a very distorted view of him, as all I have to go on is the window she built for me. When I start asking the questions that matter, she closes down, of course. So I've mostly stopped asking.

Perhaps he jumped off a cliff and she is just smoothing over that fact by framing his death as an accident while on duty. Hey, if she's not going to tell me exactly what happened to him, I'm going to start assuming the worst. It makes sense. I might jump too, if I was engaged to marry that. Even though I have barely a sense of who my father was, sometimes I still wish he was here, and I wonder how my life would have turned out differently if he had lived. Maybe my mother wouldn't be so damned neurotic.

I proceed with my evening chores as normal, starting to sort the treasures Gondo sold me into their respective cabinets. As much as I hate to admit it, there is some merit to my mother's "advice". But what does she know, anyway? I am to capable of being friendly. I do it every single day at work; she just doesn't see it because she's holed up in here twenty four-seven. But the evidence is there. I catch my reflection in my mirror. Even when my face is smooth, the premature wrinkles left behind by smiling way too many times are visible. My job has certainly taken its toll on my appearance. I smile at myself, making the creases disappear. My smile has always looked cheesy, and I can't seem to do so without squinting. But it'll have to do. Sighing, I turn from the mirror and go back to putting my treasure away. As rude as she was about it, I think I know what my mother meant: If I want to get anywhere, I will have to sell myself to Peatrice.

Yes! All I have to do is smile and be as confident in myself as I am in the quality of my wares. It's really no different than that. I revel in my sudden epiphany. When I think about it that way, everything seems so much simpler. I'll just exploit my salesman charm to win her over.

But that takes so much effort. I exhale heavily, my upper body sagging. I hate all those trivial games that go hand in hand with romantic pursuits. I hate getting stupid attachments like this. I wish I could just press a button to make these pesky feelings go away so I could move on with my life. I hate love. I hate it.

No. What am I saying? That's not totally true. I tell myself I don't like it, but the truth is, I do. There is some twisted apart of me that craves that feeling of anticipation I get when I think about wooing her, that likes the risk. The gamble. The thrill of the chase. It spices up my mundane, repetitious life and adds excitement where there's very little to look forward to. As for the overprotective father, well, I won't deny I get a little bit of rush when I get away with things. The more obstacles in my way, the more accomplished I feel in the end when I finally attain my goal.

I smile, and I can feel my confidence trickling back to me. Perhaps making a little game of this won't be such a bad thing after all. Besides, I do have one of those other three things my mother mentioned. Precious jewels. I look down at the amber relic in my hand. It's worth a try. Girls like shiny things. Heck, everybody likes shiny things.

I turn to my series of multicolored cabinets, skimming their labels. I wonder what other exquisite treasures I have stored away here? Let's see. Ornamental skulls. No. Monster claws. No. Lizard tails. Ew, no.

My eyes rest on the light blue cabinet at the right end of the top row. I unlock it and gingerly remove its contents—a single Goddess plume. I gaze upon its magnificence. I still have one left...

I shut it back in the cabinet. Nope. Definitely going with the amber relic. I set the little gold gem down on my bedside table where I'll remember it. I'm nervous about tomorrow, but excited at the same time. The difficult part is over. She already knows I'm interested in her. She even knew before I did. Now I just have to persist and take a risk.

After all, no salesman ever got anywhere without taking a risk.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A/N: I have to give a nod to my dear sister Hoprocker for "There is no Food," which was originally a poem she posted on my facebook wall about the disheartening lack of food in our dorm near the end of last spring semester. It's tough running out of poptarts.

ANYWAY, my goodness this one ended up being so long and introspective. I know it was probably harder to digest compared to others, and admittedly I probably could have cut some stuff. Believe it or not, it was slated to be even longer and I had an entire scene with Scrapper planned, but I ended up scrapping it. Rupin's nickname for him would be so obvious it's not even funny. Also, I don't know about you, but I desperately needed a break from the Bazaar. Don't get me wrong, I love the place to death, but the customer stuff gets a bit repetitive to write after three or four chapters in a row. Chapters like this that take place somewhere else are great for helping me stay motivated, because when I start writing them I'm like, "Woo, something different! How refreshing!" and then by the time I'm almost done I'm like, "I'm so tired of this. WE HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE BAZAAR." So they're good for something!