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“Jeffrey—”
“This is a historical landmark!”
“Not officially—”
“Then we can resubmit again! It’s bullshit—”
“It’s a brothel.” Mr. B throws down his wad of ones. He takes a breath, and I sense a speech brewing. We’ve talked about what might happen if finances don’t turn around, but that was always future Jeffrey’s problem. “You know I love it here as much as you do, but they’re just going to keep telling us the building and underground is not architecturally sound or significant enough for landmark status and, frankly, I’m tired.”
“But—”
“I’m only considering an offer. Nothing is official yet. I wouldn’t put you out on the street without ample warning and time to find a new place to stay.”
“It isn’t about that!” I snap and flick the card onto the pile of bills. “Does Cas know about this yet?”
“Know what?” She bounds in from the exit door.
“That we’re halfway to becoming a strip mall!”
“What?”
“Jeffrey—”
“They’ll close up the tunnels completely! It’ll all be lost! How can you even think about doing this?” I storm out, stomping back into the tunnels, and don’t stop until I hit the first bend.
If I wasn’t afraid I’d break my hand doing it, I’d punch a wall. I knew Mr. Bevilaqua was close to wanting out, but I figured he’d sell to someone who’d keep the place going, not let it get demolished and replaced by another chain shop like Jimmy Johns.
I’m pacing and just trying to calm down when Cas finds me.
“Can you believe that?” I thrust my arm back toward the shop.
“That you’re twenty-four going on six? Frequently.”
“I—” I huff when the rest of that comeback fails me. It’s hard to think of one when I know she’s right. Yes, I am acting like a child, but this is where Cas and I met. Where she met her live-in girlfriend. Where we became this weird but still mostly functional family. It’s home! And it has been home for almost two years, in more ways than where I sleep.
“Screaming at the boss isn’t usually the best way to change their mind about something,” Cas says. “Though, with Mr. B, he looked more worried about you than upset you flew off the handle.”
Of course he did. He’s a good man.
“Look.” Cas stops my pacing with both hands on my shoulders. “I gotta go meet SJ. You know, that gorgeous girlfriend of mine. So my goal here is to finish up in a half hour max. Do you think you can simmer down long enough to apologize to Mr. B so I can do that? I need to do a trash sweep still.”
“I’ll just get worked up again. Let me do the trash sweep so I can clear my head. Then you can go meet SJ, and I’ll try to apologize before Mr. B leaves for the night.”
“Even better.” Cas gives my shoulders a pat. I figured she’d be as upset as I am about losing this place, but when she turns to head back down the tunnel, she says, “We were never going to be doing this forever.”
Part of me wanted to.
Trash sweeps are routine after each tour, since someone always manages to leave behind a gum wrapper or can of soda, despite us explicitly asking them to not throw away or leave anything down here. There are only so many lights lining the tunnels, so alone, it can be quite creepy. I’ve always liked it though. If there are any old ghosts haunting the underground, they don’t seem to mind me.
Unless there really is an incubus in the walls.
Maybe I’m being neglectful, too distracted to look hard enough, but I don’t find any trash. I work my way through the tour backwards, but when I end up at the start, I don’t exit to the stairs in case Mr. B is still on the other side in the gift shop. I’m not ready to apologize yet. I know I should. Yelling at him was not the mature option, but this is the only part of my life that is at all interesting. It’s when I can be the only version of me that is almost right. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose that.
It's not dank down here like you might think. It's... okay, a little musty, but more like cold, clean stone instead of dust or mold, like the best parts of an old library. The wall I make my entrance from for tours is not much more than an alcove, and I walk all the way to its dead end and lean against the stones in partial darkness.
Maybe it’s weird idolizing a woman who eventually died of an insanity-inducing venereal disease, but at least Madame Mattie lived out loud and never apologized for who she was. I apologize for being the person bumped into. I’m the doormat, the eternal dumpee in any breakup. Every one of my exes broke up with me first, and for a lot of the same reasons, like being too timid, too predictable, too tedious to deal with.
Basically, too boring.
