Alistair McClair, Seattle's #1 most eligible bachelor, has had a string of horrible breakups. 99 ex-girlfriends to be exact. And now was his time for a new match. But an issue arises in the matchmaking process, linking him up with a man. Alistair se...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Calvin Fischer
It was June 29, less than 48 hours until the board finalizes their plans to depose Alistair McClair from the company he created. And instead of being at the company, trying to at least wrap up a few loose ends, we were at Alistair's parent's house.
I had brought Wuthering Heights, the one that Alistair got me, so I could read it with Russel McClair. Meanwhile, Alistair would be downstairs talking to mom and helping her.
So, me being alone with Russel would of course lead to him asking questions. And luckily, Alistair predicted this and conditioned me on how to properly respond.
"Calvin, are you a painter?" Russel asked me after I had finished reading a chapter.
"I am. It's my profession," I replied.
He chuckled to himself and leaned back onto the headboard. "You know, my mom used to collect art works. But they were those contemporary works, like the white canvases and broken pieces of glass. She always implied that they had meaning, but I doubt that."
"I don't particularly do contemporary art works," I said. I pulled out my phone and showed Russel some of the drawings I do. "These are the ones I do."
Russel looked at my painting on my phone. He looked at them closely and would sometimes place his finger on the screen to stop and get a closer look.
"You certainly have talent, Mr. Fischer. I could see why Alistair wants to be with you forever." Russel said.
"I'm not sure about forever," I said, hiding my blush by looking away.
"Oh, because every time Alistair calls to check up on me, he always talks about how he sees himself settling down with you." Russel said matter-of-factly. I stared at him in bewilderment, not understanding how he could just say something so blatant.
"He just might be eager," I muttered. Russel turned to me and placed his hand on my palm.
"I'm not so sure, Calvin. Alistair is my close friend. And I know that he doesn't play around when it comes to his emotions."
There was a knock on the door. Alistair entered and was holding a bowl in his hands.
"Everything okay here?" Alistair asked.
"Ev'rything's cool, man. Was just talking to Calvin here about the book he was reading me." Russel replied.
"Great. It's lunch time, Russel. Jocelyn made alphabet soup." Alistair walked over and placed the bowl of soup on the small table. He slid it over so it reached across Russel's lap.
"God, that woman can make such an amazing meal." Russel was quick to dive into his soup, not caring that it was hot.
"I'll leave you to it," I said, closing my book and standing up. "Until next time, Russel."
