The Rental

𝙍𝙀𝙀𝘿

The bell above the door chimed, disturbing the tranquility of the early morning inside of Joe's Hardware. Contrary to the bustling streets already occupied by frantic students and workers on their daily commute, Joe's Hardware is relatively quiet at 5:30 a.m.

Joe's has been open for years. The shop is way older than I am; despite a Home Depot recently opening up two years ago down the block, Joe has been insistent on keeping his business alive. He refuses to succumb to modernity. I'm not sure if it's because he's stubborn or stupid.

Joe's shop is one aspect of Santa Monica that has not changed since I was born. I can't exactly pinpoint how I feel about that, but all I know is that whatever feeling it is, has motivated me to continue coming here instead of Home Depot for whatever I need.

I breeze through the aisles, ignoring him at the counter as I make my way toward the paint section. Without thinking, I reach for a new pack of rags and few other things I know the location of by heart. As I approach the counter, the sound of soft country music hits my ears.

I try my hardest not to roll my eyes.

"Good morning to you too, boy."

As he scans each item at a dreadful pace, his eyes roam my entirety. I'm dead set on watching his movements instead of meeting his eyes because it's going to be mistaken as an invite for idle conversation he insists on having everyday I'm here.

"Those things are going to kill all three of you."

The remark was enough for me to shoot my eyes up. Fuck.

"What?"

He looked away to bag my things and didn't give me a response. I glanced down at myself and shortly connected the dots, as I realized the pack of Newport's slightly sticking out of my front pant pocket.

"You don't like hearing it. None of you do. But it's going to catch up to you. Especially, you. You're not getting any younger." He sighed. "If those don't kill you, the bikes surely will."

Many things about Joe irritate me. His insistence on managing this store alone, with no employees, irritates me. The fact that he opens at 5:30 a.m irritates me. The fact that he only takes cash in the 21st century irritates me. The country music he listens to, irritates me. His relationship with my father, Jason Hayes, irritates me. His tendency to forget that I am not my father, and try and pry on my life, irritates the absolute fuck out of me.

"You still working on those renovations? Those were little jobs. You should be renting by now. Get on with it."

The brown paper bag crunched as he placed it before me.

Instead of answering, I reached for the crumbled 20 in my pocket and tossed it on the counter, grabbing my bag then pushing through the front door. The bell is still chiming behind me as I start my bike.

...

"Matt!"

The door rattled shut as I kicked my shoes off. Immediately, I was greeted by Ginger. The brown and white husky nibbled at my feet as I put my keys and bag down on the kitchen table.

"Mateo!"

I cursed under my breath at the utter silence and pulled my phone out to call him. It rang 4 times before he answered.

"Get the fuck up and feed the dog before I start mopping the house."

"It's 6 in the morning you psycho. Leave me alone."

My jaw ticked alongside the beep of the hung up call.

In a few short seconds I was up the stairs and pounding my fist into his door. Like the smart little boy he is, he opened.

"Now."

"I'm not five stop talking to me like that." In the same breath, he contradicted himself and attempted to slam the door in my face but I held it open with my palm.

"If you did what you were asked I wouldn't have to. I told you yesterday to set an alarm. And why is she out of her cage? If she starts pissing everywhere when-"

"When the people come to tour yada yada. She won't. And if she does, I'll clean it. Big shit."

In the brief moment I let my hand fall, he used it as an opportunity to actually close the door. Luca, to my surprise, was standing in the bathroom doorway. Wearing nothing but sweatpants and holding a towel, he eyed me with that dull expression I could never interpret.

At least he's up.

...

Today is the first open house for the room we're renting. Luke and I posted the listing about two weeks ago.

Regarding this entire process, we were clueless. We didn't know what we were doing, and we definitely didn't have enough money to hire an agent, so we just had to figure it out.

We've spent the last 3 months fixing up the house and re-decorating Hudson's room. And by we, I mean me. All while maintaining our business and customers.

Because nothing gets done unless I'm doing it. And if it does, it's not done right.

Matt argues about anything and everything under the sun, and Luke is simply unresponsive a majority of the time.

To be frank, the Hayes household is a shit show. Even prior to Hudson leaving. But even more so now that he's gone.

"Come here, baby." I puckered my lips a few times to get Ginger over to her bowl. I made sure she finished eating before calling her to the yard so she can go potty outside. Sooner or later Luca came down. With the garage door open, I began working on my clients bike while simultaneously watching Luke in the kitchen.

I almost cut myself because I was distracted by the sight of him opening the fridge, his formerly muscular back now defined with the outlines of his bones. His light brown hair stuck to his forehead as he frowned, struggling to pop the cap off the beer in his hand. He tensed until it was open, tossing his head back with a never ending sip followed by a sigh.

Eventually he joined me, placed a beer in my free hand, and focused on his own work.

At the end of the day, that's all that matters.