Raquelle's Gun

Time: 12:20pm

Raquelle had momentarily gotten herself nervous when she got back to the den. It looked like she’d set the attaché case upside down, which would mean Ken would see the gun as soon as she opened it to start her little spiel.

Fortunately, she had put it down the right way. She took a seat at the couch.

It was even softer than it looked and Raquelle felt like she had sank into it.

-Oh I’m sorry, she said, reacting to the suddenness of the feeling of sinking into the couch. It was a much more presumptuous seat than to just take without asking.

But her briefcase was already there.

-I should be sorry, Ken said, I’m really wasting your time here, aren’t I? He lingered between the den and the kitchen area. How many house calls do you have today anyway?

-Oh well, she started, then she coughed lightly.

-Oh, I’m sorry, Ken said, apologizing again, one of many habits he knew was poor. I never even offered you a drink. Would you like some water? There’s a little bit of coffee left, I could make more, he said, thinking he’d like some. He kept talking because she wasn’t. And there’s lots of juices.

Raquelle had seen the heart emoji message from DH. He’d sent it late and she hadn’t noticed.

He spent so much time on the pitch to get her in and she didn’t think she’d used it all. Maybe the cover story was important, she thought, but they never prepared for the actual conversation, questions like, how many house calls do you have to make.

-Sorry, Raquelle said, tucking her phone under her hip. Juices? What kind of juices?

-Barbara likes to have all kinds, Ken said, walking back to the kitchen.

Raquelle got up to follow, feeling like it was the right thing to do, though he had probably sent himself back to the kitchen because there was something intimate, maybe presumptuous, about a seat on the couch, which is where he wanted to sit after seeing her sit down. He wanted to sit down.

-Oh it’s quite alright, Ken said, somewhat nervously. Stay there, I’ll bring you something to drink, just let me know what you’d like. You can set up your demonstration. What is it anyway?

Raquelle stopped when she heard the quakiness in his voice. Why was he nervous? She should be nervous. But she wasn’t, was she? Why was that?

Because she wasn’t ready, was she?

She had a couple of dioramas and a catalog they’d printed at a copy shop with before and afters pulled from the internet or made with AI, and then of course the gun underneath it.

He didn’t have to see the gun. It was tucked underneath all the material, she knew she and DH had made sure of that, as long as she had put it down the right way, which she glanced down at again to make sure she did.

-Is everything ok? Ken asked from the kitchen, seeing her standing there by the coffee table looking at her attaché case.

She wasn’t ready, she thought. She turned to Ken.

-Coffee sounds great actually, you don’t mind do you?

-Absolutely, I really wanted some too, but you know how it is, it takes two, he said, chuckling awkwardly.

It does take two, she thought. What was she thinking? He’d asked about her demo. And about her house calls before that.

-You know, she said, this is actually my only house call today. I only do this part-time.

-Is that so? Decluttering services aren’t your passion? Ken asked as he started to set up the coffee machine.

It was a super-automatic espresso machine, one of those long silver ones, and Raquelle noticed it for the first time. Ken noticed her noticing and, as he was wont to do sometimes with the frivolous things he thought Barbara spent her money on, felt self-conscious.

-Would you like an espresso? I should have offered.

-No, I don’t think I’ve ever had that before, Raquelle said, laughing. She found it so unbelievable as it came out of her lips, even though it was true. She didn’t even really like coffee. It just sounded like it would take the longest out of all drink options he’d so amusingly listed off for her.

-You never told me what kind of juices you’ve got, she said as she decided to look in the fridge herself.

-Make yourself at home, Ken said as he saw Raquelle open the fridge and inspect the juices, from apple to watermelon.

-No zucchini juice, she asked teasingly.

-Hah, you noticed, he said. You would, as a decluttering expert wouldn’t you.

-Like I said, it’s part-time. My passion would be, you know, actual design. Categorizing the juices in alphabetical order is cute. There are actually transparent containers you could buy for them, and then you could organize them by color. That would be very pretty, she finished, pleased with herself.

Ken looked back at the den area and the briefcase there. It felt like the demo was starting. Something was.

-About this demo you’re here for, he started, maybe bring that stuff in here, it’s a lot more comfortable isn’t it?

There were plenty of windows there and it wasn’t the plan, but she wasn’t really sure what the plan was anymore.

DH had probably texted again by now, or blown it.