Future Perfect by Jen Larsen Read Free Book Online

test,” she says. “I haven’t really felt like studying lately.” She digs her hands into her hair and pulls it back from her face. It springs back briskly.
    I open my mouth and she puts her finger on my lips.
    â€œYes, I’ve been going to class,” she says.
    â€œYou have to keep your grades up for RISD—”
    â€œSure,” she says.
    â€œI’m glad,” I say.
    â€œI know.” She leans against the wall and we sigh in tandem. The sounds of the restaurant swell up, all murmurs and chewing and knives on plates, the same it would be anywhere. The floor-to-ceiling windows have been thrown open and they rock in the breeze off the ocean. Gulls are screaming about gull things outside on the deck railings. I have never seen one fly inside, but Nancy has a lot of stories about torn-off hairpieces and knocked-over tables.
    â€œMrs. Tam probably needs more bread,” I say finally.
    â€œThe Monroes definitely need more bread,” she says. “It isn’t even worth checking first. I should never walk by their table if I am not ready to produce another basket.”
    We both push off the wall together. She picks up two baskets of bread and I pick up one of the water pitchers that Clarence, Nancy’s nephew and wage-free busboy, fills up with enthusiasm. We don’t go through pitchers as fast as he fills them for us, but he is glad to have a job to do.
    â€œOmar wants me to come up to the studio tonight so he can work on his portfolio,” Laura says as we slip through the tables.
    â€œHe wants you to drive three hours up to San Francisco tonight so you can work on his portfolio,” I say flatly.
    â€œWell, he was all, I’ve got this idea for a series of nature portraits except nature is ugly and cruel. ” She frowns. “I’m sure it’ll turn out better than it sounds. He’s basically interested in the intersection between our constructs of beauty and the beauty that doesn’t conform to that ideal but is, nonetheless, beautiful. Like we talked about in Art and Aesthetics. I’ll have to write his artist’s statement for this one.”
    â€œYou do every time anyway,” I say. Laura has been collecting art theory books since she graduated from Crayola crayons, and the things she knows are sometimes breathtaking. I’m smiling at her until she says, “So are you going to come?”
    â€œCan I get more bread?” Mrs. Tam says, glancing betweenus. I’m refilling her glass carefully, because she does not like excessive ice.
    â€œSure,” I say. “No,” I say to Laura.
    â€œJust one more basket,” Mrs. Tam says. “I have a lot of soup left.”
    â€œOf course,” I say to her. “Just as soon as you finish that last piece I’ll have it right out.”
    â€œOh I didn’t even notice that there!” she says, blinking like she’s just emerged from a terrible dream.
    â€œI have to bring dinner home,” I say to Laura, turning to the next table.
    â€œJust drop by for a minute and then come with me,” Laura says, gathering up empty plates and smiling distractedly at the Smiths as she passes their table. The Smiths are nudists but only on their own property since most business owners on the pier started banning them for hygiene reasons. “Bread? You got it!” Laura says, and gives them a thumbs-up.
    â€œLaura, that is nuts and I have had a crap day.” I wave my pitcher around and it sloshes. “Shit! I’m sorry, Mrs. Tam.” I lower my voice as Laura passes me, and follow her toward the back. “Morgan was—I am so tired of that class. It’s so pointless. The early deadline is in three weeks and this endless busywork is not helping. I should ditch that class.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t ever possibly even begin to consider potentially even thinking about ditching,” Laura says, dumping her armfulof empties into a bus