did, then grasped the beer bottle like the mug of a stein and took a hearty but dignified swig. His wedding ring chattered against the glass.
“Yes, for real. Now we’ve graduated. We officially have to make it on our own now, like Laverne and Shirley.”
“They bottled beer.”
“Yes. And now we have to stop consuming it in such large quantities and turn our attention to the job market. I’m lined up, but it’s not too late to take the Memphis job.”
Zach shook his head. “I’m not moving to Memphis. That sounds like torture.”
“Why? Have you ever been there?”
“No. But you’re supposed to handle things you’ve never experienced by pre-judging them based on hearsay and other people’s prejudices. That’s what my mother told me, anyway.”
“Can you be serious for a second?”
Zach dropped his facade, then set the beer on their table and looked at Sam. “I don’t want to go to Memphis. I don’t want to be a graphic designer. Not one in anyone’s employ, anyway. And I like Portland. You like Portland. Our roots are here.”
“But my job offer there is … ”
“Better pay, I know. We keep coming back to that. But life isn’t all about pay. It’s about enjoyment. You work there, you’ll spend all sorts of extra time working. I know you will. They wouldn’t even have to make you do it; you just would. Not because you enjoy it, but because you’ll feel like you have to. We’d have to learn the city, and we already love it here. And besides, it’s not even a job offer; it’s a possibility based on your friend. The offer you have in town is real. Not even an offer — it’s actually a job, waiting for you Monday if you’re ready.”
Sam gestured to Zach with an exasperated “whatever.” She didn’t even necessarily want to move to Memphis; what bothered her was how unequivocally he turned it down. The job there would be better, just like the pay, and she would enjoy it more. Her writing ability, collegiate journalism experience, and academic record set her apart. She’d land the job the second she asked. It wasn’t a must, but Sam liked to keep her options open, and Zach kept slamming this one shut. She didn’t want to admit it, but as much as she told Zach she was fine either way, a small part of her suggested that staying put would be a conceit that sold herself short. On the flip side, it was equally true that leaving would probably be doing the same to Zach. To earn even the thinnest of shots in the art world, you had to have connections. Zach did — or rather, his connections had connections. He was terrible at marketing but an astounding creator, and lucky enough to have people in his circle who noticed his ability, cared enough to pass it on, and had influential people to pass it on to. But in Memphis, starting over? Well, the graphic design job might be necessary there because there would literally be nothing else.
“You’re just set in your ways.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “You’re the one who wants a jay-oh-bee. I’m the one who’s willing to see what happens.”
“You mean making more art. And hoping.”
“And freelancing,” he said, raising his beer as if in offering.
Oh yes. The freelancing. Since getting married 18 months ago, they’d each become much more interested in each others’ careers. For Sam, this meant pointing out, ever so gently and supportively, that Zach should keep doing his art but might consider adding something to augment it in the meantime, until his real passions took off. She then pointed out that he had an arts degree and suggested a job in (drum roll please) graphic design, even here in Portland. But even the design community in an artistic city wasn’t good enough for Zach, so he’d countered by proposing freelancing: picking up an illustration job here or there as needed. And why not? The independent publishing movement was strong, and authors needed book covers drawn.
“Yes, for real. Now we’ve graduated. We officially have to make it on our own now, like Laverne and Shirley.”
“They bottled beer.”
“Yes. And now we have to stop consuming it in such large quantities and turn our attention to the job market. I’m lined up, but it’s not too late to take the Memphis job.”
Zach shook his head. “I’m not moving to Memphis. That sounds like torture.”
“Why? Have you ever been there?”
“No. But you’re supposed to handle things you’ve never experienced by pre-judging them based on hearsay and other people’s prejudices. That’s what my mother told me, anyway.”
“Can you be serious for a second?”
Zach dropped his facade, then set the beer on their table and looked at Sam. “I don’t want to go to Memphis. I don’t want to be a graphic designer. Not one in anyone’s employ, anyway. And I like Portland. You like Portland. Our roots are here.”
“But my job offer there is … ”
“Better pay, I know. We keep coming back to that. But life isn’t all about pay. It’s about enjoyment. You work there, you’ll spend all sorts of extra time working. I know you will. They wouldn’t even have to make you do it; you just would. Not because you enjoy it, but because you’ll feel like you have to. We’d have to learn the city, and we already love it here. And besides, it’s not even a job offer; it’s a possibility based on your friend. The offer you have in town is real. Not even an offer — it’s actually a job, waiting for you Monday if you’re ready.”
Sam gestured to Zach with an exasperated “whatever.” She didn’t even necessarily want to move to Memphis; what bothered her was how unequivocally he turned it down. The job there would be better, just like the pay, and she would enjoy it more. Her writing ability, collegiate journalism experience, and academic record set her apart. She’d land the job the second she asked. It wasn’t a must, but Sam liked to keep her options open, and Zach kept slamming this one shut. She didn’t want to admit it, but as much as she told Zach she was fine either way, a small part of her suggested that staying put would be a conceit that sold herself short. On the flip side, it was equally true that leaving would probably be doing the same to Zach. To earn even the thinnest of shots in the art world, you had to have connections. Zach did — or rather, his connections had connections. He was terrible at marketing but an astounding creator, and lucky enough to have people in his circle who noticed his ability, cared enough to pass it on, and had influential people to pass it on to. But in Memphis, starting over? Well, the graphic design job might be necessary there because there would literally be nothing else.
“You’re just set in your ways.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “You’re the one who wants a jay-oh-bee. I’m the one who’s willing to see what happens.”
“You mean making more art. And hoping.”
“And freelancing,” he said, raising his beer as if in offering.
Oh yes. The freelancing. Since getting married 18 months ago, they’d each become much more interested in each others’ careers. For Sam, this meant pointing out, ever so gently and supportively, that Zach should keep doing his art but might consider adding something to augment it in the meantime, until his real passions took off. She then pointed out that he had an arts degree and suggested a job in (drum roll please) graphic design, even here in Portland. But even the design community in an artistic city wasn’t good enough for Zach, so he’d countered by proposing freelancing: picking up an illustration job here or there as needed. And why not? The independent publishing movement was strong, and authors needed book covers drawn.
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