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Callie’d bound into the room, bringing with her a whirlwind of energy. She was wearing too big sweatpants that hung low on her hips and an orange tank top smudged with paint. Her hair was in a loose bun on top of her head. “I can’t believe you’re so old. You’ll be a boomer in no time.”
Brushing away thoughts of the mysterious stranger, I gave her a pompous stare—mimicking Mrs. Stetson, whom I loathed. “That’s right, bitch. Respect the elderly.”
“Ha,” she plopped down into the chair across from me, tossing a large, bright yellow envelope onto the table between us.
“Want some?” I gestured towards a mug, the smell of rich coffee infiltrating the air. She was rubbing her eyes, smearing her old mascara.
I’d given her my favorite mug — with a drawn picture of a raven that said, With feathers black as starless night, I am as the raven who takes its winged flight. It somehow seemed fitting. Our lives were on the brink of a transformation – one that we weren't prepared for.
"You have no idea.” She grabbed it and took a gulp. Then clamped her hand over her mouth, just in time to keep coffee from spraying all over the table. “Shit, this is hot.”
“Sorry.”
Sitting crisscross apple-sauce in my chair, I took a sip of my own coffee—cooled from all the cream I’d added—cheering to myself when I kept it from spilling on my shirt. My own mug said, I used to have a handle on life, but then it broke off.
"Stay up late again?" I asked her.
She peeked at me through one halfway lidded eye. "You keeping tabs on my schedule now?"
“Yup.” I took another sip, relaxing.
“Why?”
“I told you. I’m your daddy now." I sniffed, trying not to crack a smile. I distracted myself by picking up my phone to text my best friend, Amara. She’d sent me a drunken ‘happy birthday’ text at midnight.
“Don’t you mean, mommy?"
"No,” I tossed my phone back on the table, my smile finally breaking through, “I mean daddy."
She crooked a black smudged eyebrow upward, “Is this your way of telling me you're an enby now?"
"I'm telling you that I now have privileges, bitch. As your newly appointed daddy, I get to be the bossy-boss of your cute face.”
"Is that so?"
"Yup.”
“You’re going to take care of me?”
“Yes.”
“Then how bout you tell that to your shirt?”
“You’ll have to do—“ I just now realized that I, somehow had managed to spill coffee on my shirt. I made a face, “This has nothing to do with being the boss.”
“Woah," her cup shook, splashing coffee all over her face and her own shirt. "I'm Summer. I think I’m the boss, even though I can’t even not spill stuff or trip over everything.”
“Hey! I'm not clumsy. Things just get in my way.”
“I’m Summer,” she continued to mimic me. “Floors hate me, chairs are bullies, and tables jump in my way.”
“Shut up, brat.” I threw a pen at her.
She grinned at me, not bothering to wipe the coffee now dripping down her chin, and I sucked in a breath, staring at her.
Her first smile since daddy died.
In the same moment, she seemed to realize it, too.
