Maybe I’ll make some more, just in case.Can’t be too careful.
TJ disappears down the hall, and then I hear him opening the dryer door.Then comes the sound of him pressing buttons.Beep.Beep.Beep-beep-beep.The dryer door opens and closes.Beep-beep-beep-beep.I’m sure he has a top-of-the-line washer and dryer, but it can’t be that complicated.I shuffle down the hall to see what he’s doing, delicately holding the hem of the too-long pants up like a Regency heroine.
He pushes one button, and then another.He opens the door.He closes it.He pushes more buttons.He puts his hands on his hips.He scratches his head.It’s quite clear he has no idea what he’s doing.
"Um, do you need a little help?"I offer.
"I know you’re supposed to do something so you don’t shrink clothes."He’s scratching his head again.
I step up and look at the Samsung dryer.Three quick taps and it hums to life.I set it for a twenty-minute cycle.Turning around to look at him, I say, "It shouldn’t be long."
He doesn’t break my gaze."I should probably learn how this thing works."
"Yeah, you should.I have to go down to the basement to do laundry in my building.The machines still take quarters."
"Ma usually comes down once or twice a week for my laundry.Sometimes she does it here, but most times she takes it home and brings it back."
I’ve met his mother, so I can totally see her doing that.She’s like a force of nature, but in a nurturing kind of way.However, the thought of having a mother who would take that kind of care of her grown children is mind-boggling.
"Your mom still does your laundry?"
"Yeah, I travel a lot, and I’m pretty busy.Ma always did it for me growing up, and somehow"—he looks around the room as if searching for the answer—"she just never stopped."
The mere thought of that level of caring and commitment from a parent has me green with envy."Oh.How old are you?"I ask and then quickly regret it.I don’t need to know any personal details.
"Thirty-two.You?"
"Twenty-nine.Richie was only twenty-six when she died.Her birthday was a few weeks ago.Eight-eight.I think that’s why she liked you, because you’re number eight.You were number eight on her list."I’m rambling.
He looks down at his feet for a moment.Talking about my dead sister usually has this effect on people.It’s a good reason for me not to talk to anyone.
"Why don’t we go have a seat while we wait for your clothes to dry?Should only be a few more minutes, and then you can go," he says.
Right.He can’t wait to get me out of his place.
Can’t say I blame him.
Chapter 14: TJ
She’s got to think I’m the world’s biggest moron, not knowing how to operate my own dryer.I want to explain, but she changed the subject, and now I don’t know how to get it back to why appliances flummox me.She’s met my mom, but maybe she didn’t get the full picture.With a woman like Maureen Doyle, it’s easier to let her bulldoze over you than stand up to her.She wants to do my laundry?I’m gonna let her.It’s easier than fighting with her about it and being on the receiving end of her disappointment.I’m her failure-to-launch child, and I’ll never get over letting her and my dad down like that.
When she brings up her sister again, it makes me think about the list.She’s still holding it in her hand.I try to take a peek."Is that what she said on the list?The number eight thing?"
Rachel shakes her head."No, but I know—knew—my sister better than she knew herself."
I slide onto one of my kitchen counter stools, and Rachel does the same."So you knew about the list then?Did you try and do anything with your sister before she died, or was she too sick?"
I wanna ask her why I made the list.Why did her sister think I was that special?
Rachel looks away, her gaze focused out the window, shaking her head slightly."My grandmother blindsided me with it a few weeks ago.Just after her birthday."She turns back to me, her gaze sharpening."I can’t believe she did this to me.She knows I’m going to have to do things for her, but she also knows I’m going to hate every single one of them."
Like meeting me.Ouch.I can’t control the expression on my face, my eyes and mouth immediately drooping.My thoughts are no doubt written all over my face.
"Oh no, I don’t mean you!"She attempts to backpedal."I meant, I’m pretty introverted, and going out and hunting down a professional athlete is not anything I’d ever do.Anything that involves me leaving my bedroom is a stretch for me."
If she were any other woman, I’d probably make a flirtatious comment about never leaving her bedroom.Even I know that is the wrong thing to say right now.Instead, I offer her a small smile.I 100 percent believe that she spends very little time talking to people.It shows.
Yet somehow, it’s endearing.
