I don’t know why that bothers me so much.
It’s been ten minutes since “see y’all soon,” and I’ve checked the time about every forty five seconds since then. I know it takes around fifteen minutes to get from the diner to my house, and I figure Abby’s house can’t be that far out of the way.
Five minutes from now, Eleanor Turner is going to be in my house.
Obviously that was the plan–I literally invited her. But the realization hits me like a freight train. My eyes dart around the room, widening in horror at the current state of my basement.
I launch myself off the armchair, frantically gathering as many empty Red Bull cans and half-eaten bags of chips Ican reach in an attempt to make this place look like less of a dump. Jack and David are locked in on Madden, oblivious to my panic. In all fairness, I’ve never cared about the mess before. We stopped trying to keep things clean a long time ago.
My mom has also completely given up on trying to get us to keep this place looking like a liveable space instead of some National Geographic footage of the after-effects of a natural disaster. Her standards have dropped to “as long as there’s no mold growing on anything, I don’t care.” I think when it comes to the three teenage boys she wrangles on the daily, two of which aren’t even hers, she picks her battles carefully.
Right as I shove a whole grocery aisle’s worth of trash into the bin, the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” I holler over my shoulder at Jack and David as I bolt up the stairs three at a time. They barely grunt in acknowledgement, keeping their eyes glued to the TV.
When I open the door, it feels like all the air has been unceremoniously removed from my lungs, as if someone has crushed my torso like a soda can.
Eleanor is in my doorway, her heart-shaped face framed in a halo of blonde, wearing a shade of blue that makes her ocean eyes even more vibrant than normal. We stand there just looking at each other for a moment,somehow both caught off guard even though we knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.
Shifting uncomfortably, she laughs nervously as she says, “Well are you going to let me in or not?”
“Oh, yeah, duh,” I respond (very lamely), stepping aside so she can walk past me into the entryway.
“Shoes on or off?” she asks, and suddenly I’m feeling self conscious as her gaze wanders around the room.
“Uh, it doesn’t matter,” I mumble abruptly, eager to get her out of my foyer and into the basement, where I’m much more in my element. “We’re down here.”
She slips off her white sneakers without untying them and follows me down the carpeted stairs into the basement.
“Hi boys,” she says in greeting to Jack and David, seeming immediately more at ease once it’s not just the two of us. That only makes me more anxious. Do I make her uncomfortable?
Throwing the controllers down immediately, they rush over to sandwich her in a hug. Her laugh is muffled between them, and suddenly I’m overwhelmingly irked that I’m not the one making her laugh.
“Alright alright, get off of me dweebs,” she says, slipping under their arms and plopping herself onto my armchair, and I try to hide my smile. Why is the sight of her sittingin my usual spot stirring a warm feeling of satisfaction in my chest?
I shake my head, trying to clear that thought out of my head. I don’t even know what it means.
We spend the rest of the evening in comfortable conversation, and it feels like she’s always been part of our basement crew. I felt a little guilty inviting someone–not just someone, agirl–into our bizarre version of a safe haven, but she fits right in.
Me, Jack, and David take turns telling stories about each other, each of us trying to find something more embarrassing to share about the other than the last.
I scowl furiously, and tears of laughter run down Eleanor’s face as Jack tells her about the time my belt loop got caught when we were hopping the chain link fence at the prairie dog park when we broke in after hours. The last thing I need is for her to have a mental image of me helplessly hanging upside down by my britches while Jack and David laughed way too long before trying to help me.
We spend a few hours trying to teach her how to play Madden, and David has to stomp outside to take a breather when she smokes him on her first try. The look of triumph on her face was even more satisfying than David’s tantrum.
I like Eleanor at school–she’s funny, and smart, and always ends my day on a high. But at my house? I like her even more. That’s gonna be a problem.
Before we realize it, it’s midnight, and her mom calls to ask her if she plans on coming home anytime soon.
“Shoot, I’m sorry mom, I meant to text you to come get me way earlier. I lost track of time–I’m sorry to keep you up so late,” she apologizes on the phone, sounding truly distraught at the prospect of causing her mom even the tiniest bit of inconvenience.
“I can take you home if she doesn’t mind,” Jack yells loud enough for her mom to hear. “I’ve had my license for a full year, and I promise to be real careful.”
She pauses while her mom responds, and accepts Jack’s offer with a grateful smile. “Well boys, it’s been a pleasure,” she says, saluting in farewell.
The wheels in my brain spin furiously as I try to figure out a way to casually, naturally, invite her back over, but luckily David has no qualms about being direct, and shouts, “Same time next week!” It’s more of a declaration than a question, but she says yes enthusiastically anyway.
She gives David a tight squeeze around his middle, and I tag along behind her and Jack as they head upstairs, pretending it’s because I’m a good host. It’s not. I feeldesperate for a few more seconds with her, almost panicky at the thought of her leaving.
She unties the shoes she kicked off earlier, shifting her balance from one leg to the other as she shoves her feet back into them and hastily reties the laces. I don’t know why, but I find it insanely cute that she unties and reties them when it’s time to put them back on instead of just untying them at the beginning.
