thirteen
At what feels like an ungodly hour the next morning, the sound of the unrelenting knocking on my front door is boring through my skull, so I throw on a robe and almost trip down the stairs. It doesn’t matter that I was riddled with anxiety dreams about gross, overflowing toilets and having to drive cars backward. I’d still rather stay in my blanket cocoon, riddled with cliché anxiety dreams.
Before I can even fully open the door, I hear a rote voice announce, “I am called Alex, and I am looking for a winter hat, preferably one with a pom-pom on top. Red. I’d also like to have an omelet. Danny says they are good, and Danny is my friend, so it’s okay that I’m here.”
The tall, lean, dark-haired figure in front of me is probably a few years older than I am, maybe in his late twenties, and he’s busy, looking off to the side.
“Hi. I am called Callie. And…wait, what?” My eyes are probably bleeding booze and misery. A fabulous look.
“I am called Alex, and I am looking for a winter hat, preferably one with a pom-pom on top. Red. I’d also like to have an omelet. Danny says they are good, and Danny is my friend, so it’s okay that I’m here,” Alex repeats himself word for word but with a bit more force and agitation.
“Okay, okay.” It doesn’t feel likely that a hat-and-omelet-seeking person will kill me, so I wave him in and point to the dining room table. “Okay…I don’t know…grab a seat, One Who Is Called Alex.”
He pushes past me and plonks down, sitting upright in one of the wooden chairs. “Danny had a ham and cheese omelet. I would like that as well.”
I don’t even know what’s happening right now, but I shuffle to the kitchen, open the fridge, and pull out what I need. Apparently, I’m some sort of resident omelet expert, my skills known across the land. “Would you like anything else in your omelet? Tomatoes?”
“No. I would not.”
Okay then. It’s a full glass of iced orange juice before I beat up eggs.
“Would you like a coffee? Because I need about five.”
“Five cups of coffee is not a smart idea. Do not do that,” he calls out. “But I will take one, please and thank you,” he says. “Also, the hat. Don’t forget about the hat.”
“It’d be impossible to forget about the hat.”
“One with a pom-pom. That’s important.”
“Yep. Okay. So important,” I mumble.
After I have a pot of Sumatra brewing, I heat up a pan. When the butter is hot enough, I dump in beaten eggs and sprinkle cheese and diced ham down the middle, letting it all set before I begin shaking the pan, as though I’d been doing this for a million years. This feels to be the one lone skill I’ve acquired in my twenty-plus years of life, but here I am.
Soon, I’m slouched against the table and sipping my coffee while Alex eats.
“This is very good. Danny was right in his evaluation.”
“Didn’t realize I was being evaluated, but great.”
The doorbell rings.
There is not enough caffeine for me to deal with this.
But I half-open the door anyway and scream, “Now what?”
“Hello, Callie.”
The soft voice throws me, and I’m not prepared for feeling as though I was brutally slammed in the chest. It takes me more than a few seconds to start breathing again.
Paul, my dad’s best friend and the man who has kept this house from falling to the ground, stands before me. And I cannot think of one thing to say. Obviously, he’s older than the last time I saw him, but he’s still such a handsome man. Salt-and-pepper hair now, the same bright blue eyes, the same kind, true, most genuine smile. And I am taken back to my childhood yet again. He instantaneously reminds me so much of my father that it physically hurts. My body is telling me to grab on to him, to scream, to break into a million pieces. But instead, I let out a ragged breath and try to smile.
“Paul. It’s good to see you again.” My voice sounds colder and weirder than I’d like, and the hug I give him feels perfunctory, which I feel awful about. But I’m panicky and uncomfortable. “Danny said you’d be coming by.”
“Of course. I was hoping to take a better look at the roof—”
But Alex’s yell stops us. “This bathroom is dangerous! It’s not okay! Broken!”
Fuck!I forgot about last night’s…renovations.
