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“Don’t you dare laugh right now.”
“This is hilarious. And you’re really cute when you’re angry,” he says. I look at his face and see the glint in his eye. He’s not supposed to find this cute. He’s supposed to be shaking in fear. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him out of the blanket fort—okay, he comes willingly. He's a foot taller than I am and a good one hundred pounds heavier. There’s no way I’m dragging him anywhere. He’s walking backwards as he lets me push him back toward the door.
“Millie, come on. It’s just a game. It’s supposed to be fun,” he pleads with me.
“That was not fun. That was a massacre. Good-bye!” I say right before I slam the door in his face.
He has the audacity to knock on the door and ask for me to grab his wallet and phone off my kitchen counter. I retrieve them and shove them onto his chest before closing the door in his face for the second time.
“Goodnight. I’ll see you later,” he hollers through the door.
Before going to bed, I open my laptop and make a few quick changes to the hero of my novel. I was right with my first assessment of his character. He is an arrogant turd. I scatter smarmy looks throughout the chapters I’ve already written. I’m sure everything’s a total mess now, but I’ll fix it all tomorrow when my head is less muddled. I close my computer and lie down in my bed, assuring myself that I have every right to be angry.
However, I wake up in the morning, knowing that I completely overreacted. I can never face him again. I’m going to be that crazy neighbor who has to peek out the window to make sure he’s not outside every time I need to leave my house.
If I see him in the grocery store, I’ll have to hide behind the tall display of sodas. He’ll eventually forget all about me. Someone will mention the librarian, Millie, to him, and he’ll ask who?
No, I can’t let him forget me, but I do want him to forget about my tantrum last night. If not forget, then at least forgive. I go to the kitchen to whip up a batch of cookies for him. Eilleen gave me the recipe for some of the cookies she brought to the book club a few weeks ago. I bought the ingredients but never made them. I guess groveling to my neighbor is worth giving up the delicious cookies I was looking forward to devouring.
I mix up flour, eggs, butter, and sugar into a thick dough and then pour in dried cranberries and white chocolate chips. I roll the dough into little balls and drop them onto the baking pan. Into the oven they go, and ten minutes later, I have perfect cookies that are not for me. Well, he can spare one measly cookie. I take one from the pan and take a huge bite. It’s hot and delicious, and I’m even more reluctant to part with the rest. I pat myself on the back for my baking prowess.
I let them cool for a few minutes before putting them onto a plate. I write him a short note, leave them in front of his door, and then play ding-dong ditch. Yeah, I’m trying to apologize, but I still can’t bear to face him.
