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“The staple gun,” she says while unscrewing the cap on the paint thinner. The fumes rise up and enter my nose, coating my throat, and causing me to cough. “Sorry,” she adds. “I’m trying to get together a bunch of stuff and I’ve gotta be out of here in a few minutes.”
“No, I haven’t seen the staple gun. Did you try outside on the patio? I think I saw it out there last time you were stretching canvas.”
“Oh yeah!” She drops the handful of brushes she was holding into the sink and rushes to the backdoor. I let out another cough and start opening windows so we don’t pass out from the fumes. Besides the tiny mountain of paintbrushes piled by the sink, she has tubes and pots of different paints scattered about. There is a stack of sketchbooks on the coffee table with graphite pencils and erasers sprinkled around it, including a nice little group of them on the floor. I go over and scoop them up, adding them back to the pile from where they came.
Now, I’m not saying that Bianca is the neatest person on the planet. Hell, she’s an artist and sometimes her creative mind takes her places that my more analytical one can’t follow. That means keeping a clean working or living space isn’t always high on her list of priorities. But it’s unlike her to have all of her supplies out at once and treat them so carelessly. I’m not upset about the mess, she’ll get around to moving everything eventually, I just wonder what is going on.
“Found it!” she shouts as she comes back inside, holding the staple gun up in triumph before tossing it into a pile of canvas and wooden frames in a corner of the living room.
“Sooo, what’s going on, roomie?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Ugh, I’m trying to get some stuff together so that I can go babysit,” she says casually, like it’s no big deal. Like the craziest thing she ever said hasn’t just come out of her mouth.
I know that my jaw has hit the floor, I can feel it hanging open but can’t seem to close it. Bianca hates kids. Okay, I don’t know if shereallyhates kids but she’s certainly said she hates them enough. And it’s not just lip service either. Bianca avoids children the way an alcoholic avoids AA meetings. She’s said many times that she never wants them and whenever one is in the general vicinity, she heads the other way. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know any kids.
“Who the hell are you babysitting?” I ask, genuinely concerned for whatever child is going to be in her care.
“Oliver.” She doesn’t even bother to look at me. Maybe she’s joking.
“Who’s Oliver?”
“You know, Detective Dickwad’s nephew.”
Who the hell... “Are you talking about our new neighbor?”
“Yeah, he’s a total dick but his nephew is pretty cool.” I must have fallen asleep at my desk and I’m having some kind of stress dream. The past few days have apparently been too much for me to handle.
“So let me get this straight. You’re going to babysit this Oliver kid, who is the nephew of a cop and our new neighbor, who you hate?”
She finally stops and looks over at me. “Yeah, that’s basically it.”
“And all these art supplies?” I ask, trying to piece this all together.
“He saw one of my pieces and liked it so I thought that I’d bring over some stuff that he could use. I mean, you’re supposed to entertain kids when you’re babysitting them, right?” The look on her face is one of genuine curiosity and I can tell the question is legitimate, I’m not sure she’s ever babysat a day in her life.
“Yeah, entertaining them is good. So, how old is Oliver?” I mean, I should probably make sure he’s not going to eat the paint, right?
Her brow has that furrow in it that her father gets when he’s deep in thought. “I’m not sure actually. I mean, he can walk and talk and stuff.” Is it rude to facepalm your best friend?
“You do realize that means he can be any age from one to eighteen, right?”
“Well, I’ll ask him and let you know.”
“You’re sure about this?” I ask. If this were any other activity, I wouldn’t be questioning her but I’m not going to lie and say I’m not a little concerned.
“Yeah, it should be fine, it’s just a couple of hours.”
“Okay, well if there’s a problem just call me. I’ll be home tonight.” She drops what she’s holding and scoops me up in a hug. Bianca always gives the best hugs. With how small I am and how tall she is, I get completely enveloped. I hug her back tightly. Really needing the comfort from my best friend, even if she can’t know why.
“You’re the best, Vi. I mean, you probably can’t tell but I’m a little nervous. I don’t spend much time with kids.” I choke back a laugh and try to keep a straight face because I can tell she’s serious.
“Not a problem, I’m here if you need anything at all.”
She abruptly releases me and starts patting down her pockets. “You don’t know the time, do you?”
I reach into my own pocket, pulling out my phone. “It’s a quarter after six.”
“Shit!” She runs into her bedroom and comes back with her own phone. “Okay, nothing from either of them. I’m in the clear.”
