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“You do know that premade pizza isn’t cooking?”
Emree’s meals are along the lines of cereal, Hot Pockets, and Pop Tarts. Where I grew up, we never ate anything like that. Even leftovers were a no-no. It was always a variety of foods I could rarely pronounce and probably did not want to know I was eating.
She lifts her head from the bent over position in front of the fridge. “What are you talking about? We have to preheat the oven and put it in. Then wait for it to be ready. That’s cooking, my dear. Oh, and don’t forget cutting and plating. That is a culinary class in itself.”
By the look on her face, I can tell she’s completely serious. That makes me worried about any future meals that could lead to possible food poisoning. Luckily, I can cook, just not a fan of the actual act and only really know the basics.
Emree grabs two of the pizzas, opens them from their packaging, and places them on the racks in the oven. After she sets the timer, she begins opening chip bags and pouring them into large bowls she pulls down from the cupboards.
Perplexed as to what she’s doing, I walk over to her. “So, what’s all this food for?”
The bag in her hand pauses. From the corner of her eye, she looks over at me, but then begins to pour the rest of the chips into the bowl. “Oh, I just invited a few friends over.”
While Emree grew up near this town and took the opportunity in her first two years here to meet new people, I did not. When she says ‘friends,’ what she means is hers, even though she would never word it like that. She always wants me to feel included.
Worrying about having people in our apartment, I ask, “How many people is a few? Because you bought enough food to feed at least a dozen,” I ask.
Emree bites her lip and avoids eye contact with me. I have a feeling that there are going to be a lot more people than I’d be comfortable with very shortly.
“Emree…”
She lets out a huff and turns to face me. “Okay, I invited that guy from the party. He’s super cute and sweet, Blaire. I swear, you’ll love him. And he said he was only bringing a couple friends over. We’re all in American Lit, so we planned to get some studying done.”
I’m sure they plan on doing a lot of ‘studying.’
Crowds aren’t my thing, but I’ve been working on that. I went to that party, even though I left early. I got a job at a local college hangout that, while completely out of my comfort zone, I have grown to love because of the people I work with. While the party was my big step, and I felt like that was major progress, having people in my personal area feels different.
My therapist has been encouraging me to step out of my comfort zone since I started seeing her my freshman year. She says to always make sure I feel safe, but try to push myself to a certain limit. Looking around my apartment, I feel like this is a place where I’m safe. I’m more comfortable here than I am anywhere else, so this should be fine. Itwillbe fine. Maybe it will be better because I’m familiar here.
“Blaire?” Emree calls out, breaking me from my own thoughts. “It’s been four years. You’re a stronger woman now, not a young, naive kid. And I’m always here for you, no matter what. The moment you want them gone, it’s done. They’re out of here, okay?”
I nod because my throat is suddenly too dry to use.
Emree smiles and comes over to give me a hug. “You’ll have fun, babe, I promise. Plus, you’re in American Lit also, and you’re an English genius. You’ll be our savior.”
“Oh sure, just use me for my smarts,” I say with an eye roll. “I’m going to go change real quick.” There’s nothing more uncomfortable than being in jeans all day, and if we’re really studying, I want to be in something comfortable.
Heading toward my room in the back of the apartment, I shut and lock my door. It’s always out of habit for me to lock any door after enclosing myself in a room. I can be home alone in my room, and the door will be locked. Same if I go to the bathroom. It’s one of those subconscious actions we do.
After changing into a pair of workout bike shorts, which are my favorite lounging clothes since no actual working out takes place, and an oversized hoodie, I lie across the bed and continue reading from one of my favorite books,Tornby Carian Cole. This copy has gotten well-worn over the years, but that’s to be expected when you read a book a few dozen times.
Reading has been my escape for years now. It’s a way for me to get out of my own head, my own life, for a short period of time. Dr. Warren, my therapist, suggested it and ever since then, I’ve been addicted. There are several other worlds out there through books, ones that anyone can be a part of. For me, it’s the best kind of therapy.
Time goes by as I get lost in the story of Toren and Kenzi, and before I know it, voices drift from the living room. Outside my window, the natural lighting has dimmed. The clock on my nightstand says it’s just after seven. I must have gotten too into the book and lost track of time.
Once I climb off the bed, I toss my book onto my desk. Emree said they’re planning on doing actual work, but I don’t want to look like an idiot if I walk out there and it was all just a ploy.
Deciding to leave the textbooks in here, I unlock the door and follow the sound of voices. Luckily, there aren’t many people here. There are two guys, one being the man Emree was making out with on Saturday, and another girl in the living room, setting down textbooks. Emree is standing in front of the sink, talking to the guy from the soccer team she’s been crushing on and was making out with at the party. The oven timer goes off and I wait for Emree to go get the pizzas out of it, but she doesn’t move an inch.
Deciding to be a good friend and get the food out before it burns, I head over and grab one of the oven mitts. Just as I open it, the doorbell goes off. I leave that one to Emree since my hands are a bit full.
With two very hot pizzas in my hand, I close the oven door with my leg and head over to the counter to get rid of these things before they burn a hole through the mitt.
Just as I’m turning around, the sound of a new voice comes from behind me. Everything from that point on happens in slow motion.
The pizza. Thehotpizza.
The guy who was standing behind me.
