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Just picked up the last of the food. I’ll be there in ten minutes.
Tank’s deep voice booms behind me, and I jump with a squeal.
“Shit! Sorry, babygirl. Thought you knew I was here,” his deep chuckle reverberates through his chest. “Why are you staring at the door?”
I look at the keys in my hands. “Trying to work up the courage to leave.”
“What’s the matter?”
I clear my throat and whisper, “I haven’t driven anywhere since that day.”
“Ahh,” Tank sighs. “You’re going to the house right?”
I nod, meeting his warm eyes.
“How about I get on my bike and follow you all the way there?”
My eyes light up. “You don’t have to do that, Tank. I need to get over it someday.”
“Today doesn’t have to be that day, babygirl. Let’s go.”
I push down the panic and slide behind the wheel of my new car, rubbing my palms against the warm leather steering wheel. I turn the A/C on full blast and wait for the cold air to cool down the hot interior. Tank walks his bike out of the garage, turning it around and waiting for me at the end of the driveway.
We make the two mile drive to the house I lived in from the time my parents brought me home from the hospital till the day I turned eighteen when my mom basically told me to get out.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Trigger in the driveway, standing next to his bike. A laugh bubbles up in my throat when I see the box strapped down on the back seat of his bike.
Tank revs his engine when he pulls past the house as I’m exiting the SUV.
Trigger salutes Tank before turning to me. “You look beautiful.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
I turn to the house and gasp at how different it looks from when I lived here. It was never a crappy home, and my dad always took good care of it, but it was definitely dated.
I always found it cliche as hell that mostly all houses in Arizona are the color of sand. That shit is so boring to me, and growing up in a tan house almost felt suffocating at times. Today, the same house looks back at me but is now painted a bright white with a beautiful new rust colored roof. I’m surprised at how green the grass is until I can see the hint of a sprinkler hiding where the driveway meets the grass.
“Ready to go in?” Trigger asks, holding the big box in his arms.
I find the key on the ring that Trigger points to and unlock the front door. When I push it open, the beep of the alarm system goes off. Trigger walks over to the panel on the wall, putting in a code. “The code is 1-0-2-8.”
“My birthday.”
Trigger grins, walking over to the massive kitchen and puts the cardboard box down on the pale gray granite countertop. I look around in amazement as he takes the food out of the box. I can’t believe this is the same house I grew up in. It’s the exact same, but so different at the same time. It clearly has been through an entire remodel, including paint, flooring, appliances and cabinets.
I laugh as I look to the counter and notice all of the food Trigger has laid out.
“Milkshake from Maggie’s, cookies and cream cake from Lilah’s, enchiladas from El Torombo.” He pulls out another grocery bag from the box. “Pickles from Walmart, and milk from the gas station in case the enchiladas give you heartburn.”
“Thank you, Jamie,” I say, smiling at all the yummy food that I haven’t stopped thinking about since last night. I pull a stool out from the countertop, which I’m surprised is there.
There are a few things here and there, but the house is otherwise empty. While we are eating lunch, I pull out the stack of papers I printed off last night and slide them in front of Trigger.
“What do you think about that?”
I watch silently as he reads over the flier I laid out in front of him. “It’s just a mock up of ideas. Nothing serious.”
“It’s perfect. You did this last night?”
