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Callahan
The next night, I eat dinner alone, surrounded by evidence of Jolene. After living with Jake, I should be used to messiness, but her cowboy boots are kicked haphazardly by the front door. A pair of socks, of all things, are on my coffee table. A shirt of hers is tossed over the back of my couch. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, and already, she’s not picking up after herself.
Annoyance tenses my neck, but I don’t touch her things. She’ll have to learn to live tidier while here. Unfortunately, as I eat, my attention keeps darting to each carelessly tossed item. Her bedroom door is closed. If I had to guess, it’s chaos in there.
After tidying the kitchen, I relent and clean up after Jo, grumbling under my breath as I stack her discarded socks on her now-folded shirt. I debate going to bed early afterward. I’m exhausted from my long day. Jolene leaves the bar late. It would be easy to avoid her, but what if she hasn’t eaten yet? She probably leaves work exhausted too. Cooking is a pain when you’re tired.
I prep some food, just in case—cut-up veggies that can sit in the fridge if not needed. I yawn afterward, debate finally heading to bed. For some reason, I grab my biography on Cesar Chavez and sink into the couch, where I read until my eyes feel heavy.
* * *
“Cal?” A soft voice breaches my consciousness. A hand sifts through the side of my hair. “You should sleep in your bed. You’ll wake up stiff out here.”
Jolene.I don’t open my eyes yet. The feel of her hand in my hair is too good. And yeah, if she keeps doing that, something will definitely wake upstiff.
“What time is it?” I ask, my voice a quiet rumble as I move my book off my chest.
“Late.”
I finally open my eyes, and Jolene is gazing down at me in a way that makes my stomach clench. “You okay? How’s your back?”
“Better, thanks. And seriously, you should go to bed. I always get home late. Your days are long. I don’t want you waiting up for me.”
“I wasn’t waiting up,” I say. She raises an eyebrow, not bothering to call my bluff. “I didn’t want you to come home and have to tiptoe around,” I admit.
“Please don’t worry about me. You need your sleep.”
I quirk my lips. “Are you telling me I look like shit?”
She rolls her eyes. “Go to sleep, Cal.”
I stand and head to the kitchen instead. “Did you eat dinner?”
“Not really, but I’m fine. Please, just go to bed. You get up way earlier than me.”
Ignoring her, I pull out the veggies I cut up and the sauces needed for a simple stir-fry. “I’ll whip something up for you. Do whatever you need to unwind. I’ll get this going.”
She doesn’t reply. No noises indicate she’s headed to her room. I turn, and Jolene looks like she’s about to cry.
“Hey,” I say, hurrying over to her. I cup her cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just not used to anyone taking care of me.”
My heart squeezes. The person who cared for her most was her aunt, who’s now gone. And Jo doesn’t know how much I’ve done for her the past twelve years. She can’t ever know.
I shrug, like putting her first tonight is an afterthought. “We’re roommates, Jo. Friends who help each other out.”
I run my thumb down her cheek. Probably a non-friend gesture. She closes her eyes, turning into my gentle touch, then she spins away and says quickly, “I’ll change and be right out.”
Half an hour later, Jo and I are at my small dinner table while she eats my stir-fry of onions, peppers, broccoli, and bok choy, the veggies glistening with my usual concoction of black bean sauce, rice wine, and brown sugar.
“Did you go to cooking school?” She points her fork at her plate. “This is really freaking good.”
I focus on sipping my water. Not on the pleased puff of my chest. “You know I cooked growing up. Helped my mother feed her impatient brood.”
“Yeah, but…are you sure you’d call that cooking? Pretty sure I recall a pizza that could be used as a Frisbee.”
We actually did that. Ran outside, cracking up, tossing my overcooked pizza back and forth until our hands were a mess and it fell apart. “Not my fault. The timer I set didn’t work.”
