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Oneweeklater…
Olivia
When I was in high school, I watched my parents remodel their bathroom. There were daily delays. Either the workers no-showed, the materials didn’t arrive, or the permits took forever. It was always something.
When the workers are in the military, it’s a whole different ball game.
You’d never know that just one week ago the floor and walls were filthy seventy-year-old boards. Now there’s modern gray laminate flooring, bright recessed lighting, and walls painted clean-looking eggshell white, except for the half-wall painted red to encourage spending money. I looked it up on the Internet. People spend more money in an environment with red.
Tomorrow, a different crew will install extra shelving in the storeroom in the back of the shop.
Not only have the soldiers worked their asses off for this, I’ve been working overtime, too. That’s because I messed up so badly with Ty that the Colonel has held off assigning anyone else to work with me.
If someone had asked me the day I arrived, I would have said I’d be glad to never have to work with any of the scary splicers. Now, though, I feel a sense of shame. I’m not proud of how my behavior affected Ty. I’ve always considered myself a nice person and don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
It’s startling to see Ty heading toward the Mane Street Fashions doorway, looking as if his tail is on fire. Is he coming to give me a long-overdue piece of his mind? Why else would he darken my door again after the way I treated him?
I haven’t seen the male since the Colonel was ready to buy him a tutu so he could be a ballerina. I can’t help chuckling as that picture dances across my mind.
He hasn’t eaten in the dining room and I assumed he’s been avoiding me. Though his body language is full of purpose, he opens the door only enough to ensure it rings the little brass bell. He waits for me to make eye contact before he eases through the opening, then backs into the corner near the door.
With his hands up in the “don’t shoot” position, he battens down his face so there’s not a millimeter of fang peeking from between his lips.
“Hi, Ty.” I put a welcoming lilt in my tone, then wonder if he thinks I’m using my retail shopkeeper’s voice instead of my sincerely-happy-to-see you voice. “It’s nice to see you again. How can I help you?”
He almost edges closer, then retreats until his back is again hugging the wall.
“I brought this.” He thrusts his computer tablet toward me, then thinks better of it, sets it on the floor, and uses his bare foot to slide it toward me.
After picking it up, I walk to the table and chairs where we had our last conversation and motion him over.
“I’m fine, Ty. Why don’t you come sit here?”
When he still doesn’t move, the expression on his face a bewildered combination of his need to comply with my request and his desire to keep a respectful distance from me, I say, “I won’t bite.”
When he still doesn’t step toward me, I break out in giggles at my stupid joke. Perhaps it’s my sincere happiness that unlocks something in him. He joins me and gingerly sits in the seat across from me.
“You smell better today.” He immediately realizes his gaffe and tries to cover it by hastening to add, “I mean, I can’t smell your terror.”
“Yep. Terror is in the rearview mirror. As I said, I’m glad you’re here. What can I do for you?” I’m not sure what changed in the last week. Maybe it was eating in the dining room with nineteen other splicers for three meals a day. Whatever it was, sitting across from Ty feels as comfortable as if I was sitting with a friend.
“Several of the males and I have been dancing together. We want to put on a performance. A production number, three of them actually, just like on the vids.”
He scoots his chair an inch closer, then his eyes widen as he realizes his transgression, so he scoots it back half a foot.
“We want to make a big deal out of it. We plan to invite everyone with clearance to be on the property. Maybe serve snacks. I looked things up like samosas, panipuri, pav bhaji, and pakora. I thought it would be fun, and I can’t wait to try them.”
He’s so excited, the words are streaming out of his mouth so fast he’s neglected to take a breath. When he does, his muscles tighten, he sits taller in his chair, and he inspects me as if he hasn’t seen me before. Is he wondering if I’m judging him?
“Sounds amazing,” I say as my mind catches up with the picture he just painted. At first, the idea of a bunch of animal-men dancing is terrifying. Then it becomes ludicrous. A moment later, though, the fantasy becomes truly amazing.
He’s so enthusiastic and passionate. The positive energy he radiates is infectious.
“I can picture it, Ty. It sounds fun. And wonderful to watch. I must admit, I’m surprised Colonel Slater approved it, though. It sounds like a good excuse for a party and he doesn’t seem the partying type.”
Ty’s brow furrows as he dives into deep thought. He looks at me a few seconds later and proclaims, “My days of asking for permission are over.”
As I consider his words, he repeats himself, this time with even more force.
