Chapter 53
I stay hidden in my room the next morning, rolling around on the bed trying to fall back asleep.
Someone had quietly opened the door at some point and beckoned Birdie out.
Possibly that same someone had put a thermos of coffee by my bedside with an old MERCY JAZZ NIGHTS mug.
As if they knew I might need to stay in here a little longer this morning. I pour out a sip, grateful.
I’m afraid to emerge. I don’t want to face anything. I don’t want to talk to my sister about what a bitch I was. Have been. Often am. A sudden burst of music blares from downstairs, and I rocket up in bed. I blink and listen for a moment, then rush to my door and dash down the steps.
I had expected to eventually come down and see a dark, quiet house left over in a mood from when I went upstairs early last night.
Quite the opposite.
Austin is shirtless in the kitchen flipping pancakes, the smell of bacon and maple syrup and melted butter filling the air.
He spots me just as the chorus to “Love Will Keep Us Together” starts, flips his hat around, and comes over, sauntering to the beat, mouthing the words. Just stop! ’Cause I really love you, stop, I’ll be thinking of you.
I can’t help but laugh, and he holds a hand out, spins me around in a circle.
He leads and I’m a floppy half-awake rag doll, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s able to dance for the both of us. This song had played one memorable time at Dusty’s when I beat him at Ping-Pong.
The song gets to the ba-da-da-das and he says, “Bacon or sausage?”
“Bacon? What’s … going on?”
He pops a grape in his mouth from a nearby bowl and says, “It’s my day, sweetheart.”