Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOPHIE
I don’t know if I want to hug my phone or throw it against the wall.
I thought the first time Tyler looked at me with that extra something in his eyes was a figment of my imagination.
A mirage brought on by lack of sleep and my general lack of situational awareness in the morning.
But with the caffeine from almost an entire cup of coffee swimming in my veins, I know now it wasn’t a mirage because I just saw it again, and I have no idea what to make of it.
And now I’ll never know if Tyler leaning across the island meant he was about to kiss me or maybe just wipe drool or something equally horrifying off my face because my fucking phone had to go and ruin the moment.
It’s a good thing I had a reasonably delightful conversation with football guy before I got out of bed because so far everything else about this morning is a complete shit sandwich.
“Uh, Soph?”
“What?” I shoot back, my head snapping up to meet Tyler’s amused smile, as if what just happened didn’t affect him one tiny bit, and maybe it didn’t. Maybe I actually did make it all up in my head twice in ten minutes.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Are you going to get that?”
Shit.
I glance down at my still-ringing phone to see Sarah’s name on the screen. Confused about why she would call this early in the morning instead of texting, I swipe to answer, stabbing the speaker button because it’s way too early to be holding a phone to my ear.
“Hey, Sar, what’s up?”
“Hey, Soph.” The slightly panicked tone coming from my most sunshiny friend has me immediately on guard, and I know Tyler hears it too because his eyes meet mine, his eyebrow raised in question.
“Is everything okay? Are you okay?”
Sarah blows out a frustrated breath. “I’m fine, but I think you should come home. We’ve got a really big problem.”
“What the actual fuck?” I mutter, staring at the wet, soggy mess that used to be our living room.
Water drips down the walls and streams over the hardwood floors, the puddles deep enough that our area rug in front of the sofa practically levitates, held in place only by the weight of the coffee table that is now covered in flecks of paint and damp hunks of plaster.
The drywall on the ceiling bubbles in some places and is cracked open entirely in others, exposing the wet wooden beams above.
The steady drip of water fills the space, and I can see enough of the kitchen and dining room from where I stand to know they didn’t fare any better.
I shiver, the lack of heat in the house that evidently caused this catastrophe suddenly obvious as the adrenaline of Sarah’s call wears off and the reality of the situation sinks in.
“Here, Soph.” Tyler comes up behind me and drapes a jacket over my shoulders. The jacket I left his house without when I flew out his front door straight to my car, the words house and heat and flood echoing in my head. “This is the fucking worst, but at least you won’t freeze to death.”
With a huff, I shove my arms into the sleeves and Tyler puts his hands on my shoulders, spinning me around and then bending to zip me up himself.
Standing, he pulls my hair out of the neck of the jacket, and for sure the shiver currently racing up my spine is from the fact that it’s ten degrees outside and probably even colder inside because there’s no heat in my house.
Definitely not from Tyler’s fingers grazing my neck.
That wouldn’t be logical.
Tossing an arm around my shoulders, he surveys the chaos. “Well, I guess family dinner is relocated for the foreseeable future.”
Choking out a laugh, I lean my head on his shoulder. “I mean, Maddy could probably make tacos in a war zone. A flooded kitchen shouldn’t be an issue for her. We’ll just bring in some folding chairs or something. The couch is going to be unusable for a while.”
Tyler chuckles, and when I lift my head and turn to face him, we look at each other for a beat before we both burst out laughing.
We laugh until tears stream down our faces and we’re holding on to each other to stay upright.
And when a massive piece of drywall drops from the ceiling and falls with a wet plop right at our feet, spraying water and bits of insulation everywhere, we laugh even harder.
Tyler’s right, this is the fucking worst, but laughing with him, even in the hysterical, what the fuck kind of way, makes it seem marginally less bad.
“Oh shit, I think they’re broken.”
Wheezing out a breath at Maya’s voice and trying to get my shit together, I spin to see her and Sarah standing side by side in the doorway, staring at us like we’re insane.
And we might be, because my entire house is flooded and I think Tyler maybe almost kissed me this morning and what even is this day?
Maya is already dressed, coffee in hand.
She lives next door, so Sarah must have intercepted her on Maya’s way to work at the school where she’s a fifth grade teacher.
Sarah is wearing pink plaid pajama pants tucked haphazardly into snow boots and an oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder.
Her pale face, wide eyes, and damp, disheveled hair is such a stark contrast to her typically sunny demeanor that it sobers me immediately and I step forward, wrapping my arms around her.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, Sar. I wish you hadn’t had to deal with this alone.
” I hate that I wasn’t here. This is my house.
I bought it when I graduated from college and then begged Sarah to move in with me when she came to Pittsburgh for med school because living alone is boring.
She did, and as my gift to her, I wasn’t here when it started raining in the living room.
Ugh. It’s raining in the fucking living room.
This is so uncool.
“It’s fine,” she says, her voice muffled by my jacket. “I mean, it’s a total shitshow, but I’m over the shock. I think.”
“What actually happened?” Tyler asks, splashing his way to our coat closet, opening it and grabbing one of Sarah’s jackets, holding it up so Sarah can slip into it. “Here, Sar, put this on. Your hair is wet, and you must be freezing.”
“Thanks, Ty.” Sarah slips into the jacket and zips it, putting her hands on her hips and surveying the room.
“I was up late studying last night and must have crashed hard. I wear earplugs, so I didn’t realize anything was wrong until my alarm went off at six and it was freezing in my room.
Like, arctic circle freezing. When I took out the earplugs, I heard the water and came down here to see what was happening.
And, well, it was this.” She waves an arm around the destroyed living room.
“I think our heat went out overnight, and since the temperature hasn’t been above twenty degrees in like two weeks, a pipe must have frozen and burst. That’s the only thing I can think of.
I went down to the basement and flipped off our water main, so anything that’s still dripping is just residual. ”
“How did you know how to do that?” I ask, a little bit in awe of her diagnosis and treatment of the situation.
I’m good at the zeros and ones of coding, but anything home related is utterly beyond me.
Maybe studying to diagnose and treat humans extends to house catastrophes too.
“I don’t even know what a water main is—or that we have one. ”
She shrugs. “The internet. When we moved into the house, I searched for the main things a homeowner needs to know, and I taught myself how to turn off the boiler, change the HVAC filter, re-light the pilot on the hot water heater in case it goes out, and turn off the water in case of emergency.”
“That’s badass,” Maya says with a grin. “You win the smart bitch award of the day.”
Sarah smiles, some of the light coming back into her eyes. “I know. I am fairly amazing. Anyway, whatever broke is definitely on the second floor.” She winces, turning to me. “I think it’s in your bathroom.”
“Why do you say that?” Tyler asks.
She sighs, giving me an apologetic look. “It’s probably better if you see for yourself.”
Two minutes later, I’m staring at what used to be my bedroom and is now a scene from Waterworld.
“Fuck,” Tyler mutters, and he’s right. It’s worse than downstairs.
Every inch of my bedroom is soaking wet, from the piles of clothes that lay around the room in the organized chaos I favor, to my purple comforter and the heaps of throw pillows that decorate my bed.
My pink neon Sophie sign flickers pathetically from its position on the wall above my bed, and water pools inside the dresser drawers I rarely bother to close all the way.
I take it all in with an objective, almost dispassionate gaze, my brain snapping into fix-it mode and cataloguing all the things we have to do next, until my eyes fall to the wall next to the bathroom door, and what I see has me sucking in a sharp breath.
“Oh no,” I whisper, sloshing over to the wall, angry tears pricking at my eyes as I take in the birthday pictures.
All nineteen pictures that Tyler has given me over all the birthday nights we’ve spent together hang crookedly from their hooks.
Water pools inside the frames, and the pictures are already warped and misshapen from the moisture.
Everything else is just stuff, and I can replace it all. But not these.
“Wow, look at all of them together,” Tyler says casually, as if he hasn’t been in this room and seen all these pictures together a zillion times. “I’m a really excellent best friend. Like, the bestest best friend anyone has ever had.”
When I huff out a watery laugh, he puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll fix them,” he says quietly, reading my mind. “I promise, Sal. We won’t lose these memories. I won’t allow it. They’re too important.”