Chapter 13 Andrew
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Andrew
The shrill screams of children chasing each other feel like nails on a chalkboard.
I try to dull it by sticking my finger in my ear when I catch a very apologetic mother getting multiple judgy glances from around her, which is when I transition my improvised earmuff into a feigned itch.
It’s chaotic and loud and overwhelming inside the LEGO? Store in La Jolla.
I’ve only been inside for three minutes, but I’m on a mission. One that involves a new friend of mine.
When I don’t find what I’m looking for, I find the nearest employee with a yellow apron and a LEGO badge, a little cowboy figurine perched above the name Patrick in all caps and block letters.
“Excuse me,” I say, calling for his attention. I point my phone screen at him and ask, “I didn’t see this set out here. Do you know if you have any in the back?”
He squints at my phone and says, “Sure, let me check.”
I nod, standing off to the side where there’s a display of a Mona Lisa LEGO behind a glass case. Another loud squeal, this one less sulky, buzzes past me followed by the urgent pitter-patter of light-up sneakers.
This isn’t how I expected to be spending my Saturday morning.
I figured I’d have a lazy start, enjoy a protein shake followed by a few hours at the gym.
Or a trip to Ikea to replace my broken nightstand.
But the unexpected turn the day is leading me through has a giddy trill rolling through my body.
My initial plan was to stay away from Grace.
I had every intention of respecting her wishes.
To maintain a more acquaintance-style friendship, even after our tryst. But then she walked into my party and stripped down to her bikini, as if she was asking for an invitation, and all bets were off.
I tried to stay away from her. Even when I watched her walk into the house and followed her, knowing everyone would be distracted outside with the karaoke machine, all I was going to do was say a quick and simple hello. Greet a friend.
I felt like I was boring daggers into her body.
Into the valley between her shoulders and the bumpy ridges of her spine.
At the small mole under her collarbone, the exact spot I nipped at her skin, most likely leaving a mark.
Up until the party, I was ready to erase her from my mind.
Use distance as a method to move on. Out of sight, out of mind.
Except she appeared right in my sight. All bare skin and flustered hands and blushed cheeks.
That’s when I threw out the friend barter.
A covert tit for tat she wasn’t even aware of.
But it seems I haven’t quite discovered the lengths I’d go to spend a minute more time with her.
The thing is, while I’m alarmingly attracted to her, I’ll take this friend situation if that’s all I’ll get.
Things seem to shift when I’m around her.
My temples relax and my jaw loosens, and I actually have a good time.
When I talk to her, I feel so engrossed, and it’s like she actually listens when I talk.
She doesn’t just nod her head along, throwing out an occasional “yeah” or “mmh-hmm.” I forget about Mr. Sheridan and corporate ladders and gopher duties.
Even the sudden—and unsolicited—realization of my commitment issues slip my mind.
She creates this amnesiac. An escape bubble where all the bad and terrible sit outside and I can simply enjoy her company.
So, if a friendship is all she’s going to give me, I’m going to friendship the fuck out of her.
“Here you go,” Cowboy Patrick says, extending the coveted set in my direction. “You’re in luck. It was the last one.”
I grin at him. “Thanks.”
“Who is it?”
I clear my throat. All the confidence I had parking my car in a guest spot in Grace’s garage and while walking up to her condo has dissolved, leaving me this helpless, nervous mess. “It’s Andrew.”
The locks click from the other side, and when the door swings open, Grace’s wary face greets me.
She’s wearing my shirt again, but instead of a pair of soft pajama pants, she’s wearing leggings.
While she doesn’t necessarily look like she’s been lying in bed all day, she doesn’t seem to have any plans to step outside today.
“Hi,” I offer when she doesn’t greet me with anything more than a skeptical look.
“What are you doing here?”
I ignore the flatness of her tone and pull the LEGO set from behind my back. Though I don’t do a big fanfare of a cheesy “ta-da,” my grin does enough to pull a small smile from her.
She takes the set in her hands, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth as she taps her index finger along the side of the shiny cardboard box. “LEGOs?”
“Not just any LEGO,” I correct, the both of us peering down at the picture on the box. “But roses.”
When she looks up at me, her shoulder leans against the doorframe, and the sweet way she tilts her head makes me think that maybe it’s working.
This random ruse I thought up of to kick start our “faux”-ship into an actual friendship.
She smiles an honest, genuine smile when she asks, “Is this your idea of being friends? Bringing me flowers?”
“Ah, but they don’t count because they’re LEGOs.” I tap at the box, accentuating my point.
“And you just thought you’d drop off some LEGOs for me?”
I scoff a fake frown. “Hell no. We’re building them together.”
“What?” The laugh that rattles her confused voice is the wave of confidence I need to brush past her and walk into her condo.
She follows me, closing and locking the door behind her.
I slip off my shoes and step into her living room to see a small cozy nest of blankets, popcorn, and Buster.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” she defends, setting the LEGO set down and folding a blanket that looks like it’d be as soft as a cloud.
“Leave it,” I tell her. And I mean it. The thought of spending the day nestled in her soft, fuzzy couch with blankets to serve as extra nesting material sounds like the perfect way to spend time with a friend.
“It’s fine,” she assures, moving onto the popcorn bowl. It’s half empty, salty crumbs lining the edges. Proof I interrupted a very lazy and relaxing Saturday morning.
I reach for it, taking it from her and placing it on her coffee table. “Just leave it. I’m not here to be impressed by your hospitality skills. I just want to build a LEGO set with my friend.”
“There’s that word again,” she mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. But she doesn’t fight me on it anymore. She leaves the popcorn, and the other two blankets she had in a rumpled mess on her couch.
“So, are we going to build this baby?” I ask, picking up the LEGO set and waggling it in front of her. She opens her mouth and closes it, followed by what I can only translate as a wince or a grimace. I can’t really tell because it’s fleeting. But it’s there. A flash moment of vacillation.
“You want a drink before we get started?” she asks, tucking away her hesitance and hiding it with a thumb pointed to her kitchen.
I pretend not to notice and answer, “Sure. I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”
She walks away, her steps retreating to the fridge. I swoop down to one knee and greet Buster. He hadn’t gotten off the couch and rushed me like last time. It seems a bit of a food coma, or rather a popcorn coma with the scattered crumbs around him, has left him a little listless.
“Hey, bud,” I whisper, patting his head.
His tail thumps loudly on the couch cushion at the same time he laps a warm lick to my cheek.
I’ve always wanted a dog. I think all of my siblings did when we were growing up, but we’ve all yet to take the plunge and get one.
James and Teeny are busy with their kids.
I think Josh is busy making one (eww, gross).
Maybe I can be the first one to get a dog of my own.
“He likes you.” Grace reappears, two Coke cans balanced in one hand. She sets them down on the coffee table and nudges one in my direction.
“I like him too.” I settle onto the ground leaning my back against the couch. Buster takes the opportunity to rest his chin on my shoulder, and I feel a soft sigh leave his lips. “I actually think he likes me a lot. Maybe more than you.”
Grace laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself. He likes everyone.” She stoops down onto the carpet, on her knees with her butt resting on the heels of her feet.
I reach over and pat Buster’s head. “Yeah but come on. He likes me the most.” It’s then I notice she’s had her hand behind her.
She moves her other hand back there, now free of the two frosty soda cans, and I see her arms slightly jostle like she’s moving something around at the small of her back. “Whatchu got back there?”
A sweet head tilt is her answer. An attempt to hide her secret a little longer.
Until she gives in, plopping a beaming stuffed capybara wearing a bib with the words “Get well soon” on it.
She grins at me, and I pull together everything I have in me to stop myself from squeezing her into a giant bear hug.
So instead, I feign a quizzical head scratch and mockingly ask, “Wow, you shouldn’t have?”
She leans forward, landing a playful slap to my shoulder. “You don’t have to be an asshole.”
“I’m not even sick,” I argue back.
“I didn’t get you anything for your birthday,” she informs me, a smile slipping through her pout. “So, I got this at the hospital gift shop.”
I take the grinning stuffed toy in my hands, ruminating over this gesture of hers.
I’ve gotten various gifts throughout my life.
A bottle of vodka for my twenty-first from Teeny.
A refrigerator magnet from Peru from Ro and Hayley.
A two-year membership to the meat of the month club from my dad just last week for my birthday.
But of all the gifts I’ve received, this little stuffed animal more appropriate for someone recovering from an appendectomy is the best gift I’ve ever gotten in my entire life.
“Thank you,” I finally say, masking the delight in my voice with a wave of nonchalance.
“You’re welcome,” she responds. “And happy belated birthday.”
“Thank you.”
She grabs the LEGO set and jiggles it. It rattles with mischief and a peaked interest in spending the next few hours putting the roses together. “So, should we crack this bad boy open?”