13. Sophie
CHAPTER 13
SOPHIE
I leaned my mop on the wall and crouched down by the bucket, scratching with my nail at the stain on the floor. Some time, maybe years ago, someone had spilled here, and whatever they’d spilled had set into the wood. I hadn’t noticed it when I moved in, or in the two weeks I’d lived here, until today. Today, making lunch, I’d chanced to look down, and there it had been, a big, faded stain.
I went to the cupboard and got out the bleach powder. The smell made my eyes sting as I shook it onto the stain. When I rubbed it in, the floor wax scraped off, but the stain underneath it stayed as it was. I mopped the spot clean and tried scrubbing with vinegar, then baking soda, then lemon juice. The stain weathered all of it. I reached for my phone and searched getting stains out of wood , and Google said vinegar or baking soda.
“Yeah, didn’t work.”
I went to the bathroom and found a bottle of peroxide, and soaked a cloth in it and laid that on the stain. About eighteen hours from now, I’d be heading to work. Seeing Miles for the first time since the night of the crash. It would be fine. We’d be fine. We’d move on. What had happened between us was one of those things, adrenaline, attraction, letting off steam.
But he’d held my head so I wouldn’t bump it.
He’d zipped up my jacket when my cold hands kept fumbling.
I grabbed up my mop and swabbed all around the stain, and the rest of the kitchen, and down the front hall. Then I dumped out the bucket and scoured that clean too, and stowed the mop and the bucket back in the closet. By that time, the stain had been sitting a while, and I lifted the cloth to see if it’d faded. The wood all around it had, so the stain stood out more, but it hadn’t lightened at all, that I could see. And would it be so wrong if I asked Miles out? I was into him. He was into me… unless he wasn’t, in the cold light of day. He hadn’t called, after all.
Neither had I.
Tomorrow at work, I’d look him in his eye, and I’d tell him?—
I’d say to him?—
I stared at the stain. Heat crept up my neck. What if I told him how I really felt, that I’d had a great time with him, that I’d love to go out, and he looked at me like he’d swallowed a bug? Maybe this time, I should let him speak first. Whatever he wanted, I could live with that.
But what if he said what he thought I’d want to hear? And he thought what I’d want was to keep on as we were? Then my silence would cost us the chance to be more, and we’d both feel rejected for no reason at all.
I dropped down, grabbed my cloth, and attacked the stain once again. This was getting me nowhere. Nowhere at all. No closer to a clean floor or a decision, and was this the first sign of PTSD? Was I clinging to Miles because of the crash? But, no. No, I couldn’t be. I’d liked him before that. Since our impulsive kiss in the bar, and maybe before that. Since the diner.
My phone blipped: a reminder. I needed to go. I’d promised Mom I’d come over and help her repaint. She’d been kind of lonely since I’d moved out, and I missed her as well, more than I’d expected to.
I rinsed out my scouring cloth and gave the floor one last wipe. My hands stunk of bleach, so I rinsed those off too, then I texted Mom — Hey, on my way . She sent back a smiley face, and then my phone buzzed.
“Hey, Mom. You need me to pick something up?”
Silence on the other end. I checked the call display — M. FLETCHER.
“Miles? Is that you?”
“Uh, yeah. Sophie? I got your number from Clive.” I could hear kids in the background, and a rumbling like thunder. The clatter of bowling pins. I smiled.
“Are you bowling?”
“Just wrapping up. Brian’s turning our shoes in, so I thought… I was thinking…” He cleared his throat. “You want to grab dinner our next day off?”
Relief flooded through me, so strong my knees buckled. I grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and sat down hard. “Oh, thank God.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
I bit my tongue. Had I said that aloud? “I was just worried it was going to be weird. Trying to think what to say to you tomorrow at work.” And I’d just said that too, and Miles was saying… nothing. I felt my ears redden.
“Miles?”
“So… is that a yes?”
“Oh, yeah. It is. I’d love to go out.”
“Then, Friday, right? I think we’re both off.”
I started to agree, then I remembered I couldn’t. “I told Jones I’d cover his Saturday graveyard. So Friday’s out, but what about Sunday?”
“Brian’s dad’s visiting, and he has to work. I said I’d pick the old man up and take him to dinner.” Miles huffed, and I heard him shuffling around. “I can’t find my schedule. How’s next week for you?”
“Next week’s Mom’s birthday. We have a whole weekend planned.”
“And the week after that, I have a volunteer thing. Teaching kids CPR. Damn it, uh…”
I felt my chance slipping away — thwarted, of all things, by our busy lives. “How about this week, one night after work?”
We set up our date for Thursday night, and when I hung up, the whole day seemed brighter. The pale winter sun felt warm as spring. My kitchen smelled inviting, all fresh and clean. I couldn’t even be mad at the stain on my floor: it gave the room character. A lived-in feel.
I floated downstairs and walked the six blocks to Mom’s, and found her waiting out on the porch. She saw me coming and arched a brow.
“Well, somebody’s happy. Who stuffed a bluebird in you?”
I laughed. “No bluebird. It’s just a nice day.”
She looked up at the low sky, all winter-white. The sun was a faint smear through the dense clouds. “What’d you do, get promoted?”
“What, six weeks in?”
“I don’t know. You might have. You’re good at that job.” Mom headed inside, rubbing her hands to warm them. She nodded at the sheets spread out over the floor. “We can do downstairs today, then upstairs next week. My room and your old room. Is it a boy?”
I peeled my coat off. “Is what a boy?”
“What’s got you so cheerful.”
I tried not to smile, but it was too late. Mom had seen it already, and her whole face lit up.
“I knew it! You’ve met someone. I love this for you. Is it that fiery partner? I’ll bet it is.”
I hated how quick she’d been, sussing me out, but at the same time, I loved how easy she’d made it. I didn’t have to admit she’d been right about Miles. She’d seen it somehow, long before I had, the spark that had fueled our early tension. I could see it now, how I’d wanted to impress him. How he’d had his walls up, and I’d wanted in. And now I was in, and it felt great.
“He asked me today,” I said. “We’re going for dinner.”
“Ooh, where’s he taking you? Are you excited?”
“Excited and nervous. He hasn’t said yet.”
Mom levered open the first can of paint. She stirred it, then decanted it into a paint tray. “So, are you nervous he’ll pick somewhere cheap? Or are you just nervous for your first date?”
“The latter,” I said. I reached for a roller. It still had the plastic on, so I tore it away. “I mean, if it works out, it could be amazing. He’s such a good guy once you crack that hard shell. But if we don’t work, he’s still my partner.”
“And you’re both adults.” Mom dipped her roller. “Think of it this way: you work sixty-hour weeks. You get off work, and what do you do?”
I sighed. “Yeah. Point taken.”
“You go home, you shower, and you fall into bed. Your days off, you clean, or you have to shop. Work is your dating pool. Well, that or Wegmans.”
I laughed at the thought of meeting my soulmate at Wegmans, between the fruit and the gluten-free bread. My last shopping day, I’d gone in my PJs, with my wool coat thrown on top. I’d barely stopped to text Mom to see if she needed anything, let alone scope out the local talent.
“Another thing,” Mom said, rolling on paint. “Your father and I got on because we were both teachers. When I came home in a bad mood, he understood why. It could be the same thing for you and Miles. He won’t resent you for working late, or if you get stressed. When you have a bad day, he’ll know how you feel. He’ll know how to support you, and that goes both ways. If you two work out, you’ll be there for each other.”
Miles had been there for me when Mom’s car got booted. He’d waited with me and made sure I was safe. And he’d done that before he’d much liked me, back when I’d still been the thorn in his side. Then he’d been there again when our ambulance crashed, rushing to make sure I was okay. I’d opened my eyes to him checking me over. Speaking softly to me, to ease my fear.
“Careful,” said Mom. “You’ll get paint on your leg.”
She was right — my roller was dripping. I wiped off the handle and wrapped it in cloth. Maybe one day, if things went right, it would be me and Miles painting our place. Picking out curtains. Towels for the bath. I smiled, trying to picture how his current place looked. Was he a neat freak, like on the job? Or did he go home and release his inner trash panda? I fell somewhere between messy and neat, a huge pile of laundry, but my kitchen was clean.
“I guess I’m nervous because we’re at the beginning. There’s so much about him I still don’t know.”
“That’s the fun part,” said Mom. “When it’s all a surprise.”
“Unless the surprise is, he collects human heads.”
Mom swatted me with a paint stirrer, still in the plastic. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Sorry. I won’t.”
“I guess you need that dark humor, with the job you do. But make sure you keep laughing, or you’re left with dark thoughts.”
I set down my roller and leaned over the tray, and pulled Mom into a careful one-armed hug. She stiffened at first, then hugged me back.
“What was that for?”
“For keeping me smiling, no matter what.”
Mom’s face lit up at that, and my heart soared. She’d worn that same smile like armor after Dad passed. Stayed upbeat for me through the absolute worst. But for a long time, her smiles had been hollow, none of that spark that could light up a room. It was good to see her happy for real.
We worked our way down the hall, then we painted the kitchen, and by the time we were done, it was dark. Mom ordered a pizza and I picked out a movie, just like we’d done on a hundred nights off. What would a night off look like with Miles? Would he want to watch Clueless for the eight billionth time, or would he be up for something scary? Maybe he wouldn’t want to stay in at all. I knew he liked bowling — would we do that?
My pulse picked up, but only partly from nerves. What I felt was excitement. Anticipation. Everything was new for us, just like Mom said, and I couldn’t wait to see what came next.