11. 11
11
I ’m sitting on my couch, listening to a podcast Autumn was excited about the other day. These two girls chat about books they love, and this particular episode was all about her most recent novel. They seriously gush about it for an entire hour, and I’m loving every second. It’s so cool to have watched her go through the process of writing, and stressing, and doubting, and now there’s no lack of proof out there that she’s good at what she does.
I love it for her so much, and I can’t wait to text her when I’ve finished listening to this.
I play some random puzzle game on my phone while the episode plays. I’ve never found it easy to get into podcasts or audiobooks, because I get distracted. I feel as though I need to be watching what’s going on, or it can’t hold my attention.
This little system has been working pretty well for me, though. I don’t get the science behind it, but mindlessly moving these blocks has really helped me focus.
I line up yellow with yellow, blue with blue; I get jumpscared by one of the girls shrieking when they bring up a spicy bathtub scene and laugh to myself. That scene was hot as hell, and I can’t help but wonder how much of it was inspired by true events.
There are a lot of details.
Somewhere outside, I hear a noise and instinctively pause the episode. Of course I’m curious, especially when the closeness of the sound can only be explained by one person. The only person in the vicinity who would be out on the front porch area, because it’s also their front porch area.
Keys jingle, and a door closes. I’m almost tempted to look through the window, but I’d die of embarrassment if she saw me snooping now.
I glance over to my kitchen counter where I know her note is still sitting.
“ No, I’m not.” I’m guessing she’s on the phone. “ I have school that day.”
Her footsteps sound loudly across the wooden boards.
“Yeah, yeah. I think ninety-nine percent of your daily activities are a waste of time, but I’m kind enough to keep it to myself.”
Kind , yeah right. It is nice to know that her bad attitude appears to be the standard.
Her voice gets quieter as she walks down the stairs and it irritates me. I want to keep eavesdropping.
“ Honestly Colleen, fuck off.”
With that tone, I am so glad I’m not Colleen.
She must make it down to the parking lot, because along with her voice, the sound of her footsteps also disappears.
Now that she’s gone, and my chances of having another awkward interaction are also gone, I move my activity to my favorite seat outside. This little set cost more money than I’m willing to admit, not even including the cushions.
Outdoor seat cushions are made from pure gold, apparently.
They’re comfortable. They look nice. I’m glad I have them, but I’d be even happier if I wasn’t still paying off the credit card I put it all on.
Time begins to slip away as I watch the sunset behind the buildings in my neighborhood. My podcast ends, so I put on another: some true crime story the app recommended to me. I’m a couple hundred levels deep in this silly little game. The weather is a bit better than the night before, and I am dressed appropriately. My rainbow fuzzy socks come halfway up my shin, and my oversized sweater is practically a blanket. It’s the least stressed I’ve been in weeks, and I forget how nice it is to just sit around doing nothing. Sure I feel good after a nice, long, productive day, but downtime is important too. I need more of it.
I must doze off without realizing, because I open my eyes when I hear footsteps on the stairs again. Falling asleep outside with my front door unlocked is not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t say I’m surprised that my body is still trying to catch up on sleep whenever and wherever it can.
She appears at the top, hair in the messiest bun I’ve seen, looking grumpy and in a hurry.
“I really don’t have time to talk,” she mumbles without looking at me.
Actually, that’s not completely true. She looks at my socks. There’s an unmistakable few seconds where she doesn’t look away from them. Her expression gives nothing else away, not how she might feel about them or anything. She doesn’t stop moving towards her destination.
“Okay?”
I wasn’t going to make her talk, I’m hardly even conscious. I don’t say that though, I just watch as she lets herself into her apartment.
She slams the door behind her.
I’m looking down at two giant dishes of lasagna. I wasn’t initially expected at dinner, so I have no idea what army Amelia was cooking for tonight. As far as I know, it was just supposed to be her, Sam, Autumn, and Miles. None of which typically eat very much anyway. At least, not compared to how much food I can put away.
“Is this one dairy free?”
I know one of them is. Amelia never forgets to make special accommodations for Autumn. Fake cheese is starting to look so real these days, because they are identical. I’d have no way to tell.
“Yes,” she responds. As soon as she looks away, she looks back again. Her eyes dart back and forth. “Wait, maybe. Miles!”
His head instantly pokes into the kitchen.
“Yeah?”
“Can you try a bit of the cheese on top and tell me which one is which? I can’t remember.”
He rounds the corner, his shoes loud on the kitchen tile. He must have rushed here after work, because he’s still wearing scrubs. That’s the only indicator, considering he looks wide awake and ready to tackle anything.
That energy level is going to be really nice when they have a newborn soon.
Grabbing a fork from the drawer below, he takes a small bite of the one I suspect to be fake. I’m going off of zero evidence, just a hunch. When I raise my brows in question, his scrunch together. Without a word, he goes for the next one.
A few seconds pass, and he appears to really be thinking about it.
“Well?”
“Oh, it’s definitely that one,” he says, pointing.
I lift my heels, raising up and down in silent celebration that I was right.
Probably one of the more useless reasons I’ve given out points, but he gets some for confirming my hunch without even knowing it. Just a few, nothing too crazy.
“I think that’s the one I want tonight,” he turns to tell his mother. “I don’t even like cashews, but they really did something here.”
“Cashews? What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.
“Fake cheese,” he offers.
“What do cashews have to do with fake cheese?”
He blinks, seeming confused at my question.
Autumn walks in, interrupting whatever he might have said. Her head falls on my shoulder when she reaches me.
“Where’s Dahlia?” she asks.
I pout at the reminder that my daughter should be here, and isn’t. Stupid, annoying neighbors that want to ruin my life, as if ruining my sleep schedule isn’t enough.
“She’s with Caleb.” I put a hand up when I feel her mouth drop open. “It’s a story for another time. I’m too angry to tell it right now.”
Her hand comes up to my back and rubs a couple of soothing circles.
“I’m sorry, babe.”
I shrug, and then feel bad because it pushes her off of me.
“You didn’t have to move.”
She laughs.
“I know you weren’t shoving me off, but my back can’t take much more of that.”
She leans back a little, attempting to stretch it out. Miles instantly takes notice and steps behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and massaging.
I need that kind of devotion in my life. These shoulders have needed massaging for years now.
“Can we go back to the peanuts and cheese?”
“Not peanuts. Cashews,” he says.
“Aren’t they the same thing?” The laughter stops, and silence fills the kitchen. “What?”
“No,” Amelia says softly. “Peanuts are legumes, and cashews are nuts.”
“That only answers my second question.”
Or, technically, it would. If I knew what a legume was.
“What do you think fake cheese is made out of?” Autumn asks.
I shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”
She walks over to the fridge, and her eyes scan the contents when she pulls it open.
“Aha! Here we go.” Turning it over in her hands so the ingredients face up, she brings it to me.
I scan the list and my eyes bulge.
“What the hell? It’s practically peanut butter.”
“Still not correct,” Miles says with a laugh. “ Cashew butter.”
“I’m never going to change,” I say. “I think I want the dairy full cheese tonight.”
“You and me both,” Amelia says, and pats me on the shoulder. “And Sam. He’ll never get used to the other stuff.”
We all help ourselves to the pasta and bread, and settle at Amelia’s large dining table. We chat about lots of nothing: my parents renovations, Autumn’s current projects, Miles’ utterly hilarious patients at work. The sarcasm and wit in some of his stories is next level.
I love old people. I think I went into the wrong line of work.
Amelia’s finally moving her business into a bigger office, and it’s taking longer than she’d hoped. Her and Sam complain about the construction company they went through, and he lists off all the things he’d be doing differently if he had the time to take it on himself.
It’s all so natural, and I can’t help but feel a little awe when I’m in the middle of moments like these. The perfectly normal ones, where we really are just family. It doesn’t matter that I’m some random girl Autumn brought around that keeps showing up to these dinners. It doesn’t matter that Autumn had a complicated history with Amelia and her younger son. It doesn’t matter that Sam is the newest member of this table after deciding he wanted to marry Amelia after only a few months of knowing her.
It works. Your people are your people no matter how they got to be there.
And just like any family does, I have my quarrels with some of them. Amelia in particular.
She does her best, and I see how much she loves Autumn. It’s obvious how hard she tries every single day to make her feel welcome.
But it was downright stupid that she ever made her feel un welcome. As Autumn’s best friend, I can’t let it go as easily as she does. Neither can Vic, and we’ve had our talks about it. We’re protective. Autumn came into our lives as someone who was really hurt and vulnerable, and I can’t forget what the reason for it was.
It’s a good thing that Justin and I aren’t usually here at the same time, I’ll say that much. And it’s an even better thing that none of us will ever have to interact with Miles’ ex-wife, because I’d have more than words for her.
Conversation turns to Autumn’s due date, inevitably.
“I love you guys, but I don’t know if I want anyone else in the room when I’m delivering him,” Autumn says.
Miles chokes on the bite of food he was attempting to eat, and coughs a few times to sort himself out. I try to help with a couple pats on the back, but he waves me away.
“I’m good. I’m fine.” He turns to his girlfriend. “ Anyone ?”
“Of course I’m not talking about you, silly.”
“Oh good. Great,” he whispers.
Most people might assume that she wasn’t talking about the father of her child, but Autumn struggles so much with her anxiety that you never know. It wouldn’t be the most surprising thing.
I wish I could’ve forced Caleb out of the room when I was giving birth, he was so unhelpful. At one point he actually put on headphones because he was uncomfortable with all the noises I was making. I remember just how judgmental his words had felt, as if anyone could silently push a child out of their body.
I can’t make this crap up.
“You definitely have to hold my hand the entire time,” she tells him.
“Even if she crushes the bones until they’re unrepairable,” I add.
He looks her in the eye and smiles.
“If there’s anyone I’d let break my hand, it’s you.”
“That’s disgustingly sweet,” I say. “Enough of that.”
“I want you all there after,” she goes on. “To meet him first and get pictures of all of us together at the hospital.”
“Of course,” Amelia answers. “Whatever you want, we’re there.”
I nod in agreement.
We discuss around the table, who will be where. Who needs to be in charge of what. Every little detail and possibility is discussed, in order to put her mind at ease. Autumn doesn’t need to worry about a single thing when the day comes.
Vic and Julian are on their own dinner date night, but they’re a part of this conversation too. One of us will just fill them in and give them their assignments in our group chat later.
Autumn clears her throat and gives me a pointed look.
“I’ll forgive you for being late as long as you have Dahlia with you.”
“Without question. I’ll give Caleb a heads up just in case it’s one of his days.” I reach in front of Miles to squeeze her hand. “ If I’m somehow late, which sounds nothing like me, it’ll be because I’m tracking her down.”
Note to self: Do not let Caleb take her to his parents house that week. That’s three hours of driving that I do not want to do at the drop of a hat during any hour of the night.
Autumn squeezes me back with a big smile on her face.
I’m so excited for that day to come.