Chapter 7
Jake
I need her to believe me because the last thing I want to deal with right now is a hysterical version of Alice Caulfield. Besides, everything really is going to be fine. Relatively. Sure, I’m trapped in a dilapidated two-bedroom cottage without electricity or running water, and I’m here with the one woman on Earth who wants to be stuck with me even less than I want to be stuck with her. But we have a roof, enough to drink, and the sky is pouring out plenty of additional water. Plus, there are sixteen dozen cupcakes in the back of my car.
The next few days might not be pleasant, but as long as the creek doesn’t flood into the house, we can figure out a way to make this work. I hope.
Alice looks nervous, and she’s clearly upset about something other than the obvious issue of our current situation. I doubt she’ll tell me what it is. I might not be her favorite person, but I need her to know she can trust me tonight. I’ll have to pull back on the usual barbs.
“I’m going to look around for a bucket.”
I pop up from the couch and squint my way into the kitchen, feeling my hand along the wall because, with only one small window above the sink and the storm still raging, it’s hard to make out much in this room. It doesn’t take long to find a bucket under the sink, but Alice was right, the only food I see in here is an open bag of rice. Looks like we’ll be breaking into those wedding cupcakes for sure.
I might also have some jerky or something in my car, but I doubt Alice will be willing to eat it. Ever since our class watched a documentary about the intelligence of whales in the fifth grade, she’s been an on-and-off vegetarian. I don’t know if she’s eating meat right now.
I know people are starting to worry about us, so I send Danielle a text to check-in. I need to call my parents, too, but that can wait until I have the energy to deal with them.
Me: Stuck in Marnock at Uncle Tim’s. We’re okay, but have no food. There may be fewer cupcakes in these boxes when we get back. Sorry. You good?
She writes back quickly.
Dan-Dan : All good here. Zero worries about the cupcakes. Do what you need to do. Stay dry and play nice. I need both of my besties back in one piece.
Me: I’ll try. Can’t speak for Louse. Turning my phone to airplane mode now. Check back later.
Then I do switch my phone over to conserve the battery as much as I can. When I find my way back into the living room, Alice is still sitting on the sofa. Her knees are pulled up to her chest, and she’s curling in on herself.
“Are we supposed to, you know, go in that thing?” She points at the bucket I’m holding.
I bark out a laugh. “Yep.”
I have no problem letting her think that for a while. This is my chance to get my revenge for the mailman costume.
She brushes her hand over her face and turns away, trying to hide the fact that she’s sniffling.
My resolve crumbles. “Come on, Lousy, I’m not that bad. The bucket is for rainwater. We can still use the bathroom like normal, we just have to fill the tank to be able to flush. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Thanks to the candle on the coffee table, I can see her roll her eyes when she faces me again. My own eyes have adjusted enough to the dim lighting to notice that hers are red, and her wet lashes are making her blue irises look even brighter. She’s always had those piercing eyes that remind me of the White Walkers from Game of Thrones.
“Shockingly, not everything is about you. Sometimes people have whole entire thoughts in which you play no part at all.”
“Fair enough. Guess you’re not going to share what’s making your eyes leak, then?”
“No. It’s nothing.” She forces out a little cough.
“It’s obviously not nothing, but you also clearly don’t want to talk to me about it, so suit yourself. I’m going to grab one of the cupcake boxes. There wasn’t much else to eat, unless you want to try to boil rice over a candle.”
In the flickering candlelight, I can see the way she chews her lower lip. “I’m not hungry.”
She’s a liar. I can hear her stomach growling from here.
“Well, I’m starving,” I say, as I head out to the garage.
I return with a box and set it on the coffee table in front of her. Careful to keep a comfortable distance between our bodies, I sit down on the sofa and open the box. She doesn’t budge.
“Eat, will you?” I take a cupcake for myself and peel off the paper before taking a bite.
“I just don’t think we should be eating our friends’ wedding cake. That has to be bad luck, and we’re in no position to be bringing any more of that upon ourselves.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I already texted Dan-Dan about it, and she gave us her blessing. Her exact words were ‘zero worries.’ It’s fine.”
She scans the cupcakes.
“Will it make a difference if I tell you these are the vegan ones?”
“What vegan ones?’
“The last two boxes I grabbed from the bakery. They don’t have milk in them. Or eggs, if that matters.” There’s a giant sticker on the back of the box labeling them dairy-free. I turn it so she can see for herself.
“Really?” She seems so surprised, and for some reason the way her voice gets small, as if she doesn’t think she deserves them, feels like a punch to my chest.
“You think Danielle was going to serve things at her wedding that her maid of honor couldn’t even eat? That was the whole reason she used the bakery all the way out here. She wanted you to have options.”
“Oh my God, really?” Her face pales. “I’m the reason we’re stuck here?”
Another laugh escapes before I can stop it, and she glares at me. “Sorry Lousy, but it looks that way. It’s totally your fault there’s a hurricane, and how dare you take out an entire bridge all by yourself?” I shake my head and smile. She’s ridiculous. “I didn’t realize I was sitting here with Ororo Munroe. You really need to learn how to control your weather manipulation superpower.” I don’t think she knows who I’m talking about because she only blinks at me. “Storm? From the X-Men?”
“You’re going to need to use less nerdy references if you want me to understand you,” she chides, but she finally takes a cupcake. The way her eyes flutter closed and she lets out a little moan after the first bite has me needing to look away before I say something stupid.
In any other context, staying overnight in a private creek-side cottage and sharing cupcakes with a woman would seem romantic. With Alice, it’s just awkward. We sit silently, side-by-side on the couch, and try not to touch each other. There are a few mumbled “sorry”s when we both try to reach into the box at the same time, and at one point she taps her own face as a signal that I have icing on mine. After I wipe it off with my index finger, we both stare straight ahead at the non-functioning TV for what seems like an infinite amount of time. It’s quiet except for the constant pounding of rain on the roof and the occasional clap of thunder, until Alice’s phone starts shaking on the table and an alert flashes on the screen. Tornado warning. Take shelter immediately.
“Jake.” Her eyes are wide. “What’s happening?”
I jump up and pull the cushions off the couch, tossing one at her. “We need to get in the tub. Take this.”
“What?” She shakes her head, confused as she clutches the cushion.
I reach out and yank her up by the wrist, pulling her with me and carrying two cushions in my other arm. We haul ass down the hallway and I climb into the tub, spreading my legs as much as I can to make space for her, but my body takes up most of the room in a standard-sized tub. She’s going to need to sit on me.
“Come here.”
Alice doesn’t move. It’s like she’s frozen in place.
“Get in,” I urge her again.
She snaps out of her trance and shakes her head. “No. This is insane. I’m not sitting on your lap in the bathroom to hide from a thunderstorm. I’m going back to the couch.” It figures the one time she chooses not to be dramatic is now, when it would actually be warranted.
“It’s a tornado in the middle of a hurricane. Get in the damn bathtub, Alice. Now.”
Maybe it’s my tone of voice or maybe it’s that I don’t usually call her by her real name, but something finally gets through to her enough to make her cooperate. She grunts loudly in protest, but she climbs in and nestles her body on top of my thighs.
“And he says I overreact,” she mumbles to herself. I don’t need to look at her to know she’s rolling her eyes again.
The tub is small, and it’s not easy for both of us to fit. I lock my arms around her waist, and she piles the cushions on top of us for an extra layer of protection. Then she leans back into my chest. Neither of us speaks for the next few minutes as we listen to the wind howl outside. I feel her flinch every time the thunder booms or a tree branch falls on the roof. She’s going to give herself a heart attack being this jumpy. I wrap my arms a little bit tighter around her and hunch over further to whisper into the top of her head.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you. It won’t last much longer.”
Her hair smells like oranges. She groans like my words are annoying her, and she tries to wriggle out of my grasp, but eventually I feel her relax into me.
The reaction my body has to hers is involuntary.