Chapter SevenFischer
Chapter Seven
Fischer
Grant had something at the school with Dexter, so he sent me home early. To anyone else, that would be a good thing, but for the last three months I’ve been banking on Grant working me long hours so I don’t have any down time to get lost in my thoughts.
I could probably find some work to do around the office, but Grant gave me a look that said he expected me to actually go home tonight.
If he’s going to keep paying attention, I’m not sure this business relationship is going to work out.
I don’t want someone thinking I’m scared to face the world after what Miranda did, even if they would be right.
Grant must have decided I am a liability while I’m thinking about my failed company.
With the way I trudge inside the apartment, my shoulders heavy, he might be right.
Though hopeful I might have the place to myself for the evening, Kale is on the living room floor surrounded by yarn.
I’ve never actually seen my roommate knit, but it looks like my assumption was right.
He’s in the middle of making another hoodie or something similar, while the radio plays what sounds like a murder podcast.
I’m not sure I’m all that comfortable knowing that a guy who refuses to own a cell phone would be interested in murder. There’s a lot to learn from these kinds of things.
His eyes go wide when he sees me, and he legitimately drops his knitting needles as if he’s so shocked to see me that he can’t contain his surprise.
“You’re home,” he says at the same time he checks the watch he wears on his ankle.
Yep, he wears a watch on his leg. “Either my watch died, or you’re home before eight for the first time in… ever.”
I sink onto the couch because my room feels too far away. “Grant had a thing tonight. Didn’t need me.” Have I told Kale about Grant? Probably not, but he doesn’t look confused by my statement. I nod toward his knitting project. “How long have you been working on that?”
He glances at the partway-made jacket, though he still seems overwhelmingly unnerved by my presence. “Started it around three.”
It’s not even six yet, and though I don’t know a lot about knitting, I know it takes time. “That’s…impressive.”
Stretching out his legs, Kale folds his arms. “What happened?”
“What?”
He waves a hand over me. “You’re always pretty blocked, but this is almost as bad as when I first met you. What went wrong with your day and how are you going to move past it?”
I regret stopping to chat, but I’m too tired to move now. “Nothing,” I say, which is true. But since Kale is still looking at me like he’s waiting for an answer, I add, “I got trapped in the past, is all. I’ll be fine.”
Whether that’s actually true, only time will tell, but I’m going to need something to distract me tonight so I don’t get stuck thinking about Miranda.
Just as Kale is about to say something, my phone buzzes, and I’ve never been more excited to check a text. Maybe my roommate would have some good advice, but more likely he wants to tell me to align my chakras or something else I don’t understand.
My heart rate picks up speed when I see that it’s Micah who texted me, even if that means this distraction comes in the form of work.
Micah Taylor: Would you rather have the power to fly or the power to teleport?
Okay, maybe not work-related. Does she not have a date to entertain tonight? From the sounds of things, she’s rarely without a guy taking her out.
I could easily ignore her and head to the gym or something, but instead my fingers type back a response.
Me: Teleport.
Micah Taylor: Seriously? You don’t want to fly?
Me: I could teleport short distances which would be the same as flying. But I could also teleport long distances and avoid being stuck in a car with your questions.
Micah Taylor: Fair point, Mr. Price.
Me: Fischer.
Micah Taylor: Would you rather tell me why you don’t like your last name or tell me why you don’t like being touched?
An almost laugh escapes out of me, even though I should be terrified that she’s more observant than I gave her credit for.
It’s not like I’ve hidden my dislike of either of those things, but neither have I stated it directly.
Do I want to answer either question? Not really.
And if she continues on like she did earlier today, I won’t have to.
But I do anyway.
Me: Price isn’t my last name, but it’s what I use professionally.
Micah Taylor: Thanks for telling me, Fischer.
“Okay, what’s happening here?”
I look up, realizing Kale has been watching me this whole time with wide eyes. I’m not entirely sure what his expression means, but he seems to think something is wrong with me. “What?”
He cocks his head to one side, reminding me of the way Micah looks at me when she’s trying to figure something out. “You’re breathing.”
“People tend to do that when they want to stay alive.”
“Ha!” He shakes his head. “You just said a joke. I didn’t think you knew what a joke was. No, I meant your energy started flowing as soon as you got that text. Who is she?”
Suddenly I want to protect Micah from Kale, like there would ever be a reason for the two of them to meet. Hiding my phone might be a little over the top, but I tuck it under my leg anyway. “Who says I was texting a girl?”
He rolls his eyes and points to me with one of his knitting needles, which means he points with the whole jacket attached to it. “That dumb grin you had on your face says.”
I frown, which takes enough effort that I realize maybe I was smiling. Smiling? It wasn’t even that entertaining of a conversation. My phone buzzes again, and I look down while making sure I keep a neutral expression on my face. Kale is far too fascinated by my energy right now.
Micah Taylor: What do you think of rustic decor for the reopening? Lila had me putting together linen samples to bring to the decorator tomorrow, and I was thinking of having some plaid accidentally make its way into the mix.
Me: I was thinking gingham.
Micah Taylor: Do you even know what gingham is?
Me: You’re right. Flannel makes more sense than picnic tablecloths. Throw in some pine and burlap, and you might be on the right track.
Micah Taylor: Were you a decorator in your past life?
Me: I’ll let you know.
I look at Kale, who freezes as soon as he notices my attention back on him. Not that he was moving much, but now he’s not even breathing. “Do you believe in reincarnation?” I ask.
He blinks. “No, but I’m starting to think possession is a real possibility.”
I turn back to my phone.
Me: No past lives for me.
I send that, and the temptation to send another is almost too strong to resist. This is more fun than I’ve had in a while, and I’m quickly realizing that talking about superpowers and basic decorating over text message shouldn’t be classified as fun.
Grant’s right. Sometimes people need something to bring a spark back into their life. Maybe I can find mine in Micah.
Me: Please don’t tell me you’re still working. According to your multi-hued calendar, Ember doesn’t have any events tonight.
Micah Taylor: An assistant’s work is never done! But I’m working from home and have brownies, so I can’t complain!
What kind of home does Micah have? I know it’s an apartment, but I wonder what color the walls are. Does she have a lot of windows? Plenty of house plants? A cuddly cat who gets to snuggle with her every night? I hate that cat.
Kale chuckles. “Are you going to ask her out?”
That answer is easy. “No.”
“Then stop daydreaming. And stop grinning at your phone. It’s freaking me out.”
He’s joking, but he’s also right. I can’t think of Micah as anything more than a colleague for a lot of reasons.
One: it isn’t professional. Two: she’s too young for me.
Three: I am nowhere close to being emotionally capable of a romantic relationship.
I can barely keep up a cohabitant relationship with Kale.
And four: the last time I let myself entertain thoughts of affection with a woman I worked with, she screwed me over and made me unhireable outside of fast food.
I doubt Micah is capable of betrayal, but that doesn’t mean thinking about her is a good idea.
Unfortunately for me, Micah is not the kind of temptation that is easily ignored.
Micah Taylor: Brownies vs. chocolate chip cookies
I generally don’t go for either, but I don’t think this is the kind of question she will let me ignore. Forcing myself to my feet, I consider my reply as I pretend Kale isn’t staring at my back the whole trek to my room, where I collapse onto my bed.
Me: Ice cream.
Micah Taylor: That’s not an option, Otter Pop!
What in the world? But she texts again before I can ask what that was supposed to be referencing.
Micah Taylor: Nope, I don’t like that one!
Micah Taylor: I’m trying to come up with something to call you because I can’t call you Mr. Price anymore.
Me: You could call me Fischer.
Micah Taylor: And I will! Most of the time. But not when you don’t play by the rules!
Me: I stand by my answer.
Micah Taylor: Do you believe eating raw cookie dough can give you salmonella?
Me: Do I believe in actual medical research? Yes.
Micah Taylor: Have you ever eaten raw cookie dough?
Me: No. See reference to salmonella above.
It goes on for hours. Micah asks me question after question, some of them pointless and some of them designed to dig beneath my surface.
Do I go grocery shopping with purpose or wander the aisles and grab what looks good?
Do I ever let fear stop me from going after something I really want?
Do I ever wear anything but business casual?
Maybe it’s because I’m hidden behind my phone instead of trapped in a car with her, but I answer every question.
Each one seems to pry something loose inside me, like she’s chipping away at my armor, and I can’t bring myself to stop her because Kale is right.
I can breathe again.