CHAPTER NINETEEN
When I pick up Lisset from school on Friday, she tells me that the theme in the classroom today was around family appreciation. She holds up the colorful cards she made for everyone.
“Please can we drop them off, Mom,” she begs.
I agree to stop in at my parents’ house, because I have no desire to head home and wrestle the expansive quiet in my own house. Friday nights, for some reason, are the times I feel the saddest.
Grandma and my parents make a big fuss over the cards and I revel in Lisset’s evident happiness.
“Looks like you had fun at school today making those cards,” Grandma comments.
We’re sitting around the kitchen table eating my mom’s minestrone soup, which is my favorite comfort food.
“I had tons of fun,” Lisset confirms, dipping her baguette into the soup.
“I miss those days,” Grandma remarks wistfully.
“You can have fun with Google, GG,” Lisset tells her.
“What planet are you on, child?” Grandma asks. “Fun and Google don’t go together.”
“I have fun with Google,” Lisset insists.
Grandma eyes her skeptically. “Maybe you have a different Google.”
“They’re all the same, Grandma,” I tell her.
“Want me to show you?” Lisset asks.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Lisset straightens in her seat. “Hey, Google,” she says in a loud voice, “tell me a joke.”
Google comes alive. “Why did the toilet paper jump off the building?” There’s a pause. “To quickly get to the bottom.”
Lisset laughs, along with my dad, a staunch fan of toilet humor. “See, GG?”
Grandma is still frowning, but I detect the hint of intrigue on her face. “Huh. Do something else.”
“Hey, Google,” Lisset instructs, “sing me a song.”
Google belts out a tune.
“Let me try,” Grandma interjects eagerly. She thinks for a moment. “Hey, Google, bark like a dog.”
A strange barking noise comes out of the machine. My mom tightens her lips and Lisset giggles.
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t believe humiliation is what Lisset had in mind, Grandma.”
“Really?” she remarks, trying and failing for a look of innocence. “I thought we were having fun. I’m certainly having fun.”
I shake my head. The woman is incorrigible when it comes to Google.
“Try again, GG,” Lisset urges.
“All right,” Grandma agrees, sounding way too eager. With the widest smile I’ve ever seen on her, she says loudly, “Hey, Google, self-destruct.”
“Mom, what does Google mean when it says, ‘please head to the escape pods’?” Lisset asks on the drive home.
“It’s a joke, honey,” I tell her. “Google was pretending it was about to blow up.”
She thinks about this. “That’s pretty funny. Even GG thought so.”
Yes, she did. So much so that I thought I’d have to perform CPR on her at one point.
Through a yawn, Lisset asks, “Can we drop off the cards for Uncle Aaron and Auntie Tess?”
“Not tonight, Lis. I’m pretty tired.” And still a little raw and emotional after last night’s Monopoly game, which Aaron eventually won.
Lisset yawns again. “Okay.”
It’s been three days since Lisset’s talk with Gideon. I’ve attempted to introduce a few more books to her, but the more I push, the more she pulls away. The confusing part is that she’s not being difficult or lazy. She still excels in math and diligently completes the rest of her schoolwork. Oddly enough, she’ll also read a menu when we’re out at a restaurant. Yet it’s painfully clear she still holds onto a deep-seated aversion to reading. I feel the anxiety I’m always trying to keep in check resurface.
Saturday morning, I’m weeding the flower bed in my front garden when I spot Gideon returning from a morning walk with Uno. It’s a beautiful spring morning, the air crisp enough for me to wear leggings and a light sweater, but the March sun is promising a warm day. Lisset is taking advantage of the fact that it’s the weekend and sleeping in.
I straighten at Gideon’s approach, the trowel still in my hand. Uno is panting heavily, his tongue lolling out. I head to the tap and fill up a container I keep outside. I carry it over to Uno, who immediately starts lapping up the water.
“That’s kind of you,” Gideon says. “Thank you.” There’s a note in his voice I haven’t heard before.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing to Uno.”
“It’s not me being nice,” I warn him. “I simply don’t want your dog collapsing on my lawn.”
He tips his head back and laughs, a deep, unselfconscious laugh that echoes down the street. I find myself admiring the strong, tanned column of his throat before I catch myself and look away.
“What about Uno’s owner?” Gideon asks, his smile lingering. “He’s feeling in need of a drink.”
I motion to my outside tap. “Help yourself.”
“Ah, have some pity on a parched man.”
My mind darts back to the dinner we had with Tess and Aaron, to Gideon’s face when my sister offered him orange juice. A smile comes slowly to my lips. “You’re welcome to join me for a drink on my porch, but I only have orange juice to offer you.”
He blinks. “Orange juice?”
“Yup,” I confirm cheerfully.
“Orange juice is fine.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I thought you hated it.”
“Not anymore.”
I gesture to my porch. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I head inside and fill up two glasses with orange juice. When I return, Gideon is sitting on my porch chair, looking very much at home. Uno is out cold at his feet.
I hand Gideon his juice and take the other chair on the porch. I settle back and stretch out my legs like I’m preparing to watch a show.
He stares dubiously into his glass. “It’s, uh, very pulpy.”
I nod. “I buy the extra pulp carton.”
He swallows. “I can see that.”
I mentally high-five myself. This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. I didn’t realize the badly behaved child inside me is still so alive and active.
“Is there a problem?” I ask innocently.
He shakes his head. “Just excited to get my daily intake of Vitamin C.”
I hold up my glass. “Cheers.”
He taps his glass against mine. “Cheers.”
I take a long drink of my juice. Gideon attempts a cautious sip. A shudder goes through him as he swallows.
“How is it?” I ask.
“Thick,” he mumbles.
“The thicker the better,” I say without thinking.
His eyes snag mine. I feel a telltale heat in my cheeks. I quickly down the rest of my juice.
When I finally glance over at Gideon, he’s cracking his neck, as though he’s working up the courage to take another swig.
As he lifts the glass to his lips, I call out, “Stop! I have apple juice.”
He lowers his glass. “Well played, Ms. Miller.”
A sigh escapes me. “I should have let you drink it. I’m disappointed in how soft I’m becoming.”
His chuckle follows me as I head to the kitchen and bring him back a glass of smooth apple juice, which he finishes in record time.
I shake my head at him. “Would you seriously have drunk extra pulpy orange juice that you detest just to sit here with me?”
“There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you, Kate,” he informs me softly.
Our eyes connect. And just like that, the tables have turned.
I’m the first to look away. “Before you think too kindly of me, remember when Uno sprayed blood all over me?”
“I remember.”
“You said you were in my debt.”
“Correct. Are you cashing in?”
“I am.”
He smiles. “Okay. What do you need help with?”
I clear my throat. “I bought Lisset a desk from IKEA and I need you to assemble it.”
The smile leaves his face. “No.”
“You owe me one!” I protest.
“No way. That’s too big an ask.”
“It was a lot of blood, Gideon,” I remind him. “Lots and lots of blood. It was like that scene from The Shining . I had to throw away my clothes.”
“I had a feeling you’d get rid of them,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Look, anything but IKEA.”
“I don’t understand what the problem is.”
“They enjoy messing with your head.”
I can’t help my grin. “Don’t tell me you’re an IKEA conspiracy theorist?”
“The rumors are true,” he insists. “IKEA is all about breaking people. They make sure there are leftover screws in every flatpack, because they want you to think you’ve missed a step.”
“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
His face is pale. “I don’t like the person I become when I have to assemble anything from IKEA.”
I tap my finger to my lip. “I’ll have to make it worth your while then.”
Interest flares in his face. “What do you have in mind?”
“How about dinner?”
His eyebrows lift at my offer, then he nods slowly. “I accept your offer of dinner.”
“Good,” I say in a brisk tone. “Just let me know what day works for you. I’ll cook you dinner and drop it off.”
He immediately shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Not good enough. Not for IKEA.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a pretty good cook.”
“You’re also pretty good company,” he retorts. “I’ll take the dinner, but I’ll take the company too.”
I blink at him. “But that’s not what I was offering.”
“But it’s what I’m insisting on,” he says with a smile. “Invite me to dinner.”
“What? No.”
He heaves a sigh. “Guess you’ll have to build that desk yourself.” He gets to his feet and Uno follows suit. “Thanks for the juice.”
“Gideon!”
“Good luck with the desk.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m as serious as you were about the orange juice.”
Tess’s plea for me to give Gideon a chance drifts into my head. Never mind that I can’t stop thinking about that squirrel trapped behind the glass. “Fine!” I agree huffily. “Dinner it is.”
He gives me a cocky two-fingered salute. “I look forward to it.”