Chapter 5 Vince #2
I slip inside quickly, entering the dining area. The house smells like eggs and something sweet. A round wooden dining table sits in a bay window with a red vase in the center. The kitchen is clean, all light oak and full of warm hues.
To my left is the living room, with a simple L-shaped sofa facing the TV. A teenage girl sits cross-legged on the couch, dark hair pulled into a messy bun and dark glasses slipping down her nose as she plays on a handheld device.
“Hey, Georgie,” Fletcher says. “This is Vince. Vince, my daughter.”
The girl barely glances up from her screen. “Hi. Sorry, give me a sec.”
Fletcher gestures toward the kitchen. “I made quiche and muffins earlier. Would you like some?”
My stomach answers before I can. “Sure.”
Fletcher is in jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, yet he’s walking around barefoot. It makes my stomach clench. I’ve always been a sucker for the jeans and bare feet combo. It’s nice to see him out of his usual messy work clothes too.
I stand awkwardly near the counter as he dishes up a piece of quiche. Everything about this place feels like a home, right down to the matching dishtowels hanging on the stove door.
He slips the plate into the microwave, then reaches for a mug. “I’m guessing you already had some coffee, but do you want more?”
“I haven’t actually, so yes, I’d love some.”
He seems surprised. “Did the Keurig not work?”
My cheeks heat. “I don’t know how to use it.”
“Really? Well, I’ll fix that before the day is through.”
Georgie bounds into the kitchen, pulling a barstool out next to me and reaching for an orange from a basket. “Hi. Sorry about that. I was racing.”
Fletcher chuckles, shaking his head fondly at his daughter. “She’s obsessed with Mario Kart lately.”
He says this like it’s supposed to mean something.
“I’m sorry. Mario Kart?”
They both blink at me.
“You don’t know what Mario Kart is?” Georgie asks, dumbfounded.
“Should I?”
Her jaw drops and she slowly turns to her father. “Seriously, what rock did you find this guy under?”
Fletcher bursts out laughing before he can control himself. “Georgie, be nice.” He pulls the plate out of the microwave before explaining. “It’s a video game on the Nintendo Switch. It’s quite fun, actually. We can all play together.”
He adds a couple of muffins to the plate before sliding it over to me. “Do you work tonight?”
My feet scream in agony just thinking about another nine-hour shift. “Yeah, I go in at three.”
“Great. I’ll drive you.” He turns to Georgie. “But that means you and I are going to the four o’clock movie then.”
She sighs. “I was hoping for the 2:30 show.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure the movie will be the exact same if it starts at four.”
I almost laugh at his dry sarcasm.
“But if we go at four, Avalon won’t be able to go. She has to be home at six for her family dinner.”
Fletcher seems almost happy about this, but Georgie doesn’t notice. Her attention is on the orange in her hand. “We’ll still have fun, hon. I promise. I’m still taking you to pizza after too.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Fine.” She turns to me. “Anyway, want to learn the game later? I can teach you.”
I hesitate. “Maybe.”
I sit on a barstool, listening to her chatter about her favorite tracks and kart styles. It goes right over my head.
The quiche is a bit too plain for my taste, but it’s still delicious. It makes me miss the spicy hashbrown and pepper casserole I used to make. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve thrown that together. Maybe I can make it for them soon, as a thank-you for letting me stay here.
After peeling her orange, Georgie dumps the rind into the trash before carrying the fruit out of the room. “I’m going to call Avalon.”
Fletcher smirks, watching her go. “Teenagers,” he whispers. “I swear, they’d dissolve into dust if they weren’t constantly doing something.”
I wouldn’t know. I’m not around them enough, and my own teenage years are probably not the best comparison. We moved around too much for me to make friends.
“I was thinking we could load your fridge this morning. I have some—”
“I can get my own food,” I cut in.
Fletcher pauses. “I know, but I just figured it would be easier if we did it together.”
Averting my eyes, I draw in a slow breath. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but I can feed myself.”
I don’t miss the irony of declaring my independence while eating a meal he provided. But the idea of Fletcher stocking the fridge for me, on top of providing me with a place to stay, is just too much. I need to do it on my own.
“Oh. Okay. Yeah. That’s fine. But if there is anything you need, just ask.”
Fletcher sounds a little deflated. But he doesn’t get it.
He thinks he’s helping me by allowing me to stay here, and of course, he is.
But he is also throwing it all in my face.
I’ve been on my own for so long, feeding and clothing myself almost my entire life.
And now, piece by piece, those freedoms are being stripped away by an illness I have no control over.
So thinking I might not be able to shop for myself or cook for myself soon… it’s too much.
It’s tearing apart my dignity.
“I’ll give you a tour of my house then, so you know where the washing machine is at least? I can give you the code to use it whenever.”
I nod slowly. “Thank you.”
After finishing my breakfast, I follow him around to learn the house, then make up an excuse to head back to my room.
I appreciate Fletcher allowing me to stay here, but now, in the bright light of a new day, it’s making everything dangerously clear how much my life is about to change.
To lose my home, my freedom. It’s gutting, even if I have a soft place to land.
So, no. I won’t accept his charity any more than I have to. I’ll stay until I can figure things out, but then I’ll go.