Chapter 9
J ericho
I’m throwing a blanket on the couch, getting ready to try and get some sleep, when the sound of someone knocking on the door makes me pause.
It’s way too late for any guests, and I’m in no mood for more entertainment, so I rush to the door and fling it open.
Only to find no one behind it. I’m about to go outside and find the idiot who decided to play with me this late when I notice a carton of strawberry milk on my doorstep.
The same carton Nora bought in the store.
I step outside to look at her house. It’s dark with no other lights but the porch.
I glance around, looking for her, but as a true witch, Nora disappeared into thin air.
So I grab the milk carton and carry it to the fridge, smiling to myself like an idiot that Junie will be happy to see it in the morning.
And that my witchy neighbor made it happen.
All further attempts to sleep are fruitless, so I just grab some coffee and my toolbox and head to the basement to see if I can do some plumbing work while Junie is still asleep. It shouldn’t require any noise, and even if it does, the sound wouldn’t be so bad on the second floor.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about Nora while working on the pipes.
That moment of vulnerability she let me see was something I didn’t expect from her.
I knew she stole that box from under my nose out of spite, and that she called the cops to my door.
I was angry at her at first, but after talking to Junie, I see her side of the story.
I think she really was worried about my niece when she called the cops, and I can’t be angry about that.
The irritation from the milk incident took a back seat after I saw Nora fall over my steps. And then I heard her crying… I can’t deal with crying, but seeing my witchy neighbor cry caused some rather unexpected protectiveness. Even from myself.
Fuck!
Thinking about the moment itself made my chest tight, so I try focusing on something else. Anything.
It takes me a while to get my head back on track, and being sprayed by a busted pipe certainly helps.
By the time I’m done dealing with the pipe and fixing the issue, Junie’s loud footsteps come toward the basement door.
“Uncle Jerry?” she calls down from the top of the stairs.
“Yes,” I yell back, rolling my eyes. She knows I hate that nickname, and this is exactly why she’s using it.
“Do you have any breakfast? I’m hungry.”
“Coming in a second.”
“I’ll start your coffee.”
“Thank you, Junebug!” I yell, grateful. My morning dose has worn off by now, and my body could use a refill.
When I go upstairs, wash my hands, and head to the kitchen, I find Junie talking on video chat with her dad. We throw a few regular insults at each other, making Junie giggle, and I go to make breakfast: eggs, sausages, and ready-made pancakes .
By the time I place a plate in front of her, she’s half finished with her glass of strawberry milk saying goodbye to Jethro.
Junie is eyeing me over the food like she’s cracked some kind of code.
She’s got that look which only comes out when she knows she’s about to make me squirm.
She’s always been a sharp kid, and I know better than to underestimate her, but I also know there’s nothing she could say right now that would throw me off my game.
“So,” she says, dragging out the word in a way that tells me trouble is coming. “Nora, huh.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “What about her?”
Junie leans forward, elbows on the table, grinning like she just got a solution to a world problem. “I saw you two talking on her porch last night,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows.
“I thought you were sleeping,” I reply with narrowed eyes. What else did she see?
“Relax,” she says, smirking. “I just needed a glass of milk, which you didn’t have, by the way.”
“I had milk.” The guilt makes my eyes tickle.
“You didn’t have strawberry milk.”
“That’s because your favorite neighbor,” I jerk my head toward Nora’s house, “took the last carton of strawberry milk. And trust me, I tried to fight for it.”
Junie giggles, looking over my shoulder like she can see Nora through the walls. “Then how did this,” she raises the glass in her hand, “end up in the fridge? Did you steal it from her?” Her eyes sparkle with curiosity.
“No. Because stealing is wrong.” I level her with a stare.
The excitement in her eyes dies down a little. “So you just asked for it? And she gave it to you?”
“When do you think I had the time for that?”
“P-p-please, Uncle. I saw you two being all cozy last night,” she makes kissing lips, “on her porch. So I decided to go back to sleep. To give you some privacy, ya know. It’s not every day the grumpy uncle Jerry is seen talking to a woman other than to scare her.”
I smack my mug on the table, pretending to be mad, but she only laughs at my attempt in anger—she knows I can never be angry with her.
“And where did you hear about that, huh?”
She only snorts, rolling her eyes. Right. Uncle Jericho is going to have a talk with her dad.
“How did you get the milk? For real though?” She takes a big sip of said milk, staring at me over the brim of her glass.
“Nora brought it over yesterday.”
“Ni-i-ice,” she singsongs, showing me a thumbs up.
“Anyway,” I start in a clipped tone because I can’t discuss my nonexistent relationship with Nora with my twelve-year-old niece, “It’s grown-up stuff, and I appreciate you giving us privacy.”
She shrugs one shoulder with the sweetest smile on her face. “You like her, don’t you? It’s totally obvious.”
“You’re seeing things. Nora can’t stand me, and I’m perfectly fine with that. And besides, I don’t think I can stand her either.” The lie seems bitter on my lips.
Junie raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Right. That’s why you looked like you were going to melt into a puddle when she smiled at you. Or how you were going to run to her when she fell flat on her ass.”
“Junie, language.” I nearly choke on my coffee again—I don’t think I’ve ever heard her swear. Maybe Jethro spends too much time away with work; I have to talk to him about that.
“Oops, sorry, didn’t mean it like that,” she says, not looking even a little bit sorry.
Giving her another stern look, I say, “I don’t melt. Especially not over someone like Nora.”
“Someone like Nora,” Junie repeats, her eyes twinkling. “So you have thought about her then? ”
I set my coffee down a little harder than I intended to this time. “Junie, you are twelve, shouldn’t you be thinking about, I don’t know, a math class or something?”
“Math class,” she snorts. “Nice deflection, Uncle Jericho. Look, you don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve seen movies. I know what it looks like when a guy is into someone. I might even have a boyfriend of my own.”
This is where I snort coffee all over the table. “What?” I nearly yell, making Junie rear back with concern in her eyes this time.
“What?” she fires back. “I can’t have a boyfriend?”
“No, you can’t have a boyfriend,” I thunder in outrage. “You are twelve! Does your father know about that?”
“Oh, please,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s too busy flying around the country to pay attention to me.”
This, right here. This is the core of all the issues. The talk with Jethro is long overdue. I just wasn’t prepared for my little niece to have a boyfriend , so I’m unsure how to go about that part of the conversation.
“And he won’t, right? Won’t know, I mean,” she asks, looking at me with puppy eyes. “Because I need to come to someone with all these things since I don’t have a mom, you know, and Dad is not really interested in anything,” she adds with a shrug.
Oh, hell no. She did not just play that card on me. I rub my hand over my face, suddenly feeling like a conspirator to a crime. I wasn’t signing up for this when I agreed for Junie to come over here.
Rolling her eyes for the tenth time in the past five minutes, she waves the microwaved pancake in her hand at me. “Oh, c’mon. I’m joking. He’s not my boyfriend, but I’m like, ninety percent sure he’ll ask me to the Halloween dance.”
He’d better not .
“So,” she says, picking up a piece of sausage. “I’m a woman.”
That’s a stretch, but I keep my mouth shut because this is not the talk I’m willing to have now. Or ever. That boyfriend is going to disappear.
“Aha,” I mumble, shoving a suddenly tasteless pancake into my mouth.
“And as a woman,” she keeps talking, “I can tell you that Nora likes you. You know,” she waves her hand, “like an enemies to lovers thing.”
“Junie,” I choke. “Where the hell do you know about that from? You are twelve.”
“Twelve. Not two.” She levels me with a stare. “Anyway, she’s really into you. Otherwise she wouldn’t be bending backward to get under your skin.”
I pick the coffee mug up. Put it down. And pick it up again, not knowing how to respond to a twelve-year-old schooling me on matters of someone either liking me or not.
“Which means,” she keeps going, not noticing my turmoil, “you need to woo her.”
“To what her?” I ask.
“Woo. You know, like impress her.”
I don’t know why I decide to ask her the next question. Maybe because it’s getting funny. “Like what?”
She stops chewing and looks at me with a different eye. It’s like she’s ten years older now, and I instantly feel exposed.
“Maybe try smiling from time to time,” she says with a wince. “I mean you’re old, but not that old. Maybe a smile will make you look younger.”
I’m old, she said.
“I smile.”
“Yes, to me. But I don’t think you smile to other people.
” Her head tilts to the side. “Your smile is all right for an old dude, I guess.” She shrugs and goes back to chewing, leaving me undecisive about if I should cry or laugh.
“Oh!” she exclaims, clearly remembering something I won’t like either.
“And do something cool for her. Like something she can’t do herself. ”
Maybe because I really need relationship advice from a twelve-year-old, I bite.