Eighteen #2
We’ve been working for hours. She’s demanded that I give her full control of music and I’ve acted like I hate everything she’s picked.
The truth is that I have been paying attention to every lyric in every song, hoping it will give me more access to the way her soul craves to feel.
She likes sad music. But it’s not heartbreak and lost love.
It’s music about battling with unwanted noise and battles that make you feel like you are screaming into a void.
And she sings every note. This is completely different from her fun playlists.
Working seamlessly together as I lay the mortar and then she lays the brick.
I admit I was a little nervous about the mess but the biggest source of the mess was the residue of mortar and grout mixture on her skin from where she is still only wearing that damn shirt.
I bought almost enough brick for the whole wall.
We’re just shy of a small portion of the wall.
She’s finishing up the last spot as I stand and wipe my hands off with a washcloth.
She had pulled her hair up on top of her head just a few minutes into getting started.
Little pieces are framing her face and she looks proud as she steps back to look at what we’ve accomplished with the wall.
“This is going to look so good when we get it done.” She says, admiring her work. She wipes her hand on her leg carelessly leaving another streak.
“You want to take a shower?” I offer without thinking.
She tilts her head to the side, smirking up at me. “Is that an invitation?”
She’s messing with me and I almost let her know it’s a standing invitation.
But she should shower and get all the cement mixture off her skin before it gets too irritated.
I can easily clean up without having to take a shower.
She’s different when she isn’t obligated by everything and everyone else around her.
Quieter but calm about it. And I like that my house is where she is like that.
“Go shower. I’ll grab your clothes for you to change back into and I’ll make pasta.” The mention of food makes her eyes light up.
“AJ was pissed that you cooked for me. She said that you pretend you don’t know how to cook.” I’m walking behind her as she slowly makes her way to the bathroom.
“They are all brats. And I only cook when I want to.” I grab two towels for her.
“I should have whatever you need in there, but if you need something else just yell for me.” I nod behind her toward the open bathroom.
“I’ll grab your clothes and put them on the counter.
Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done. ”
Hugging the towels to her chest, she grins. I know that wicked look she’s wearing. “You boss around all the girls you let in your house?”
“You’re the only one I let in here.” I turn around before she has the chance to say something that makes it harder to walk away knowing she is about to be naked and wet.
The water shuts off as I am getting everything set up after cleaning myself up.
She only takes about twenty minutes in the shower.
Which isn’t enough time to really get anything started for the pasta.
I grab tomatoes, cream, and all my favorite seasonings.
I personally love making this over crusted eggplant but opt for noodles today.
Simple and easy but still delicious. I can hear her before I see her.
She rounds the corner with her hair let down now and the cutoff hoodie and leggings she was in when she first got here.
The closer she gets, I’m attacked by something I wasn’t expecting.
“You smell like me.”
“I used your soap.” Of course she used my soap.
What else was she supposed to use? I missed the cherry smell but something about her smelling like me made my blood pulse differently.
She comes to stand next to me before saying, “Want me to help? I’m not a very good cook but I can try.
” And I know she would. She would give it her best effort and then figure out how to do it even better.
I motion with the end of the knife to the empty spot on the counter next to me, the same spot she sat on last time.
“Let me take care of you.” I didn’t intend for the words to feel as heavy as they did when they left my lips.
She glances between me and that spot a few times, deciding to take the seat.
I go back to cutting the tomatoes while the pan heats up.
“Did you have a good time with your grandma the other day?” I really wanted to ask about her date again, but I figure she will be more willing to talk to me about her grandma.
“I always have the best time with her. We had to go dress shopping for our birthday dinner.” I can only imagine the type of dress she picked out. One thing that is always for certain with Mia is she defies all reality when she wears a dress.