4. A Rear End Full of Casseroles
What was that?As the door closes, I replay the last few minutes in my mind. The way he looked at me when he came in? It”s like he was genuinely sorry. When he touched my arm? I wish I could deny the way my body reacted. It was enough to make me forgive him for yesterday. Maybe he was just being protective, in a completely misguided and totally unnecessary way. And when he asked me out? I thought maybe Em was right. For a split second, I was ready to say yes. I”m just grateful he didn”t give me a chance to actually say it before he called backsies like a teasing fourth grader.
The worst part is I should know better. Guys like him are never interested in girls like me. My mom told me that years ago. I didn”t believe her then, but as Brant practically ran out of the house to get away, I heard her voice sneering. ”I can”t believe you almost fell for it.” And that voice was right. Like it had been with Tyler. If I didn”t learn the lesson from him, I never will. But it”s fine. It used to hurt, but it doesn”t anymore. I won”t let it.
I lean back against the living room wall and wait. Brant is still parked out front. What’s he doing? Laughing? Calling his friends to tell them he just pulled off the greatest deke of all time? Maybe he”s hoping I”ll follow him out so he can make a scene in front of the entire street. Bonus points if you can make the girl look nuts in front of the whole neighborhood. But I”m not giving him anything more than I already have. I”ll stand here all day before he gets the satisfaction of seeing me again.
When I finally hear the soft catch of his engine starting, I grab my keys and head out. I”ve never been a car person, so I don”t know what Brant”s driving. But I know it”s a lot shinier and way more expensive than my used Subaru parked a few spots away. But I”d bet his car doesn”t mean as much to him as Sebastian means to me. He might be fourteen years old. His maroon paint might be dotted with orange rust spots. And the glovebox might randomly pop open like there”s a ghost who really wants to get to that pack of stale Mentos in there. But he”s gotten me through the last four Colorado winters. And he”s the first car that”s ever truly been mine, not a hand-me-down.
”You”re the only man I can really count on, aren”t you?” I run my hands down the sides of his steering wheel before I twist the key in the ignition. Just to prove his loyalty, he starts up right away. His engine rumbles and the whole car starts the familiar vibrating shimmy. I prefer to think of it as Sebastian trying to offer massaging seats, rather than the sign of imminent engine problems like the last mechanic told me. ”He just didn”t appreciate you the way I do.” When the engine rpms settle down, I slip Sebastian into drive and pull away from the curb.
I still can”t believe Salt Lake City has a place like Bridges. They sure didn”t when I was growing up. Not that I would have needed it if they did. Dad is great—was. He was great… I blow out a deep breath and try to think of literally anything else so I don”t start crying in the middle of the spaghetti bowl mess of highway entrance and exit ramps. This area is confusing enough without tears blurring my vision. Whoever designed it was clearly either a huge fan of anarchy or a covert agent working for Big Public Transit. Nothing has ever made me want to give up my car and take the bus or Trax as much as this section of highway. ”Just kidding, Seb.” I tickle him under his turn signal stalk. ”You and me are forever.” Or until oil erupts out of him like a volcano, but I”d never say that where he could hear me.
Ten years ago, a homeless shelter for LGBTQ youth in Salt Lake City would have been unthinkable. And just a couple of miles away from Temple Square too. Last night when I was searching for homeless shelters to donate all of this food to, I almost couldn”t believe it. When I called this morning, I expected a message telling me it wasn”t a working number. Or a voice saying ”haha, got you!” But the man I spoke with assured me it was not only real, but that they would be more than happy to take four casserole dishes filled with funeral potatoes and three bowls of completely different desserts that all still somehow contain green Jello and cottage cheese.
Despite his assurances, when I pull up to what is supposed to be the address, the doubts rush back. The building in front of me is a dark brown craftsman-style house that looks like it”s had a second story just dropped onto it at some point. There”s no sign. Just a rainbow flag hanging from the porch. I sit in my car for a few minutes, watching. I don”t know what I”m looking for. Do I think some unhoused teenager will come out and greet me and assure me I”m in the right place? Maybe. But when no one comes, I get out, open Sebastian”s back end, and load my arms with more food than I could ever use in a year.
”At least it won”t be the first time I”ll be a fool today,” I mutter as I pin the casseroles between my hip and the house to free a hand to ring the doorbell. The sound it makes is like a chime with a respiratory virus. I take a couple of steps back and wait, but it”s not long before a man answers the door. His head is shaved smooth, and he”s wearing a light orange button-up shirt over grey slacks. ”This is going to sound stupid, but I”m looking for Bridges? And you probably have no idea what I”m even talking about, so I should just go back to the car and not embarrass myself anymore because you”re obviously busy and this is clearly not?—”
”You found it. This is Bridges. I”m Michael. Based on the stack of disposable aluminum pans that”s almost taller than you, you must be Lily?”
I smile and shrug. ”That”s me. I just didn”t expect?—”
”A gay black man to be the director of a homeless shelter in Salt Lake?”
My face burns so hot I might be melting the Jello on top of the stack. ”Oh my god, no! Please don”t think that! I would never!”
Michael laughs and motions me through the door he”s holding open for me. ”I shouldn”t joke,” he says. ”There really are people out there who might think that, but I have a pretty good feeling you”re not one of them. I”m sorry if I was too much. I can be sometimes.”
I blow out a sigh. ”No, you”re fine. It”s just been... a morning.”
”Oh trust me, I get it. I”ve spent my morning staring at a budget that”s stretched tight enough to bounce a dime. If we could afford the dime. And when that got to be too fun, I had to herd thirteen teenagers who thought they shouldn”t have to be out of bed until two. Sometimes I really question my life choices,” he sighs dramatically, but the way he smiles lets me know he wouldn”t want to be anywhere else. ”Now, let me stop being rude and take some of those from you. I”ll show you to the kitchen.”
He takes all but one of the pans and turns through the inner door of the office. The next room is apparently a bedroom. There are two sets of bunk beds pushed against the walls. On the bottom bunk to the left, there”s a pink plush lion that”s missing an arm and some of its fur. Seeing it adds another crack to my heart. As much as I whined as a teenager—and as an adult—I never had it this bad. Dad always made sure of that.
”Chloe,” Michael calls out in front of me as we enter the next room, ”just the person I wanted to see.”
”It”s done, Mr. Michael,” a voice answers. ”I swear. That dark stuff is just stains. I tried to get it off. Really.”
When I walk through the door, I see a small kitchen with brown appliances. The enamel finish is chipping, and I can hear the refrigerator humming from the other side of the room. Its handle is wrapped in duct tape at the bottom. ”I wasn”t talking about that. I know those are stains,” Michael says. ”Open the freezer for me please, and then take the last container from the nice lady here.”
”Oh, right!” The teen girl hops up, apparently excited to do something other than cleaning.
”Chloe, this is Lily,” Michael introduces us. ”Lily, this is Chloe.”
I smile at her as she takes the pan from me. ”So glad to meet you.”
”What is this?” She peeks up at me through the strands of long blonde hair that have fallen into her face and then lifts a corner of the foil covering the dish.
”Young lady, you will wait, and you will tell Lily how appreciative you are.”
She gives him a side eye that almost makes me laugh, but then she smiles. ”Thank you. For real. But is it something good?”
”Chloe...” Michael sounds like this isn”t the first time she”s pushed his buttons. I can”t help my laugh now.
”Funeral potatoes. So, it”s good if you like those, I guess?”
”Yum, I do. Who died?”
Michael folds his arms across his chest and glares at her. ”Chloe Alaina!”
”My dad.”
Chloe”s eyes widen just a little, and she looks at me like she expects more. ”Was he good?”
My throat tightens, and I have to take a breath before I”m able to answer. ”The best.” I try not to let the emotions come up, but my words are still wobbly despite my efforts.
The teen”s face drops. ”I”m sorry.”
”Me too.”
”You should meet Silver.” she says as she sets the pan in the chest freezer. ”You can”t be sad around Silver. It”s just not possible.”
Michael steps between Chloe and the back door of the house, but she goes around him anyway. ”I doubt if Miss Lily wants to see Silver.” But if Chloe registers his words, she does a convincing job of acting like she doesn”t. She pulls open the door and calls out. Almost as soon as she does, a black and tan dog the size of a motorcycle rushes into the kitchen. It lifts its nose for a quick sniff and then charges right at me. My heart thumps, and I feel my eyes go wide as I wait to be attacked. But it just rubs itself against me—its short hair tickling my legs—before disappearing into the bedroom.
”I should have warned you.” Chloe draws in her bottom lip and bites it. ”Silver can be mean, but you just need to stand perfectly still.”
I gasp and stare at the open door, wishing someone would hurry and slam it shut before that thing comes back. But it”s too late. And the dog, who has grown to be the size of a small Honda in just the last few seconds, comes back in. The pink lion hangs from its mouth. When it gets to me, it drops the lion and looks up. I try to not even breathe as it stares at me. But then it flops down at my feet and rolls onto its back. I look at Michael, who”s shaking his head, and then at Chloe, who can”t hold in her snickering laugh any longer. ”So that was a joke? Is it okay if I pet him?”
”You”re trans aren”t you?” she asks. ”And you”re in a shelter for queer kids, but you just assume my dog is a he because he has a penis? Transphobic much?” Now it”s Chloe”s turn to shake her head.
”Oh, I-I... right,” I stammer. ”So what pronouns does Silver use?”
Chloe doubles over. ”He”s a boy. I”m teasing you. And yes, you can pet him. He loves when people rub his belly. He”s like the biggest baby in the world.”
I bend to scratch Silver”s stomach. His tongue lolls to the side, his back leg kicks at the air, and I can”t help but smile. Possibly from the adrenaline letdown, but probably because this giant softie is the cutest thing I”ve seen in a very long time.
”Chloe, you need to behave around our guests, please. Not everyone will always appreciate your sense of humor. Miss Lily is a little high-strung.”
I stand up, trying to act more offended than I am. ”I am not.”
Chloe giggles again. ”She is, isn”t she?”
”I am not!” I insist. But not too strongly, because they aren”t as wrong as I wish they were. I try to think of a joke I could tell to prove I can be funny too, but Silver paws at my leg and insists that I resume giving him scratches immediately. And who am I to argue with a dog that”s at least as big as Em”s pickup truck?