10. 10
10
W ith a mug of hot tea that smells like a warm hug and tastes like dirt, I curl up in the chair on my front porch. The sun has already set, and I shiver the second I sit down. I could be better prepared with warmer clothes, but I stay put out of pure stubbornness. At least my hands are warmed by the drink I’m holding, not that it would help if it starts to snow like the forecast mentions.
Tonight’s agenda is to watch enough videos on crocheting that I might feel inspired to pick up the ridiculous collection of supplies that has been rotting in my closet. This isn’t my first attempt at this technique, but who’s to say it won’t be the last? Maybe today’s the day.
I pull up a video I’d previously started, feeling good about the friendly face on the screen. Or… maybe she doesn't look that friendly, but her hair happens to also be pink. I take it as a good sign.
I immediately struggle with being bored out of my mind. I know what a slip knot is. I know how to hold the hook. I yawn, and set the phone down anyway, propped up with the stand that's built into my phone case.
I sit there, sipping, shivering, and struggling. There are mosquitos out here too, and I haven’t done anything to protect myself from those pesky little monsters. Why did I think this was a good idea tonight? I haven’t been home all that much lately, and I could be enjoying my couch or my bed. I could be soaking up quality time with those places while I actually can. There’s no saying I’ll be safe here tonight, I might still have to evacuate. I’m hopeful at the moment because her car is gone.
I know better than to assume that hope will last.
A text message pings on my phone, and I sigh as I close out of the video to open it. I’m not giving up, but I know how unlikely my chances are of going back to it now that I have something else to distract me.
It’s from Caleb, and the message consists of a group of photos. It’s Dahlia, sleeping on his couch. She’s sprawled out on her back with an arm above her head and the other around an orange blob of fur that’s resting its head on her stomach. I swipe to the next photo, a close up of the… cat. I do the math, and assume that this is Raquel’s kitten. I guess cats grow pretty fast, because this thing is huge compared to the photos on her Instagram.
Caleb: Meet Gouda. He’s obsessed with Lia
I chuckle at the name. Then I smile to myself. It’s pretty darn cute, the two of them curled up on the couch. I’m sad I’m missing it in person. The only other cat she’s met is Autumn’s cat, Elaine, but she hardly counts. Especially since moving in with Miles and Freddy, she’s a bit insane.
Reya : Thanks for sharing
Caleb : Of course
It’s the most civil we’ve been over text in a long time, and maybe I’m just tired, but I soften towards him a small amount. I give him two points before the moment has passed and I change my mind.
I need more of this. I want him to include me in more things, and give me more reasons to trust him. If this was our new norm, maybe I wouldn’t freak out over the idea of him taking her out of the country.
Maybe that’s the only reason he sent the photos in the first place.
I shut my eyes tight, ridding that thought from my brain. I don’t have to assume. I don’t have to think the worst of him. It’s just so hard sometimes.
I’m so invested in my line of thinking, that my brain lags when trying to process a new sound in the background. A thumping sound? Or a banging? Someone downstairs being noisy?
Only when it gets closer do I realize it’s the stairs. Feet on the stairs.
Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap .
I don’t have time to move, or feel less vulnerable, when a hooded figure appears a few feet away.
She freezes. I’m also frozen.
This is weird. Weeks have gone by without us running into each other, and here she suddenly is? It doesn’t really feel real.
“You,” I say, fueled by my surprise. It practically comes out as a shout.
Her eyes widen, but I have a feeling the reaction has more to do with my chaotic energy than her being affected by us meeting face to face. She looks around the space of our front porch, like there might possibly be an explanation–or an escape–but her eyes land back on me.
“Yeah?”
Her voice is higher pitched than I’d imagined. Almost sweet. Almost innocent. Her face is covered in darkness, thanks to the hood over her head. She’s smarter and significantly warmer than I am right now.
“You’re not a ghost,” I blurt out.
“Sure I am,” she replies quickly. “It’s dark out here, you don’t know what you’re seeing.”
Her gaze flits towards her front door. I see the disappointment on her face that she isn’t walking through it at the moment.
I make a show of looking her up and down. As if she doesn’t care that I want to see more of her, she sighs and removes her hood. Lots of deep, red hair falls down and takes up most of my attention at first. It’s bouncy. It looks soft. I’m almost envious of it, wishing my own hair would grow out faster.
I should probably invest in some fancy shampoo or something, too. I bet her shampoo costs a fortune.
And then I look at her face.
And I’m left even more stunned. I don’t even worry about the repercussions of standing from my seat to walk closer to her. She takes a step back when I’m only a couple away, so that’s where I plant my feet and hope my legs don’t wobble. I don't trust them, or really any part of my body at the moment. Whatever’s happening to me isn’t normal.
I thought she was pretty that day at the ice cream shop, but seeing her up close like this changes everything. She’s unreal. Every small detail from the curl of her lashes to the shape of her nose is perfect. I’d think she was some kind of angel sent here just for me if she hadn’t been making my life a living hell lately.
“No, I’m pretty sure I’m right,” I mumble.
“Really makes no difference to me what you believe.”
This time when she moves away from me, it’s a couple of side steps that bring her closer to her front door.
“Wait, stop.” I frown, not sure why I want to be in her presence. I must be a masochist. “You’re just going to go inside?”
She scoffs like I’m unbelievable.
I am. It’s fair. I asked her to talk, and I should take the hint that was her ignoring it.
“Um, yeah. Usually that’s the first thing I do when I get home.”
I take another step closer to her, and then stop when I notice her actually wince at the fact that there’s nowhere for her to escape to.
“You’ve lived right there for three weeks and this is the first time we’re seeing each other. I feel like it’s a bigger deal than you’re making it out to be,” I say.
“I think it’s a much smaller deal than you’re making it out to be.”
“I know you’ve had to be curious about me,” I tell her.
She pauses before answering, probably wishing she didn’t have to.
“I really haven’t,” she finally answers. “You seem rather irritating, and I was hoping to avoid you a lot longer than this .”
I shouldn’t be surprised by her words, but I am. And they hurt. They dig under my skin for a reason I can’t explain, and sting like salt on a wound.
“I don’t think you mean that. You don’t even know me. I’m a delight.”
She laughs, but there’s no amusement in the sound.
“Whatever you say.”
“I’m serious. I’m a damn ray of sunshine.”
Pun intended, but she doesn’t know that. I give my parents some mental points for coming up with that one, because it’s good. Classic.
Her presence distracted me long enough that I forgot about the mosquitos trying to attack my ankles. I’m only reminded by the tickling sensation of them landing on me now, and I bend down to swat them away. I should’ve known better, this is the entire reason I own so many pairs of thick, fuzzy socks. They’re my version of battle armor, and I walked right into this fight half naked.
“Well, sunshine , I'm done with this little… chat.”
By the time I can think to ask what her problem is, I look up to see her gone, and her front door slams behind her.
I should feel a lot of things, but I wasn’t expecting to feel so let down.
I like the hair.
I read the small sentence again. And again.
And again.
Can you say whiplash?
She blared her music all night again, so I barely slept. And she was so mean last night, wasn’t she? I don’t think I imagined it. I’m not in the habit of getting my feelings hurt so easily, but our interaction is somewhat of a blur. Most of what I remember is just her face. I can’t stop remembering her face, even when I try really hard to distract myself with other things.
I pulled out the yarn today. I even got a couple of rows done on Vic’s headband. I don’t know how the hell that happened, but it was therapeutic. Maybe I just haven’t truly needed to keep my hands and mind busy until now.
Are you joking?
I place that simple note on her door before I run to the grocery store. I’m not thrilled about it, but I know I need to take advantage of the free time I have.
Another sticky note is waiting on my door when I return with my arms weighed down by bags full of food. I didn’t need to struggle as much as I did, but I feel like I’m winning something when it only takes me one trip.
Nope.
What does it say about her that she’s been home all day and still saw my note. Is she checking? Or did I make that much noise when I left earlier?
I want someone to vent to about this whole situation. I may have talked my parent’s ears off when I was staying over there, but they’re parents . They want to offer solutions, and insight, and I don’t really want to go as far as to tell them that I think she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen and that her stupid little note gave me butterflies.
Butterflies . At my big age. I didn’t know that could happen anymore, it’s been so long.
She is infuriating. Clearly incapable of empathy. Someone I could never see myself being around without wanting to strangle them.
So why the hell did those four little written words elicit this kind of reaction from me? It makes no sense.