Chapter 10 HazMat
HAZMAT
GREY
Molly's hand is on my chest.
It's nothing, just a simple gesture that, judging by the look on her face means nothing.
But beneath her palm, there's an ache so deep, I feel like I can't breathe.
She laughs, says something, but I can't make it out.
She says it again, her smile fading, but the words are too muffled to hear.
I shake my head, the weight on my chest heavier.
This time, when she opens her mouth, she meows.
I wake with a start, disoriented by my surroundings most urgently, the calico cat sitting on my sternum, staring into my soul with pale green eyes.
My heart's galloping beneath her as I rub the sleep from my eyes.
Scout, I think Molly called her. She's unfazed when I scoop her up and sit, ruffling the top of her head before setting her down.
Elbows on my knees, I drag my hands through my hair, my back aching, muscles sore.
I can't remember the last time I slept on a couch.
It sucks worse than I remember. Doesn't help that this one is two feet too short to get my whole body on it at once.
Unsurprisingly, I slept terrible. Feels like I didn't sleep at all.
I can't believe I slept here. So fucking dumb, dude. But she looked at me with those big, sad eyes and I had to. What, I was supposed to tell her no? Yeah. I sigh and stretch my neck, my shoulders and traps, my back.
A soft, feminine groan comes from the direction of Molly's room, and I find her stumbling in my direction, fumbling with her glasses.
Her hair has the prettiest curl, each ring big and blonde, darker underneath.
Like Michelle Pfeiffer when she played Catwoman.
Right now, it's sticking out in every direction, also a little like Catwoman.
She looks a little pale, her eyes more shut than open, her lips smacking.
"Grey?" she mumbles, but when she sees me, her eyes fly open so wide, I can see the whites as she drags her gaze up and down my torso, which is shirtless. Thank god I didn't drop trou and sleep in my Jockeys.
Clearing my throat, I reach for my shirt. "Morning," I grumble.
"You stayed." She sounds so relieved, I meet her gaze when my head is through the neck and my nipples aren't out.
"Course I did. I said I would." When I stand, my entire body internally creaks and groans. "How are you feeling?"
Molly scratches her head, her eyes squinty. "I don't know. Like I'm still a little drunk, I think."
I keep the couch between us and pad into the kitchen. "That's normal. Let's get something in your belly. You'll feel better. Want some toast? Eggs, maybe? Or I could make some bacon, if you have any--"
She makes a noise I recognize--I turn on my heel to find her charging toward the bathroom with both hands over her mouth.
And then, she proceeds to yak like a champion.
She'll need water, some crackers maybe. When she's through, I'll bring them to her.
She might not be able to get up. I've got the water and a fresh sleeve of crackers in hand and am halfway to her when she bounces out of the hall, smiling.
"Oh, man. I feel so much better. And no, sadly I don't have bacon."
"Youth," is all I say, shaking my head. "Come on, peaches. Sit. I'll get you something to eat."
"Actually, let me brush my teeth," she says, turning for the bathroom again. I've located a pan, the butter, eggs, and bread, and have the stove going by the time she gets back, taking a seat at her table, and old school, Jenny Lind thing with spindly legs and arched backs.
"You don't have to do all this, Grey."
I shrug. "I'm hungry too, if it helps."
"It does a little."
"Have fun last night?"
My back is to her, but I can hear her smiling when she speaks. "So much fun. Finally, I know why happy hour is so happy. "
I let out a little laugh through my nose.
"Seriously, I feel bad. Here, let me cook." I hear her get up and approach, feel her near me before I see her.
"I don't mind. You had a big night." I crack another egg into the sizzling pan and realize she's not going to let me do it without her help. "How about you get the bread for some toast and make some coffee?"
"All right."
For a second, we move around the kitchen silently, comfortably. Until I go looking for a plate. I swear, I barely touch the cabinet, and the whole fucking door comes off in my hand. My head swivels in her direction, and I give her a deliberate look. I get an awkward smile back, all teeth.
"Oops. I noticed that one was a little loose."
Shaking my head, I set it near her back door and get back to the eggs.
"How about you?" she asks, thumping a loaf of bread on the counter before pulling her coffee maker away from the wall. "Did you have fun babysitting me?"
"Didn't feel like babysitting. And yeah. You're a great drunk."
She chuckles, and I find myself smiling down at the eggs. "Thank goodness. I really thought I was gonna be a mess. Or like, cry or something."
"Who knows. That sixth drink mighta done it. Do you remember everything?"
"I think so." She dumps scoops of grounds into the filter, then fills the pot up with water from one of those filtered pitchers from the fridge. "Let's see. I remember dancing with the girls, that was fun. I met a bunch of people…did I ask them all what their favorite book is?"
"Yup."
Another laugh. "Oh god, that's funny. I remember--oh." She pauses long enough that I look at her, but her head's down as she fills up the coffee pot. "I showed my ass last night, didn't I?" She says it lightly.
"Don't worry, even I didn't see anything," I lie, "and I caught it before you got out of the hallway."
"Well, thank goodness for that, at least. I line danced a lot. That must be why weird muscles in my legs are sore. And I laughed a lot. That must be why my abs are sore." Another pause, and she hits the button on the machine. "Maybe I should start working out."
I snort a laugh, filling up the four-slot toaster. "I'm glad you had fun."
"I'm sorry I begged you to stay like that. I've asked too much of you, and I…I'm just sorry."
"Don't be. Like I said, it was fun."
"Lucky for me you love teaching."
"Lucky for you."
She sighs and inspects the door that fell off.
"Why'd you buy this beat up old house?"
After taking a long breath, she says, "Well, it was cheap, that was the first point. And…I don't know. I just had a feeling like I belonged here. Like my life starts here. That probably sounds like some dumb kid stuff to you, doesn't it?"
"No," I say quietly. "No, it doesn't."
The toast pops, and she puts it on the plates. I add the eggs.
"I didn't know just how broken down it was. And nobody helped me. I didn't tell anyone, especially not my parents."
When she opens another cabinet, I flinch, but thankfully that door doesn't fall off too. She puts a couple of coffee cups on the counter and fills them up.
"Why not?" I head for the sink to wash the pan, turning on the water when I get there.
Water gushes out of the hose fixture, shooting up a little to splatter on my shirt before I can shut it off. Again, I pin her with a look, and she flushes with that awkward smile again.
"Oh, yeah. That's new. Remember at practice when my hair was wet and I had that goose egg? I was fixing the sink."
"Were you? Fixing it?"
"Yes, I was. I'll have you know I was doing a great job too. We're blaming my YouTube guru Dale for this. It's his fault."
My jaw is clenched, but I don't say anything, just grab the coffees and follow her to the little table where she put our breakfast. I can't even look around. I'll keep finding things to fix.
"Anyway," she starts when we're seated, "my parents would have hated everything I liked and told me to move home.
And I just…I don't know, Grey." She pokes her eggs with her fork.
"I'm so tired of everybody's opinions. I just wanted to do this one thing for me, you know? But I think I fucked it up."
The sound of a swear word out of her mouth makes me feel some kinda way, but I ignore it.
"You didn't fuck it up, Molly. You might be in over your head, but you didn't fuck up. But I'm not sure how much Dale is gonna be able to help you with some of this stuff."
Her nose wrinkles, which makes her glasses slide down the bridge. She pushes them up. "Yeah, I know. I don't want to go into some crazy debt, though--I don't make enough to pay it off. I guess I could get a loan or something? So I can hire like…a contractor? Is that who would--"
"Let me help you."
She's already shaking her head. "No, it's too much. And you're already helping me."
"You know I teach shop, right? I have the tools. I know how to do all this stuff. I can--"—
"No, I mean it, Grey. I'll figure it out."
I shovel a load of eggs into my mouth so I don't argue.
She's just starting out, doesn't have savings, doesn't have a safety net.
Despite my meager salary, I've got plenty of money saved, my house long paid for.
I never buy anything I don't need, haven't been on vacation since college spring break 2002.
I want to donate to her cause with a fierce determination, but I get not wanting to take handouts.
I only wish she knew how good it would make melee to do it.
"I have big plans for this place. Wanna hear?"
Happy that she's smiling, I nod, shoveling another bite in. I don't even know what I'm doing here and should probably go home. But I don't want to. Which is just another reason I should.
"Well, I want to get the fireplace working for sure, that's going to be so cozy.
I want to do a clawfoot tub and shower and retile the bathroom, that yellow and green combo I have going on is terrible.
But the biggest thing? I want to turn the extra room into a library.
" The light in her is like a candle, warm and soft and comforting.
"See, I want to do bookshelves around the walls and over the door, but make a window seat where I can read.
And I can put a big squishy chair in there, or maybe a hanging one.
Or a hammock. I haven't decided. I have a million boxes of books in the attic, but there's just nowhere to put them all.
There will still be room so I can get more books though!
It won't be full for a bit. Ugh I'd love to get my books out again.
I hate that they're up there in boxes where I can't see them.
Oh! And I want one of those rails with a ladder, you know? Like in Beauty and the Beast."
My chest is twisting, tight, but I'm smiling. "Yeah, I know the kind. Big list for somebody who won't take help."
She scowls playfully at me. "Not free help."
"You can't afford not-free help."
"This has been established."
I take the last bite of my toast as I stand. "I'm just saying." When I open the trash, it's full, so I dump my trash, put my plate on the counter, and get to work. "You'll never get to your library. Can I tell you how much I hate the thought of that?"
I tie up the bag and reach for the back door's knob, just as she says, "Don't--"
The doorknob comes off in my hand. And now I'm mad.
"Molly."
"What? I don't use that door!"
"Molly."
She does the toothy smile thing, but it doesn't work on me this time.
"Put on some pants. We're going to the hardware store."
Her mouth pops open and her brows draw together. "But--"
"Nope. I'm helping."
"Now, hang on--"
"I'll teach you how to do it all. You can assist me if you want. But the thought of you staying here with it falling apart like this is gonna keep me up at night."
"Then let me pay you."
"No."
"We're not talking about you moving a couch, Grey--you're reassembling my house."
"I know. What else you got?"
"You have to let me pay you."
"Fine. But not with money." I hear it when I say it and clear my throat.
"It's not about the money, Molly. You can pay for supplies.
You can learn how to take care of the house on your own.
Because beyond the daily dangers of living in this hazard zone, if you don't fix some of these things real soon, they're going to become bigger problems, like the leaky sink rotting your subfloors. I'm begging you--please, let me help."
Her arms are folded and her eyes narrowed, but I see the wheels going behind them. "Can I cook for you?"
I frown. "I mean, if you want to."
"What I want is to give you money, .But if I can pay you in food so you don't have to eat frozen burritos every night?
Well, that feels like it could enhance your life a little, since you're improving mine so much.
The guys were talking about it the other night," she adds when I open my mouth to ask.
"I love cooking, but cooking for one is so depressing.
So, let me cook for you. I won't say we can call it square because it's decidedly not, but I can agree to that.
For now. But I reserve the right to renegotiate. "
"Deal." I walk across the kitchen and extend my hand for a shake.
When she puts her delicate hand in mine, I realize it's the first time we've deliberately touched. My hand almost envelops hers, so small and gentle and soft. Her face is so determined, I feel like I just won a major award convincing her.
And I don't take the feeling for granted.