11. Foster
ELEVEN
FOSTER
I’m baking cookies at three in the morning because I can’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I could see his eyes on her, could feel her tense beneath my touch when she felt them. It wasn’t the playful interactions or the feel of her skin beneath my fingertips that kept me up. It was purely her discomfort. Eventually, I gave up trying to sleep and got up to focus on something else.
My phone lights up just after I put the first batch in the oven.
Sunshine
What does one wear to an April Fools’ BBQ?
Why are you up?
Why are you?
Couldn’t sleep.
Same! So I’m planning what to wear.
Whatever you want!
So if I show up in a bikini that’s okay?
I stare at my phone for a bit trying not to imagine Sophie walking out to my car wearing nothing but a bikini. I fail.
You may be chilly but I won’t stop you.
HA! So a sweater and jeans is acceptable?
That’s probably a better choice. Should we coordinate again?
Surprise me!
Deal!
I’m about to ask what she’ll do once she’s picked her outfit out, but before I can she’s calling.
I hit accept, and her face fills the screen. “Good morning, sunshine!” I say as cheerily as I can manage this early.
“Barely morning.” She yawns. “So who are you thanking this time?” I don’t answer right away because I wasn’t ready for three a.m. Sophie and I’m a little mesmerized by the messy hair, glasses, and makeup-free face. Even at this hour she’s the sun breaching the horizon.
“Thanking?” I stammer.
“With the cookies. Or are they ‘just because’ cookies?”
“Ah. They’re ‘it’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep’ cookies.”
“Why can’t you sleep?”
“Why can’t you sleep?” I turn the question around.
“I kept replaying what I didn’t say to his girlfriend in the bathroom.” She groans. “I don’t think I should have actually said anything, but I just stood there staring at her for way too long.”
“How did she react?” I ask as the timer on the oven goes. “Just a sec.” I pull the cookies out quickly and turn my attention back to my phone. “Sorry, continue.”
“She looked worried.” She shrugs and wiggles her nose. God, she’s adorable. “So, why are you awake so early, Mr. Walsh?”
I can’t say because I was worried about you so I play dumb. “No idea. Maybe I could sense you worrying and I have sympathy insomnia.” Okay, so I’ve basically just admitted it. I turn away from the screen to transfer the cookies to the cooling rack and then begin putting raw scoops onto the pan. When I turn around, she’s eating a cookie.
“Are you bringing cookies on Sunday?” she asks, brushing crumbs from the corner of her mouth. I don’t know why the action has my tongue sneaking out to the corner of my own.
“Ugh, no. Dan wants people to bring booze. If you show up with food, you won’t be invited back.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“Seriously. He takes it as an insult, like we don’t think he can cook. And truth be told, sometimes he can’t.”
“Any bad experiences in particular?” She takes another bite and leans forward, ready for some hot gossip.
“Let’s see…” She’s turned my brain to molasses by simply existing, or maybe it’s just the early hour. “He once baked bacon on a pan with holes. I think it was a pizza pan. He thought it would crisp up better to have ‘more air flow.’” At first I think the screen is frozen because Sophie is sitting there with her mouth open.
“Is he a bad cook or just dumb? Should I bring a fire extinguisher, or have 911 at the ready? I have a friend who’s a firefighter. I could call her so she’s prepared.”
“Definitely reach out to the friend. He tends to get experimental with the menu for this one. I suppose that makes us all the fools for still showing up.”
“I’m genuinely looking forward to it.” And by the look on her face, I don’t doubt it. “Any asshole exes I should know about?”
“Thankfully no, all friends.”
“Oh.” She yawns again. “Excellent, less drama that way.”
“Do you want to try and get some sleep?”
“I’ll try when you’re done baking, unless you want to be alone.”
“Nope, it’s nice to have some company for pre-dawn baking.” Would it be better if she was here in person? Absolutely, but I’ll take whatever time I can with her when we aren’t squished in her tiny office or surrounded by coworkers.
“Do you ever eat any of the cookies you bake?” Sophie asks, taking a bite of another cookie.
“Probably too many of them,” I admit. “I bike, run, and box to make up for the cookie eating.”
“You box?” She looks surprised.
“Don’t I look like a boxer?”
“Honestly? No.”
“I’m not sure if I should be offended,” I say, holding up my arms and flexing. “These things can throw some punches.”
She giggles, dare I say adorably. “You don’t look like you’ve ever been punched in the face,” she says and then seems to realize what she’s been implying. “I don’t even know what I mean by that. I guess when I think of boxers they have obvious signs of sustaining some kind of trauma.” She waves a hand over her face.
“Maybe I’m just really good at dodging fists?”
Her eyes narrow at me. “Are you?”
“I don’t box seriously, so there are no headshots allowed. Most of my time is spent punching the stuffing out of a bag.”
“Really? You punch the stuffing right out of it?” she teases.
“Well, I am good at shifting it.” I grin and watch as she yawns again. “Hey, when these cookies are done in”—I look over at the timer—“four minutes, I’m going to try to get some sleep, so you should probably do that too.” She opens her mouth to argue with me. “Don’t let him rob you of one more second of sleep, sunshine.”
She watches me for another minute then nods. “You’re right. He’s fucked up enough of my nights.” Sophie’s sad eyes are endless pools of despair, and I have this need to coax the light back into them. Before I can say something to lighten the mood though, I see her eyes widen. She’s looking behind me so I turn just in time to see Gary grab a cookie from the rack. He doesn’t get far with most of it before it breaks apart.
“Chesapeake Bay! Gary!” I scold, chasing after him. I don’t even know if cats can have chocolate, but I don’t feel like paying a vet bill to find out. He doesn’t get far because my apartment isn’t large, but by the time I get him he’s licking his lips.
“You have a cat?” Sophie asks, when I step back in front of the phone.
“Yeah, he was Cass’s idea of a housewarming gift.”
“Did he come from Bennett’s?”
“He wasn’t there for long, but yes.”
“Oh yeah, they don’t like to keep cats for too long. With all the dogs, it can be stressful for them.” “Them” is elongated as she fights another yawn.
“Okay, seriously, go to bed,” I insist as the timer goes.
“Good night, Mr. Walsh.” She smiles and waves before the screen goes dark and I’m left looking at my reflection.
I begin cleaning up while Gary weaves between my feet meowing at me. “I know, man. I’m screwed. I don’t need a lecture.”
I do eventually fall asleep while I create a mental list of how to keep the light shining brightly in Sophie’s eyes.