Chapter 11
eleven
GREER
The normal moving chaos begins before I’ve even had a cup of coffee. I sent my uncle with the wrong key to the storage shed, and a dually truck was parked lengthwise in the alleyway to my apartment, making it difficult to unload.
I may be a little bit frazzled. The kicker is that I can’t find my pump supplies, even though I know they’re in here somewhere. They can only be replaced through a mail order pharmacy and aren’t cheap.
They’ll pop up once the clutter is cleared. I’ve only stopped working in the chaotic apartment long enough to take Hank to pee. This calls for coffee.
Now carrying Hank, I head into Hickory Chickory Dock for my first caffeine boost of the day.
The cooled air is welcome after the humidity and heat outside.
I raise my sunglasses onto my head and start searching over the chalkboard menu.
I know everybody’s order but P.J.'s. He’s in a whole “my body is a temple” thing, though, so he probably won't drink it anyway. It’s the thought that counts.
The only employee is the teenage girl who was with Fern, a paperback in her hand as she rests on a barstool behind the cash register. I recognize the cover as a best seller that was recently made into a movie.
Delia. Her name’s Delia. “Is it any good?” I ask, nodding to her book. “My cousin and I keep meaning to watch the movie together, but we’ve not had a chance.”
Her face warms, and she scoots the cartoon covered book out of sight, “Oh, I don’t watch television.
The book is fun though.” She starts moving around anxiously, fiddling with the stirrers and straightening up the powdered sweeteners.
She reminds me of Allie’s youngest sibling, Lilly.
She’s shy, and casual conversations with strangers are downright agony for her.
“Well, I’m in the middle of moving upstairs, so I’m sure we’ll have a chance to talk about it.”
“Did you want a drink? Or a muffin or something,” she asks awkwardly. Biting her lip, she remarks, “The Italian cream sodas are great in this weather.”
“I want five coffees.” I rattle off a drink for everyone, including a black coffee with oat milk for P.J.
She loads the coffee into a cardboard holder. When she goes to hand me the fifth drink, my own, I place Hank on the ground. The rotten little gremlin is going to have to walk. Mama’s hands are full.
He immediately gives me a pout. He knows about coffee shops and what he normally gets as a treat. “Do you have little whipped cups for dogs per chance?”
“Yes, we do.” Using a metal dispenser, she quickly fills a waxy paper cup with whipped cream, then walks around the corner to hand it to Hank herself. He buries his face in its contents and starts snorting.
“I love his little noises,” she gushes.
“It’s because of his flat face,” I explain. We both watch, amused as Hank demolishes the paper cup. When he starts ripping it, I take it away, then click my tongue to tell Hank it’s time to leave.
“Thanks. Let me know how the book is,” I call out, already opening the door.
With a full drink caddy in one hand, the other holding my coffee and the leash, we walk around the corner to the alley and open the street level door. As I begin to climb the stairs, Hank stops dead in his tracks and sits on his haunches.
Seriously?
“C’mon ya little gremlin. We gotta get upstairs.”
He tilts his head as if he doesn’t understand exactly what I’m saying. Next time, I’m holding his pup cup hostage until we’re safely in the apartment.
“Do you want to at least try?” I beg. I know living on the second floor will be an inconvenience with a dog. He can handle the steps, but that doesn’t mean he’ll cooperate.
I’m setting myself up for years of schlepping this dog up and down multiple times a day if I carry him now, but there may be no other option.
The first story exterior door opens up, and my vibe sensitive dog starts barking at the man toting a free standing brass lamp.
“Ooops, looks like we’ve got a traffic jam,” he jokes.
“Andrew,” I try to say warmly, “What are you doing here?”
He puts the lamp down at his feet and gives me a hug I absolutely don’t want.
I use the coffee as an excuse not to return it.
When he steps away, he says “Heard you were moving. I thought you could use an extra set of hands.” He’s wearing khaki shorts and a polo, way too dressed up to help move on a hot Louisiana day.
P.J. had to have given him the address, meaning someone knew he was on his way. “You don’t have to do that. It’s a workday.”
“I’m out of the office for my golf game. Besides, I promised my brother I’d help move that sofa.”
Guess it was too much to include me in the conversation. Seeing as it’s my sofa. I should have told Jude that I’m moving today. I feel bad that he’s working so much. I didn’t want to ask him to get up at seven am, especially since he’s getting off so late at night.
The already claustrophobic stairwell is closing in on me with every second I linger with Andrew, so I say, “Well, thank you for helping.” Placing the drink holder on the top step, I lean down to pick up Hank, still carrying my own drink in my right hand.
Andrew follows behind with the lamp, just missing the coffees at his feet.
“So you got a job around here?” he inquires with far too much enthusiasm.
Yeah, I’m not telling you where I work. “I’m a school nurse,” I lie.
It was one of the jobs that I interviewed for but wasn’t hired.
Mom taught me not to be nice to men who give me the creeps.
Now that Andrew is around, it was one of the best things she could have done.
He tried to kiss me once, but I pushed him away.
He hasn’t done anything inappropriate since then, but he also hasn’t taken a hint.
As Andrew enters the apartment, Hank makes that low Frenchie growl and glares bug eyed at my visitor. I don’t want to correct my pooch. He’s just protecting me from the same vibe I feel. Grabbing the treats by his enclosure, I lean over and give him one for being a good boy.
Putting my cup down on the counter, I excuse myself.
“I need to go get the rest of my stuff.” Andrew clumps behind as I rush down to the first floor.
I open the exterior door for him, as if to be polite, not wanting to have another one on one.
I give him an awkward smile. “You didn’t have to do this. ”
“Eh, it’s no big deal.”
Yes, it is because now I’m indebted to him, even though I don’t want him here.
I carry the cups into the kitchen and hand my aunt’s to her. “Was that Andrew?”
“Yes, he came to help.”
“Well, that’s nice,” she says, looking up from the stove.
“You don’t need to completely sterilize the kitchen, you know. Fern had a service come.”
“You never know how someone else cleans,” Aunt Marcel lectures. I lean over to hug her. She welcomes it, holding me tight. “You look upset.”
“I…am not a big fan of Andrew,” I confess, letting go of the embrace.
She starts to pale. “I see. Has anything happened or…” she asks, eyebrow raised.
“Sorta. It’s this gut feeling.” I give her the short version of the story, leaving out the bits parents don’t want to know.
“I’ll tell Cooper tonight,” she declares.
“No, please, don’t do that. It’ll cause so many issues.”
There will be drama and even more awkwardness after Uncle Cooper goes into protective mode and has a cleaning the gun conversation with Andrew. He’ll tell Dad, and then Mom will know, and after that it's ten thousand questions I don’t want to answer.
“I don’t know, sha.”
“Remember the time someone cat called Allie at the parish fair?” I remind her. My uncle seemed to let it go at the time, but went to the bathroom. When he found us half an hour later, he had scraped knuckles and a busted lip.
Aunt Marcel studies me for a minute, her blue eyes cloudy, before finally nodding. She didn’t promise not to tell him, but she’s agreeing it’ll be raising a fuss when it might not be needed. She’s debating what to do, which means she’s not going to do anything yet.
Pointing to a box labeled kitchenware, she says, “You haven’t opened that one.” Probably extra stuff from my parents’ house.
Wanting to run them through the dishwasher before they’re put away, I reach for the box cutter and riffle through unfamiliar paper until I pull out a bone white dish surrounded by mustard colored flowers. My Maw Maw’s dishes. I turn to face my aunt, who is smiling coyly in my direction.
“I want new dishes,” she pronounces.
“I love them,” I say, my voice feeling wobbly.
“I threw in some extra stuff that was lying around.”
All of it’s welcome right now. I’ve already spent a fortune on my first grocery delivery. I needed everything from laundry detergent and kitchen sponges to a toaster.
Now that I think of it, where the hell is that bag of stuff?
With my aunt next to me, I feel safe putting my headphones on. Maybe it’ll deter Andrew from further conversation.
It feels like an eternity before P.J. comes back with a microwave, carrying it with ease. He waves at me to get my attention. Pulling down my headphones, I ask, “Need help?”
“Where do you want this?”
“Right in front of you is fine.”
He sets his heavy burden on the counter and pronounces, “That’s the last of it.”
“Where’s Andrew?” I ask.
He gestures towards the door with his head. “Getting a latté. ”
Already it’s coming in handy to live here if the coffee shop’s keeping him away. “Tell him I said thanks for coming to help.”
He gives me a two finger wave, “No problem. Headed to the gym.”
Allie comes from the back bedroom, her movements clumsy on her walking boot as she carries an empty box. “Towels are in the bathroom, but I know you’re going to refold them anyway.”
I rush forward to take away her burden before she ends up tripping.
“Right now I’m just glad they’re stored somewhere I can find them,” I admit.
After looking over my shoulder, I check to see who’s around before whispering, “Am I still driving you to P.J.’s bout?”
“Please? It’s not too far away from here.”
“It’ll be one last chauffeur ride from me before you get that boot off,” I point out.
“It’s a good thing too, because I got a third story dorm this year.”
“So no off campus apartment with P.J.?” They were supposed to finally move in together this year, but Allie still applied for on campus housing just in case something happened.
All too easily, she says, “Yeah, they gave the apartment I wanted to someone else, and I didn’t have any time to drive up there to look for another option.”
“Did they stick you with a horrible dorm assignment?”
“No, I got a room in Boudreaux Hall.”
“I thought those were waitlisted.”
“My name finally came up on the list. Guess it’s just my turn.”
She’s lying. Or omitting something. “I guess it’s a good thing then.” We’re circling back to this when we’re alone. I’m not surprised they’re not moving in together, but I’m shocked at the dorm. It’s usually reserved for married couples and single parents.
Aunt Marcel gives us a sideways look at our whispering and pulls the disposable gloves off her hands.
“The kitchen’s done. I’m going to the supply house while it’s still open.”
A fresh pang of guilt strikes. It’s Friday, she should be at the bakery preparing for tomorrow’s deliveries.
“I’m going to come help,” Allie calls out.
Aunt Marcel lifts her eyebrows in surprise. “If you want. I’m heading downstairs to herd your uncle away from the pastry case.”
Returning the tight hug she offers, I say, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come help at the bakery after work for a bit?”
“I have it covered,” she assures me.
Grabbing her purse, my aunt calls out her goodbyes in record time. Allie apologizes as soon as the door closes. “I did not ask Andrew to come.”
“It’s okay. He’ll get the message eventually. Can you make sure he leaves? Tell him I have a headache or something.”
“I will. Sorry again.”
I follow her down the covered exterior stairs that lead to the private entryway, feeling guilty that Allie has to navigate them for me. I shut and lock the door behind her, then jog back up before deadbolting and pulling the chain across the interior door.
Finally at peace to study my space.
Other than a bed, my only furniture is an old couch from my parents’ basement. The built-in shelves are bare, but I saw a sign for a weekend flea market. I’m sure I’ll find some treasures there.
With the house empty, I let Hank out of the enclosure.
I dig around until I find my cinnamon apple scented candle, and leave it lit on my kitchen counter.
Within a few minutes, the house smells like fabric softener and autumn up north.
I turn my Bluetooth speaker down low and start rummaging through my bags, putting everything in its place and occasionally confiscating a loose piece of trash from my spoiled little gremlin.
I know this is likely not my forever home, but it’s mine.