Page 26 of Glad You're Here

I ordered three kinds of chicken, chow mein, and fried rice all for myself. It felt fantastic. The only thing that could have made this moment sweeter would have been Thea laughing by my side, high-fiving me for telling off my family. I pulled out my phone and sent her a text. What did I have to lose?

Happy Thanksgiving, Thea. Thinking of you.

eleven

Thea

Orange swirled with red and black, creating murky, muddy flames on my canvas. I dipped my brush in black again. These flames needed to be darker. Most of my paintings included flames lately, except for the lovely winter landscape that a middle-aged mom had commissioned for the recently passed Christmas holiday. That was the dumbest thing I’d ever painted, but she paid $2,500 for it.

Now, back to flames. I didn’t stomp around slamming doors anymore, but anger still simmered under the surface. It felt good to paint it, better than writing fake suicide letters. I hadn’t written one of those since Levi saw them.

Fuck Levi. I painted his eyes into the flames on my canvas. Fuck those pretty eyes. And fuck that text message he’d sent me on Thanksgiving. Fuck the fact that I still read it several times a day.

Thinking of me? Thinking what? Thinking what, Levi?

I tossed my paintbrush onto the table next to my canvas. I stood and stretched my aching back, then rolled my throbbing wrists a few times. The cold always made my body aches worse. Actually, so did the heat. Any extreme weather sucked.

I wandered to my bathroom to wash my hands and heard a knock at my door. “Who in the hell?” I muttered to myself. Again, why didn’t I have a moody black cat to talk to? Maybe I’d get myself one for my birthday. I’d name it Wednesday, and it would hiss at everyone except me.

I made my way to the front door and wrenched it open, and I shit you not, two nerdy Mormon boys stood on my porch, shivering against the cold January air. Their nametags read Elder Benton and Elder Smith. Elder Benton was tall and lanky with a pleasant smile and a gentle naïvety in his eyes. Elder Smith was short, pale, and looked like he had a major stick shoved up his butt.

“Hello!” The one labeled Elder Smith greeted me. “We’re from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. We were in the neighborhood and felt inspired by the Lord to knock on your door. May we share a quick message about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”

I nearly slammed the door in their nerdy faces, but then I recalled Levi’s traumatic mission experiences. These kids were probably cold and scared and missed their families. I sighed and opened my door a little wider, inviting them inside. “Look, I don’t want to hear about Jesus, but you’re probably cold and hungry.”

Elder Benton nodded eagerly and said, “I’m starving!”

Elder Smith elbowed his arm and looked at him disapprovingly before turning back to me. “I’m sorry. Is there anyone else here? We can’t come in if you’re alone.”

I frowned. “Seriously? Why?”

Elder Smith stammered, “Young, attractive women… I, we’re not supposed to—”

“Oh god!” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll keep my clothes on!” I ushered them inside and started heating water in my electric kettle. “Have a seat.” I gestured to the table. “I’m not an amazing cook or anything, but I was about to make some spaghetti and marinara. I’ll cook extra.”

“Thank you,” they mumbled.

Elder Benton’s eyes wandered around, studying the art on my walls, but Elder Smith nudged him again and shook his head. I thought I heard him whisper about the darkness driving away the spirit. I snorted and filled three mugs with hot water and a chamomile tea bag.

“Oh!” Elder Smith held up his hand. “We don’t drink tea. It’s in our Word of Wisdom. We’d love to teach you about it tonight.”

I let out a long, irritated sigh. “Bro, it’s herbal. You can drink it.”

“You’re familiar with the Word of Wisdom?” Elder Smith looked intrigued.

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I had a… friend who was Mormon.”

I placed the mugs and a honey jar on my table in front of the nerdy kids. They both stared at the mugs like they were about to sprout teeth. I grabbed the box of chamomile tea and plopped it next to the honey. “Check it out. Herbal.” I pointed to the word near the bottom of the box. “I’m not planning on poisoning any Mormons today. I have that penciled in for tomorrow, though, so it’s a good thing you knocked on my door tonight.”

When they remained silent, I chuckled at my joke and started cooking the pasta. Levi would have thought I was hilarious.

Fucking Levi.

I started on the sauce while the missionaries hesitantly sipped their tea. They tried to engage me in conversation about their belief that families can be sealed together forever in their temples. “Isn’t that the most beautiful promise?” Elder Smith asked.

“Not everyone wants to be with their families forever. Some families are shit.” I shrugged and stirred the pasta. I’d put the noodles in before the water started boiling. I was always too impatient to wait and compromised the texture of my pasta every time. The water began to simmer as I watched it, not unlike the tension in the room.

Elder Smith sputtered something about family being the most important thing next to belief in God.

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