Page 6 of Neo

“Can we play it by ear? I don’t want to leave Kennedy alone on Christmas if she doesn’t have plans.”

“Oh, right, sure.” He sounds disappointed. “We can play it by ear.”

I play with the strap of my handbag for five minutes before I ask him a question.

“Well, what do you usually do for Christmas?”

He turns his head to stare at me for a moment. I’m not sure what he’s thinking.

“I cook dinner. Have some friends over. Although this year it will probably be a super small gathering.”

“You cook?”

“Yeah, I don’t have the time to cook every day, but I’m a pretty fair cook for holidays and special occasions.”

“Oh.”

Before the car becomes too loaded with our mutual silence, we arrive at Kennedy’s apartment complex. Nevada is so different. The highways are freshly paved, with no potholes to be seen, unlike the streets of my hometown in Pennsylvania. The complex features several small apartment buildings covered in tan stucco with terra cotta hued roofs, surrounded by sandy colored dirt and a few strategically planted cactus plants.

It’s nothing like home.

And I start to long for my childhood bedroom, my refuge, more with each passing moment.

I ring Kennedy’s doorbell while my father unpacks the trunk.

“Hi,” she answers the door cordially in a pink halter top and cutoff jean shorts. “Welcome to Valencia City Village.”

“Hi.”

She and my father shake hands after he brings my suitcases into the living room, giving her apartment a quick once over. The furnishings are sparse but the apartment is clean, and it seems to satisfy his Johnny-come-lately sense of parental concern. I’m just glad it’s not dripping in Christmas decorations. In fact, there’s not one piece of nauseating yuletide joy to be found anywhere inside the apartment.

This should work fine.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it,” he says to me as he stands at the front door.

“Thanks for driving me, Steven,” I say, making sure to stand a few feet away in case he thinks I’m actually going to give him a hug goodbye. I’m not.

“No problem. Call me if you need anything.”

“Yep.”

After he leaves, Kennedy shows me to my bedroom. It’s smaller than my room back home, but that’s to be expected.

“You and your dad don’t get along, huh?” she asks.

“We don’t know each other well,” I say, not wanting to get into a full-blown discussion about my fucked up family dynamics.

“That’s why you call him by his first name?”

“It feels too weird calling him dad. We literally just met a few months ago.”

“Say no more. I bet you want a drink then.”

“Um, no, actually, I don’t really drink much.”

“Oh, is it a religious thing?”

Kennedy and I knew of each other in high school and we’d say hello to each other in the hallways, but we didn’t know each other well. Our friend crowds were like two ships passing in the night. She was part of the beautiful people clique, and I was a part of the nerds. And not the nerds who were smart and ran for student office but the kind who liked to remain under the radar, minding our business and earning our A’s (or in my case B’s and C’s). But our town is relatively small and word about my mom’s death spread fast, so when my neighbors learned I was going to move here to attend school, more than one person suggested (basically commanded) that I get in contact with Kennedy. I did, we chatted, and now we’re roommates–at least on a trial basis.

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