Page 29 of Spinning Out Of Control

Warren

Fucking Christ, woman.

13

WARREN

When I arrived at Kira’s home to pick her up for our trip today, the last thing I expected was to be invited inside. Lucky for me, it was her brother who answered the door and ushered me inside before Kira caught on to my presence.

The inside of Kira’s home is just as bright and eclectic as the cotton candy pink exterior. I’ve only seen the entryway–painted a shade of cream with pops of neon oranges and pinks, giving the space a retro seventies vibe–and the kitchen. I wasn’t invited into the living room, where Kira is currently giving Dean directions on how to care for her home while she’s gone.

Her brother is tall and broad, muscled in the way you’d expect a professional athlete to be. He has the same grey eyes as Kira, but when he shook my hand and introduced himself, they didn’t hold the same beautiful storm clouds that Kira’s do.

Her kitchen is cluttered but clean, with open shelving instead of cabinets lining the walls. From the looks of it, she doesn’t have a single matching plate or bowl. Above the mismatched dinnerware, a Carly Simon lyric is written–one of my favorites that muses about dreams and clouds in coffee–in hot pink swooping letters as if they’d been hand painted with a thin brush.

Her appliances don’t match, either. From the pastel pink toaster to the avocado green oven, there doesn’t seem to be a color missing from the spectrum in her home. The space is welcoming, warm, and smells like sugar and the coffee Kira brewed before I arrived. Coffee that, again, her brother offered to me, but I took it nonetheless. I lean up against the counter, sipping from a mushroom-shaped mug while staring at a hole in the lemon-yellow wall next to the refrigerator.

A framed hole.

Alabeled, framed hole.

Champagne Problems

Jerry Garcia - 1967

Cork on drywall

I stare at the…art? Is it art? It feels like art.

I stare at the art, wondering if it’s some sort of abstract piece made by Kira and labeled to confuse her house guests or if the hole was actually left there by the late musician himself.

Either way, it suits her personality to have it here in her home.

I take the last sip of my coffee, then rinse my mug in the sink. I give it a quick wash, since it looks like a handmade piece that probably shouldn’t go in the dishwasher. Under her sink, I find a basket of dish towels in various patterns and choose a red and white one covered in cherries to lay out on the counter and set the mug to dry. Checking the watch on my wrist, I wonder how long it could possibly take Kira to go over care instructions for her fish.

I mean, honestly, it’s a fucking fish, not a dog. Can’t it survive a weekend on its own?

I cross the room, intending to poke my head into the living room and let Kira know we’ve got to get a move on. We’re flying private at her request, so the plane technically leaves when I tell it to, but I don’t like to keep the crew waiting.

I raise my fist, ready to rap on the door to announce myself before entering, but stop when I hear the siblings on the other side.

“He’s cute, Keeks. Major Mr. Sheffield vibes, especially with that accent.”

“Shut up, Dean. And don’t forget to unplug the heater before you change the water in Pancakes’ tank. His pellets are–”

“Oh, changing the subject. You like him, don’t you?”

“No, I do not.”

“I knew it. You love him. How old is he? IronDad isgonna have a heart attack when you bring him home for Chrismukkuh. Pops might hit on him. Tía Camila will be so proud, she is always telling us the importance of making sure our first husband is a rich old man who will die before us.”

“¡Calláte la puta boca! Dios mío, él puede oírte.”

“¡Lo sabía! Mi hermana está enamorada.”

“Sí, me gusta un poco, ok? Pero es muy complicado. Es molesto y me robó el trabajo.

“El es muy guapo.”

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