Page 54 of The Fix-Up

Oliver ran back into the room, his dinosaur backpack thudding with each step. “Ready.” He waved at Gil. “Bye, Mr. Dalton.”

“You can call me Gilbert.”

“Okay, Mr. Gilbert. Can we talk about dinosaurs later?”

“You got it.” Then he smiled and made sure to look right at me when he did it.

TWENTY

[Love is…] when people make a personal sacrifice or give personal time.

—SADIE S., AGE 14

Later that night as I was headed to bed, I discovered Gil’s bedroom door wide open. His door was never opened. Whether he was in it or not, he kept it closed up tight. Probably stuck a piece of hair across it to make sure I wasn’t sneaking in. Light from his room spilled into the hallway. I crept closer and peeked in. I’d just say hello and goodnight and scurry off to my room. Like a polite roommate.

Gil was lying on his bed, fully clothed, still wearing the spattered t-shirt and jeans from his work at the café earlier in the day. Even his shoes were on, although untied as though he’d started to take them off and then gave up. One arm was slung over his eyes and even from my place by the door, I could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. So, he wasn’t dead, at least.

I bit back a grin. Poor guy. We must have exhausted him.

I cleared my throat. He didn’t budge.

Hmm. In the name of making sure he was okay, I tiptoed into the room. Fine. I wanted to check out his space. I hadn’t been in his room at all since he moved in, and I was curious.

The dress mannequins were still in place against the wall. The clowns were still smiling maniacally, although some had been turned to face the wall. But new things had been added. There was a guitar case leaning in the corner. Did he play? He didn’t seem like a musician exactly.

The accordion doors on the closet were open and hanging there was a selection of button-downs in basic colors and khakis the likes of which any accountant would be proud of. After a quick peek at Gil—still hadn’t moved at all—I slunk a little closer to the dresser to inspect the things on the top.

A worn brown leather wallet sat in the middle. Next to it, a handful of loose change. There was a small shower caddy that held personal items: shampoo, body wash, a blue loofa sponge, toothpaste and toothbrush, floss—because of course he flossed daily, probably twice a day—and a small bottle of cologne. After a peek at Gil’s still sleeping body, I carefully picked it up and popped the top. Hmm, a touch of citrus, maybe some sandalwood, something spicy that lingered. Nice. I set the bottle back in place and reached for the wallet.

This was bad. I should not be snooping. But the guy was a bit of an enigma. I knew he had a brother, weird taste buds, migraines, and resting frown face.

I froze when I heard a sound coming from the bed. Slowly I turned on my heel, expecting to be caught and already working on an excuse for entering his room and invading his personal space.

But Gil hadn’t moved a muscle, his arm was still draped over his eyes. The part of his face I could see was soft, his lips puckered gently in sleep. I hadn’t noticed before, but he had anice mouth, with a full bottom lip and the sweetest cupid’s bow on the top.

That was purely a scientific observation, of course.

After abandoning the wallet, I strolled over to the nightstand and picked up the framed photo next to his glasses. There was Gil standing between two men, arms looped around each other’s shoulders. One looked to be in his late sixties, early seventies, and another that looked a little older than Gil. He was slightly balding with ears that stuck out a bit and a huge grin. Actually, all three of them were smiling.

Was this the stepdad he mentioned? Who was the other man? A cousin, maybe?

Gil groaned and lifted the arm from his eyes. I bit back a gasp. As quickly as I could, I set the frame down and backed away. He rubbed his hand over his face and reached blindly for his glasses on the nightstand.

If I could just make it to the door…

“What the hell are you doing in here?” he asked.

With a squeak, I jumped and turned. He sat up, and for once his hair was not neatly parted and combed. The messy bits stood up like a cat with its hackles raised. He slid his glasses on.

I should have told the truth—I’m a creepy creeper who crept into your room. But that smug voice of his annoyed me. I straightened and crossed my arms. “I believe half this room is mine. I needed to get this.”

Blindly, I grabbed the first thing my hand connected with off one of the wall shelves.

Gil’s eyes narrowed. “You came into my room because you couldn’t go another minute without a statue of a sad clown riding a bicycle.”

I glanced down at the abomination in my hand and shuddered. “Obviously. Couldn’t dream of sleeping without it right by my bedside another night.”

“I guess I’ll have to duck in your room and see that…” he pointed at the figurine “…in its new space. Seeing as how half your room is mine, too.”

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