Page 23 of She Likes It, Hey Micah
Hmm, that does seem a bit too big for an age gap, though it sounds like she’s probably similar in age to me. Not for the first time, I wonder how old Fischer is. Not because I want to date him but because he could be a good gauge of how old is too old. He’s definitely older than me, but by how much? If I had to guess, he’s just a few years younger than Chad, who is thirty-six. I’m twenty-five. That’s not crazy, right?
I shake my head. Again, not trying to date Fischer Price. He wouldn’t want to date me anyway; he can barely stand me.
“Can we not talk about my neighbor, please?” Chad asks. He must have called me because he needed a distraction. “How’s work going? Any updates on getting promoted?”
Well, Lila took credit for Debbie in front of a big client, so that’s a no. “Things are looking pretty good,” I lie. “We’re working on a grand reopening of Greenwood Lodge.”
Chad is quiet again, but I let him sit in silence this time until he’s ready to talk. “That’s where Mom and Lloyd…”
“Yeah.” I run my finger through the streaks of batter left in the bowl and stick it in my mouth.
“How are you doing with that?”
Chad may have only lived with me for a few years, just until Mom died when I was around four, but he’s made an effort to get to know me in recent years. Which means he knows that no matter how excited I am to be a part of this Greenwood event, it also makes me miss our mom.
I shrug, even if he can’t see it. “Sometimes I’m really stoked to be a part of something she’s touched,” I say slowly. “Other times it makes me realize how little I know her.”
“You know her.” Chad doesn’t often get emotional, but I can hear his pain in his voice. Losing Mom was harder on him than on anyone, I think. It was just him before the twins came eight years after him, and I think he had a closer bond to her than any of us realize. “You’re just like her,” he adds.
I sniffle as tears fill my eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah. You two share a big heart and an endless smile.”
I do remember that part. It’s one of the few things I remember about her, honestly, but her smile is etched into my memory. It’s one of the reasons I try to be positive and find the good in every situation because I know that’s what she did. Her first husband, Chad’s dad, cheated on her—I’m not supposed to know that part—after years of emotional neglect. Then she found my dad, who absolutely cherished her, but she only had a couple of good years before she got sick. Dad doesn’t talk about her much, but he told me once or twice about how little she complained, even toward the end. Mom was a champion optimist, and I want nothing more than to be just like her.
I swipe another fingerful of batter. “Hey, Chad, can I ask you a question?”
“Always.”
“Would you rather eat a gallon of mayo or a gallon of ranch dressing?”
He laughs. “Mayo,” he says, like there’s no other suitable answer.
“Right? Why would anyone choose ranch?”
“With that volume, you need something more palatable and smooth. Ranch would be overpowering.”
“I’m glad you get it.” I don’t think Fischer fully thought through that question, which has me wondering if he was really paying attention or just answering so I would move on to something different. It shouldn’t bug me, but it does.
There’s so much about that man that bugs me. And that alone bugs me! I am not the kind of person who gets bugged. Things roll off me because there’s no point in letting other people affect my life negatively. I won’t let him bring me down.
The thing is, his bad energy is going to pull me down anyway unless I take an offensive strategy, more than I’ve been doing so far. I don’t just need a smile from Fischer; I need him to laugh. To be so caught up in happiness that smiling comes without thought. I know that’s a tall order, but it’s the only way I’m going to be able to enjoy this reopening the way I should.
I end my phone call with Chad, wishing him luck with his neighbor. And when the brownies are done, I take a plateful across the hall to my old, widowed neighbor, wondering the whole time we eat them together if Fischer likes brownies. There’s really only one way to find out…
Chapter Seven
Fischer
Grant had something at theschool with Dexter, so he sent me home early. To anyone else, that would be a good thing, but for the last three months I’ve been banking on Grant working me long hours so I don’t have any down time to get lost in my thoughts.
I could probably find some work to do around the office, but Grant gave me a look that said he expected me to actually go home tonight. If he’s going to keep paying attention, I’m not sure this business relationship is going to work out. I don’t want someone thinking I’m scared to face the world after what Miranda did, even if they would be right. Grant must have decided I am a liability while I’m thinking about my failed company.
With the way I trudge inside the apartment, my shoulders heavy, he might be right.
Though hopeful I might have the place to myself for the evening, Kale is on the living room floor surrounded by yarn. I’ve never actually seen my roommate knit, but it looks like my assumption was right. He’s in the middle of making another hoodie or something similar, while the radio plays what sounds like a murder podcast.
I’m not sure I’m all that comfortable knowing that a guy who refuses to own a cell phone would be interested in murder. There’s a lot to learn from these kinds of things.
