Page 24 of Rebound With Me
“I was going to ask if I could get you anything. Coffee, water, lemonade?”
“I’m good, thanks.”I definitely should not have come back.“I should get to it. I’ve got an appointment later.”
“Yes. Of course. Don’t let me keep you. I’ll just, uhh, I’ll get out of your way. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me. I mean. I’ll be reading a book. In my bedroom. Since it’s the only other room besides this one. And the kitchen. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you want. Or, you know, the bathroom’s right there.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
She practically skips into her bedroom while I start to cut a square of drywall patch to size. I realize that I won’t have time to go home to change before my next meeting, and I don’t want to get dust or drywall compound on my shirt. I take my shirt off and place it on the back of an armchair, looking over to the door to the bedroom, wondering if the right thing to do is to announce that I’m taking my shirt off, so it doesn’t freak her out when she sees me. But it’s not like she hasn’t seen me with my shirt off, I guess.
When I stick my fingers inside the hole in the wall to check around for electrical cords before going at it with a drywall saw, I can’t help but think about where my fingers were last night and I have to tell myself out loud, under my breath, to just be cool for fuck’s sake.
Screwing the drywall patch to a piece of wooden board behind it should not be torture, but it is. Just thinking about the word “screw.” What am I—twelve?
I can hear her yawning and shifting positions on her bed, and even though I know she’s reading a book, I can’t not picture her reading a book naked.
“Fuck!” I mutter, a little too loud.
“You okay?” she calls out.
She probably thinks I banged up my finger or something.No I’m not okay—I can’t think about anything but you and your beautiful naked body.“Yeah, I just dropped something. Sorry.”
I wait to see if she comes in, but she doesn’t. She is very good at giving me space. Maybe a little too good. Why isn’t she hovering? Why isn’t she all over me? Did I not give her as good a time as I thought I did?...Nah. I definitely did.
Almost half an hour has passed when I’m spreading a piece of mesh over the drywall compound. The silence has been alternately anxiety-fueling and comforting. I like that she doesn’t need my attention. It’s cool. And the opposite of what I’m used to.
What’s her game? I’ve never known a girl like her. Sadie’s a bit younger, but she had game. She had us all wrapped around her finger, but she was manipulative and I knew it. I figured she had to be a good person because she was good with Charlie. Is it possible that I just slept with the only girl in New York who has no game?
Anyone would say that if I’m still comparing her to Sadie then it is way too soon to get involved with her, and they’d be right.
I stand up and clear my throat. I don’t have anything to wipe my hands on except her drop cloth and I don’t want to mess it up.
Shit, I forgot to buy paint.
I clear my throat again and call out to her. “Hey, you don’t have any of the paint to match this, do you?”
“What’s that?”
She pops her head out through the bedroom door and her eyes get so big when she sees me here with my shirt off and then she blushes and looks away, it’s so fucking cute.
“Sorry, I had to take my shirt off so I don’t mess it up.” I’m grinning. I shouldn’t be grinning. I’m not here to flirt with her.
“No, it’s fine, yeah.” She stays in the doorway. “Did you say something about paint?”
“I need to paint this when it dries.”
“Oh, right. I don’t have the paint for this. I painted the bedroom when I moved in, but not this room. I could call my landlord to ask the color.”
“You know what, if it’s been a few years since it was painted it won’t match exactly anyway. It’s opposite the window, so the sun would have…”
“Right, good point. I mean, I could just cover that spot with a painting, it’s no big deal.”
“No no, I was thinking I could just paint the whole wall.” It’s just a three foot wide wall next to the front door. “I’d have to come back though with the paint, like tomorrow maybe.”
“I mean…you really don’t have to. I appreciate you fixing it so much, but just patching it up is fine.
She doesn’t want me to come back. “Okay. Well, I gotta let the drywall compound dry and then I’ll sand it and you can see how it looks and decide what you want.”
She nods. “Okay. Thanks.”
I hold my hands up and nod towards the bathroom door. “I should wash my hands.”
“Oh you know what, you should use the kitchen sink. Dishwashing liquid would be better for that.”
“Yeah? Okay.” I head into the kitchen. I can use her paper towels to dry off instead of messing up her hand towel. I turn on the faucet in the kitchen sink. The sink is empty and clean, and she’s got little colored glass bottles lining the window ledge above it, with single flower stems in them. Pretty and unaffected. Just like her.
I squirt the pearly white dishwashing liquid into my hands and as soon as I smell it, I get hit with this feeling of nostalgia, so unexpected, it’s almost overwhelming. This delicate, feminine scent. I realize it’s the same kind of dish soap my Mom used to use. Ivory soap. It’s been so long since I’ve smelled this. I think my Dad must have purposefully started using something else because he couldn’t handle the memory of her every time he washed the dishes.
What does this mean? I’ve been in a lot of kitchens over the past fourteen years—hundreds. How is it possible that this is the first time I’ve experienced this fragrance again since I was fourteen? Or am I just open to noticing it now for some reason?
What the fuck is wrong with you? Getting all teary-eyed over scented dish soap in some girl’s kitchen? Pull it together.
