Page 23 of Bookish Boys Don't Date Social Girls
The door opens a crack.
“Yeah?”
I smile, hoping to look pleasant and unthreatening. “Hi…” I can’t remember her name, so after an awkward pause, I continue. “I’m Samantha Jones, Ava’s friend. She had an accident at work and I’m here to get her a change of clothes.”
The door swings wide and I find myself looking at a much older version of the woman I remember. I just saw her a couple of weeks ago at Ava’s brother’s graduation and she didn’t look as defeated then. Or maybe I was distracted by the graduation ceremony to take notice of the differences.
My gaze sweeps her from head to toe. Whatever brown was left in her hair four years ago is completely grayed out now. Her face sags more, her eyes are droopier, and her shoulders more slumped. It’s so sad how defeated she looks. But there is concern in her eyes.
“Is she okay?”
I blink. “Yeah. Oh, I’m sorry.” I feel horrible for misleading her. “Not that kind of accident. She split her pants.”
Grandma breathes out. “Oh, well, that’s nothing new. I’m surprised she doesn’t have a change of clothes.”
“She usually does, but you know…” I let the statement drop off because I’m not sure why Ava doesn’t have a spare outfit with her like she usually does. Perhaps she used the spare outfit already. That’s not unheard of.
Grandma just stares at me, so I smile again and ask, “Can I come in?”
The woman startles like she’s coming out of a dream. “Sure, sure.” She pushes the screen door open and steps back to let me slide past.
With the front drapes pulled closed, the living room is dark and full of shadows. A stale, dusty smell hangs in the air. I consider bolting for the stairs to make a quick escape from Grandma, but I’m stopped by what I see. It’s the exact opposite of what I saw in the woman behind me. Where she has changed a lot in a relatively short time, not a single thing in the living room seems to have changed in the decade or so since I last visited. The same two undersized pictures hang on the wall. The coffee and side tables are still free from knickknacks or magazines, or any sign that people inhabit the house. None of the furniture has been moved. It’s eerie.
I shake my attention free and move toward the stairs. “I’ll just grab a pair of pants for her and be out of your hair.”
I take the stairs two at a time. At the top of the stairs, I freeze as terror fires in my muscles. Ava’s mom’s room is at the top of the stairs, and I almost breezed past like a herd of elephants. Ava has shared countless stories about how mad her mom is when she’s awoken during the day. But the open bedroom door reminds me that she works regular office hours now and no longer sleeps during the day.
I inhale a shaky breath and head toward the end of the hall. I’ve been in this house for all of a minute now and feel like I’ll have a brain aneurism if I stay longer. How has Ava survived this long and stayed so sane?
I turn into the last door on the right and feel the wall for a light switch. When light fills the room, I bite my lip. The room has very little personality. The top of the dresser is bare, andthe walls are bare. There is a bed and an empty bookshelf. Then I see the boxes stacked in the corner and plastic bags lined against the wall and I realize I’m in Joel’s room. He must already be packing to move.
I flip the light off and cross the hallway to what must be Ava’s room. Everything about the room confirms it. The drapes are open, letting natural light fill every corner, the window is ajar allowing fresh air in. The curtains are made from the same rose-covered material that wraps around her desktop. The stuffed animals we’ve won at the fair over the years sit expectantly on her bed, awaiting her return.
Squinting, I peer at the collage of pictures over her desk until I recognize the three of us. I cross the room for a closer look. I laugh out loud when I see a picture of Bek, Ava, and me from third grade. We’re at a school fair in the gymnasium that was some fundraiser my parents took us to. We’d all won something from the fishpond game and Dad snapped a picture of us holding our prizes. Ava has a multi-colored pen, Bek has a mini spiral notebook, and I’m holding a very gaudy necklace that I remember thinking was beautiful.
We’d really thought we’d all gotten lucky enough to “catch” something. I’m only now realizing that there was someone sitting behind the screen putting a prize at the end of every pole that was cast. My dad must have thought we were such idiots.
My heart swells as I study the rest of the pictures. So many memories. I reach out and touch a picture of the three of us cuddled together in my bed. We’re ten years old and look so little. Mom snapped this photo the night Ines moved out. I had such a hard time understanding why Ines would want to leave our house. We always had so much fun. I took it personally. Like she was leaving me. My friends stayed with me that night, the three of us like sardines in my bed. They’ve always been there for me.
I finally spin back toward the bed and snatch up the pair of jeans Ava had discarded this morning.
I’m caught up in the memories the photo collage stirred up as I jog down the stairs, so I startle when I almost run Grandma over. She stands at the base of the stairs waiting.
“I got them.” I hold up the jeans to prove my point.
Grandma nods, but her gaze studies my face, not the pants I’m waving at her.
“You’ve grown into a lovely young woman. Not that that surprises me.”
I halt on the bottom step because she stands too close for me to continue without it feeling weird. “Thank you.”
She sighs heavily, and something about it tells me she has more to say. I’m not sure how to invite the conversation though, so I smile again, feeling very vapid.
“Our Ava is a good girl.”
“She’s the best.” Her expression tells me this isn’t what she wants to say, either. This is so unexpected and I’m desperate to hear what it is she hopes to convey. “Ava is one of the strongest people I know.”
Grandma’s face crumples. “Well, she has to be. Doesn’t she?”
