When she looks up at me, her shoulder leans against the doorframe, and the sweet way she tilts her head makes me think that maybe it’s working. This random ruse I thought up of to kick start our “faux”-ship into an actual friendship. She smiles an honest, genuine smile when she asks, “Is this your idea of being friends? Bringing me flowers?”
“Ah, but they don’t count because they’re LEGOs.” I tap at the box, accentuating my point.
“And you just thought you’d drop off some LEGOs for me?”
I scoff a fake frown. “Hell no. We’re building them together.”
“What?” The laugh that rattles her confused voice is the wave of confidence I need to brush past her and walk into her condo. She follows me, closing and locking the door behind her. I slip off my shoes and step into her living room to see a small cozy nest of blankets, popcorn, and Buster. “I wasn’t expecting company,” she defends, setting the LEGO set down and folding a blanket that looks like it’d be as soft as a cloud.
“Leave it,” I tell her. And I mean it. The thought of spending the day nestled in her soft, fuzzy couch with blankets to serve as extra nesting material sounds like the perfect way to spend time with a friend.
“It’s fine,” she assures, moving onto the popcorn bowl. It’s half empty, salty crumbs lining the edges. Proof I interrupted a very lazy and relaxing Saturday morning.
I reach for it, taking it from her and placing it on her coffee table. “Just leave it. I’m not here to be impressed by your hospitality skills. I just want to build a LEGO set with my friend.”
“There’s that word again,” she mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. But she doesn’t fight me on it anymore. She leaves the popcorn, and the other two blankets she had in a rumpled mess on her couch.
“So, are we going to build this baby?” I ask, picking up the LEGO set and waggling it in front of her. She opens her mouthand closes it, followed by what I can only translate as a wince or a grimace. I can’t really tell because it’s fleeting. But it’s there. A flash moment of vacillation.
“You want a drink before we get started?” she asks, tucking away her hesitance and hiding it with a thumb pointed to her kitchen.
I pretend not to notice and answer, “Sure. I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”
She walks away, her steps retreating to the fridge. I swoop down to one knee and greet Buster. He hadn’t gotten off the couch and rushed me like last time. It seems a bit of a food coma, or rather a popcorn coma with the scattered crumbs around him, has left him a little listless.
“Hey, bud,” I whisper, patting his head. His tail thumps loudly on the couch cushion at the same time he laps a warm lick to my cheek. I’ve always wanted a dog. I think all of my siblings did when we were growing up, but we’ve all yet to take the plunge and get one. James and Teeny are busy with their kids. I think Josh is busy making one (eww, gross). Maybe I can be the first one to get a dog of my own.
“He likes you.” Grace reappears, two Coke cans balanced in one hand. She sets them down on the coffee table and nudges one in my direction.
“I like him too.” I settle onto the ground leaning my back against the couch. Buster takes the opportunity to rest his chin on my shoulder, and I feel a soft sigh leave his lips. “I actually think he likes me a lot. Maybe more than you.”
Grace laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself. He likes everyone.” She stoops down onto the carpet, on her knees with her butt resting on the heels of her feet.
I reach over and pat Buster’s head. “Yeah but come on. He likes me the most.” It’s then I notice she’s had her hand behind her. She moves her other hand back there, now free of the twofrosty soda cans, and I see her arms slightly jostle like she’s moving something around at the small of her back. “Whatchu got back there?”
A sweet head tilt is her answer. An attempt to hide her secret a little longer. Until she gives in, plopping a beaming stuffed capybara wearing a bib with the words “Get well soon” on it. She grins at me, and I pull together everything I have in me to stop myself from squeezing her into a giant bear hug.
So instead, I feign a quizzical head scratch and mockingly ask, “Wow, you shouldn’t have?”
She leans forward, landing a playful slap to my shoulder. “You don’t have to be an asshole.”
“I’m not even sick,” I argue back.
“I didn’t get you anything for your birthday,” she informs me, a smile slipping through her pout. “So, I got this at the hospital gift shop.”
I take the grinning stuffed toy in my hands, ruminating over this gesture of hers. I’ve gotten various gifts throughout my life. A bottle of vodka for my twenty-first from Teeny. A refrigerator magnet from Peru from Ro and Hayley. A two-year membership to the meat of the month club from my dad just last week for my birthday. But of all the gifts I’ve received, this little stuffed animal more appropriate for someone recovering from an appendectomy is the best gift I’ve ever gotten in my entire life. “Thank you,” I finally say, masking the delight in my voice with a wave of nonchalance.
“You’re welcome,” she responds. “And happy belated birthday.”
“Thank you.”
She grabs the LEGO set and jiggles it. It rattles with mischief and a peaked interest in spending the next few hours putting the roses together. “So, should we crack this bad boy open?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Grace
“You know,I’ve never built a LEGO set?”
