Eleven
TINY
As soon as we get home, I practically shove two Motrin down my dad's throat and order him to get into bed. Then I make a beeline for the bathroom.
I take the longest pee ever. You know how when you hold your urine too long and then when you finally go it takes forever to trickle out? That was me. Next up was a shower. I felt gross. After a long day at work, dinner, and an arrest by Philadelphia's finest–I was more than ready to wash the day away and binge watch a Netflix series.
I'm sitting on the couch with my legs bent underneath me and a pint of pistachio ice cream in hand when Bottle runs toward the front door, hearing a stranger's car pull up way before I do. Bottle is my chocolate brown, seventy-five pound, rescue Labrador retriever named after her number one obsession. Crushing plastic water bottles with her jaws.
"Who is it, Bottle?" I ask her in my soft, baby-like voice. "Is it the guy who's going to smother us in our sleep tonight?"
I have to laugh at myself. Maybe I'm being too hard on this son of Jack. Maybe he has some redeeming qualities.
Bottle's tail wags and she begins jumping up and down. Circling around and around in front of the door. Excited that someone is coming to visit. Actually, a little too excited. Neither of us have ever been really good about training her not to jump on people or furniture.
I stand on my tiptoes, and peek through the door's small glass window pane. I want to get a glimpse of him before he comes inside.
Stone.
What kind of a name is that? I think my dad mentioned once that he's had that name since ever since he can remember. Did Jack name him that when he adopted him? Or was that his name before. I mean who nicknames a kid Stone? Only a parent who thinks that their child is destined for a life of crime or maybe a boxer or even a rapper. Definitely not your average term of endearment.
Bottle starts scratching at the door as I watch a silver Honda with an Uber sticker in the window come to a complete stop in front of our driveway. I reprimand her for jumping, mostly because my anxiety is feeding off of her frenetic energy.
"Shh, Bottle. Sit!"
It's dark out and the glare from the glow of the light post prevents me from clearly seeing Stone's face while he's still seated in the car; but when one of the back doors open and a large booted foot lands heavily on the concrete, I inhale a quick breath.
He's definitely no longer the boy I remember from an old picture my father has of him in one of our family photo albums. The young boy in a transformers T-shirt with a permanent scowl etched across his face.
That boy is gone and has morphed into a man.
A mammoth of a man.
When he completely exits the car he literally takes my breath away.
He's tall.
He's got to be at least three or four inches over six feet tall.
And he's wide.
Like a Mac truck.
He looks like he could swallow me whole.
Sheesh, maybe they sprinkle their food with Miracle Gro in prison.
Bottle can no longer contain herself as she starts barking as he begins walking toward the front door. She's very excited about the new human entering her domain. Bottle loves people. Other dogs not so much.
The unexpected noise of her bark startles Stone, and he glances toward the window. When he does I move quickly away from it like the weirdo that I am. Obviously I don't want him knowing that I'm peeping through the window like a creeper. I'm not sure whether or not he saw me. I didn't see any sort of look of recognition pass across his face.
"Quiet, girl."
I shush my dog and run into the kitchen, pretending like I'm working on my dad's soup which is actually already finished. I knew he had already dozed off after my shower, so I was going to wait to bring it to him later.
The doorbell rings.
Damn, didn't Dad give him a key?
