“Which is your favorite?” she asks.
I think I’ve misheard her. “Me?”
She gently pokes my shoulder. “Yes, you. Which one do you think is most comfortable? You’re a lot taller than I am.”
“B-but it’s your house.” I honestly have no clue how to deal with this. No one’s ever asked for my opinion on something like this before. I don’t want to pick a chair and she hates it and blames me.
I get the head-cock, so much like Carter it’s spooky. “Owen, I wantyouto pick,” she gently says. “Look, you guys are my best friends. I don’t make friends easily, because I’ve never had friends I could really trust before. I didn’t know if someone wanted to be friends with me because of my money, or because their parents wanted an in with my dad, or what. Ireallylike you guys. I want you to be comfortable. Please,youpick. I’ll pick the color, but you pick what’s comfortable foryou.”
I nod and turn back to the selections again, trying them out one more time, this time really focusing.
Like Carter, she’s a mean-what-she-says kind of person.
I finally settle on one, with a matching hassock. It’s comfortable, and the hassock means that regardless of height, someone can sit there and be comfortable. She picks the black leather option and smiles before brushing another kiss against my cheek.
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No,” I mumble, thinkingyeah, but something else isreallyhard right now.
She snaps a picture of the tag so we can pick it up later in the warehouse section. Meanwhile, I dutifully follow her around the upstairs area before we head downstairs.
I’m…gone.
Totallygone.
In my mind, I pretend we’re married and shopping for our house.
I don’t give a damn how pathetic that sounds, it’smyfantasy. Don’t shit on it.
Downstairs in the warehouse, we swap. She takes the cart and I grab a trolley. I follow her as she leads the way through the aisles to find the flat-packs for the chair, ottoman, two bookshelves, an entertainment center, and a side table. I’m hoping everything will fit in Carter’s car, between the overflowing cart and this.
She pays with a credit card and doesn’t even flinch at the total, even though it’s hit four digits.
I haven’t spent that much except for textbooks and tuition.
Before we can get out of there, though, she stops by the grocery section and grabs several cartons of cinnamon rolls, along with a few other food items.
“I love these,” she says with a grin. “I freeze them and eat one at a time, or I’d totally pig out on them.”
She’s definitely not fat, so whatever she’s doing is working.
Frankly, it makes me want to eat cinnamon rolls every day now, even though before today I really didn’t have a strong opinion on them one way or another.
I was never allowed to have a strong opinion aboutanythingat home. I was expected to agree with my mother.
Or, at least,notdisagree with her. Last year and, so far, this year, have been spent trying to figure out who the fuckIam.
Outside, Susa waits by the carts while I drive the Snot Box around. I have to play Tetris with everything after figuring out how to put the backseats down to make it all fit. Even better, she’s laughing as I’m muttering and swearing at the car and trying not to fuck up his headliner or upholstery.
Carter trusted me with his car. Snot green or not, that’shuge, in my book. I don’t want to disappoint him.
It takes me the better part of twenty minutes, but Ifinallyget everything crammed in there. I have to tie it all down like crazy because now the back hatch won’t close all the way, but I make everything fit and ensure it won’t go flying out while I drive us back to her place.
“Oh, I told him we’d gas up before we bring it back,” I tell her.
“No problem.” We’re almost to her house and she waves me past where I’d normally turn. “Keep going. Past I-75.” There are several gas stations there, but first she directs me to Home Depot.
“What do you need here?”
