I give her a nod and then steer us towards the direction of my room.
“Your mother is nice,” Hope says as soon as I shut the door and slip on the lock.
“Perhaps,” I say as I pick out clothes to change into.
“You’re not sure?” Hope appears in the archway that separates my room and the walk-in closet.
I stare down at the clothes. “I don’t know her that well.”
“Do you want to?”
I shrug.
Her inquisitive stare burns a hole in the side of my face. I know she wants to press me for answers but I don’t have those. This whole mess with my parents is something I’m figuring out myself.
All I keep thinking about is that they’re going to leave sooner or later.
They said that they’re moving back, but there will come a time when they’ll pack their shit and leave. I’m betting it’d take them a month.
Looking over, I smirk. “I’m planning on changing. I wouldn’t mind if you watch.”
Her cheeks redden and she steps back. “Uh…I’ll wait.”
Turning around, she disappears.
I just smile.
Once I’ve changed clothes, I join her. She is standing near the couch, still not comfortable enough in my space to do whatever she feels like.
“You can sit down, Rose,” I say.
She jostles, finding me behind her.
As she sits down, I stride towards the cardboard boxes that have the stuff I ordered for her. I study the pile. There are five of them.
I look over and she is busy studying the boxes. She is curious.
A rush of excitement pumps me, knowing what’s inside will make her happy.
Sitting down, I reach for the flat box. Using a cutter, I carefully cut through the tape. The noise slices through the quietness of the room that seems to be brimming with anticipation. Inside, there are two tall side panels, smooth and white, with pre-drilled holes running their lengths. Also the top and bottom boards, the five shelves and a thin fiberboard — the back panel. Next to it is another small cardboard box which contains the hardware pack. There are wood dowels, cam lock nuts and bolts, screws, nails, tiny metal shelf pegs and anti-tip bracket kit and the instruction manual which has information paired with images to build this thing.
I check everything, making sure all the accessories are present before I get to work.
Taking out the planks, I set them neatly on the floor in an organized manner. Then put in the wooden dowels.
“What are you doing?” Hope asks, a frown embeds between her eyebrows. She looks completely clueless. And completely cute.
“I’m building a bookshelf,” I reply.
“But why? You don’t have books.”
Yeah I fucking don’t, because I’m not a reader.
I grab the manual and start to read it to hide my vulnerability. Quietly, I mutter, “It’s not for me.”
Because I can’t help it I sneak a look at her. She purses her lips, still confused as hell. “Then?”
“It’s for you.”
