He wouldn’t.
I knew it before the line went dead.
But if I went to the bank at the end of the week and checked my account, I didn’t doubt there would be a new lump sun boosting my numbers.
I stared down at the reflective black screen.
My own face looked back at me, warped and empty. I flipped it shut with a snap, then tucked it into my back pocket.
Then I’d heard the front door open.
Footsteps.
Murmurs.
Then, louder, laughter.
My face twisted and I looked over my shoulder.
Through the open window, I watched the kitchen door jut open.
Bee, one of the housemates here, carted in bags of fresh groceries, and had her head bent at an uncomfortable angle as talked down the phone.
She heaved the bags onto the kitchen counter, her mousy hair glistening under the harsh ceiling light, blonde highlights glittering.
The greyish green of her eyes shifted as she considered my bag—and it was recognisable with the chain straps.
Her eyes lit up when she spotted me.
She peeled her cell out from between her shoulder and ear, righted herself, then flipped the pink Motorola shut.
I turned back to watch the rain.
That didn’t stop her.
Never did.
If I was bad at reading social cues, then I was a savant next to her. I turn away, she still follows; I roll my eyes, she smiles brighter.
She poked her head around the window.
“You’ll catch a cold out here,” she said, but there was no chiding in it, no malice. Her smile was too bright, too easy.
I threw her a dull look.
Her coat was speckled with raindrops along the shoulders.
As though I didn’t just reject her in a glance alone, she leaned against the window. “Are you joining us out back?”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“Drinks in the garden.”
I could just picture it, all the housemates that weren’t rotting away on the couch, huddled under the pergola, avoiding the rain, and sharing sticky, sugary cocktails.
My mouth puckered. “Pass.”
Bee didn’t give up. “You can invite Ben.”
