On any given evening, there are maybe half a dozen people who show up for whatever we’re serving, though that number goes up in the winter. When we’re not actively serving or preparing food, we’re working on the storehouse part of the job; collecting, organizing, and distributing food items. We coordinate with several of the cities and towns nearby to do food drives; we process paperwork for families applying for the food assistance program, working with local stores and markets.
It’s a big, multifaceted operation, and I don’t envy Rodriguez the job he has making sure everything runs as smoothly as possible.
When I finally get in the car to go home later that evening, I’m tired and fighting another migraine. This time I don’t think it’s because we ran out of toilet paper again; I’m pretty sure my body is on strike, protesting the new tenant situation.
Almost like she knows how I’m feeling, Caroline’s name shows up as my phone begins ringing.
Which is great, because I have a bone to pick. Several, actually.
“Did she get moved in okay?” Caroline says as soon as I answer. Once again, she’s not wasting time on greetings.
“Did you know?” I say instead of answering her question.
“Did I know…what?” she says.
I pull to a stop at a red light, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as I wait. “That I’ve met Juniper before.”
“You’ve met her before?” Caroline says.
“Yes,” I say, rolling my eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I tutored her, Care. She’s the one who tried to kiss me that one year at Christmas. That’s the girl you sold the contract to.”She’s not a girl anymore, my mind points out unhelpfully.
I ignore this, pressing down on the gas with a bit too much force when the light turns green again.
“No way,” Caroline breathes. She sounds just as shocked as I felt, which I can only imagine means her eyes are doing that bug-out thing they do sometimes. Caroline’s eyes are unnaturally big. It’s something I’ve always teased her about, usually in retaliation for her jibes about my crooked nose.
“Yes way,” I say, turning right on Center and heading down the smaller road that leads to the neighborhood. “The tenant now living in the loft once tried to kiss me. When she wasunderage,Caroline.”
“Wow,” she says. She’s silent for a moment, and then she says, “This must be fate, right?”
I shift in my seat, remembering with uncomfortable clarity that Juniper said the same thing. “It’s not fate,” I say. “There’s no fate.”
“Well, if it’s not fate, what is it?” Caroline says. “Is she pretty?”
“No,” my mouth says.
Maybe, my brain says.
“I don’t trust you. Send me a picture,” she says.
“Absolutely not.” I make a right turn, slowing down now that I’ve reached the neighborhood.
“Why not?” My sister should not sound this whiny, considering she’s nearing forty.
“Because,” I say, pulling onto Theabelle Lane. “A million reasons. It’s weird, for one. And I’m almost home, so I’m hanging up now.”
“Come on, Aiden?—”
“Nope. Bye!” And with that I end the call.
Juniper is in the kitchen when I walk through the front door. She’s leaning over the kitchen island, her elbow propped on the countertop as she rifles through a stack of mail. She’s got on leggings and a thermal top, and she does not—I repeat, she doesnot—look pretty. I don’t like short hair or pink hair or leggings as pants. And even if I did, conventional attractiveness doesn’t do much for me in the first place.
So there.
“This is your pile,” not-pretty Juniper says, pushing everything except for a purple envelope toward me as I go to the cupboard for a glass. She doesn’t look at me; she’s still staring at the envelope.
I frown, pointing at it. “Do you have mail already?”
“Yes,” she says slowly, picking it up. When she turns to face me, though, she looks confused, bordering on disconcerted. “Except it only says my name. And I haven’t registered this address anywhere yet.”
