"The towel. Stay back."
She's behind me again and takes a step back. Flashlight up, I reach for the pull and yank. The old hinges squeak and groan, the smell of musty pine hitting me like a wall.
And sitting at the top of the ladder, three dirty raccoons stare back with beady little eyes. The one in the middle is standing on its hind legs, and I swear to god, its eyes narrow on me in that long, pregnant silence.
And then, they launch out of the attic like paratroopers straight for us. I'm yelling and Molly's screaming and the raccoons hiss and chatter and scatter, running around almost too fast to see. Two of them fly onto the coffee table, double fisting anything edible, slinging noodles like whips all over the place. They're knocking over cartons, kicking trash, and when I run for them with my towel, they hiss again and blast off. One runs over the couch. The other runs around it, penning me in from the back.
"Open the back door!" I fling my towel, hands out to grab the fucker, but he's already gone. Behind me. In the Chinese food. He grabs the last egg roll and waves it in the air, cussing me out in raccoon. I chase him into the kitchen--my hopes rise when I see the open door. But he circles under the table and back out. I snatch a broom and run after him. Molly is at my elbow brandishing a cookie sheet.
"Yah! Git! Git, bandit cats!"
For a second, I bust out laughing, but she's too busy herding raccoons to notice. And then I follow, waving the broom and yelling god knows what. We manage to get them into the kitchen, and I stand guard while Molly waves her cookie sheet. Two of them have takeout boxes, and that other with the egg roll has a Rangoon in its other bony hand. One runs. The second follows. But that last one stands up, holds up its prizes, cusses us out again, and bolts.
I slam the door shut and throw the lock, leaning back against the door like they might break it down. Then I drop the broom and bend over so I can put both hands on my knees, panting and sweating next to Molly, who is also panting and sweating, hands on her hips in front of me. I raise my head to look at her, and we bust out laughing.
I say laugh, but we are howling. Cackling. There's at least a bit of guffawing. And then we're sitting next to each other on the floor, leaning on the back door. The house is trashed. Scout came out from wherever she hid and is currently living the high life with her head completely inside a paper container.
A pause. Molly's face falls.
"Wait!" She yells as she starts to get up. "Wait!! That fucker stole my egg roll!"
We devolve into laughter again, and I grab her wrist and pull. She falls right in my lap.
I'd break the arm of anybody dumb enough to try to move her.
She's still laughing, relaxed and comfortable. I keep expecting her to stiffen, to pull away, but she doesn't. The air shifts. Everything is soft. Easy.
"Well, we survived a raccoon raid. We can survive anything," she says, and then we're laughing again.
"You're nuts."
She's so close. I've never been this close to her for this long.
Molly smiles, cups my cheek, her thumb brushing the lines at the edges of my mouth. Then the laugh lines fanning from my eyes. Her touch is soft, gentle. Warm. Everything. "You're smiling. And laughing. You should laugh like this more often."
I can't breathe. My gaze is locked on her lips.
And then she climbs out of my lap. I feel like I got a chair kicked out from under me. She turns, extends a hand.
"Come on, Coach, before the raccoons regroup."
Instead of taking it, I grab her wrist and shift to put her over my shoulder, standing with a grunt. She's a wiggling, squealing thing, hanging onto her glasses, saying,Put me down!on a peal of laughter.
"Okay." I dump her on the couch, smiling down at her for a second, soaking in the sound of her laughter and the sight of her breathless and happy. And then I turn to look at the mess. There's food everywhere, and as much as I want to sit down with her, I can't leave all this.
"Turn on the TV, find us something to watch," I say, stopping her when she protests and tries to help. "I got it. It's gonna take a year to pick something out--get a head start." I nudge Scout's head and take the container along with whatever else I can carry. Unbothered, she just eats straight off the coffee table. It takes a substantial amount of brain power to clean up. And honestly, I do a shit job of it. But I at least get up all the trash, clear the debris, wipe off the table, and sweep a little with the broom I'd used as a weapon before Molly says my name.
I was concentrating so hard, I didn't see her get up to get blankets, but she's all snuggled up and smiling and pats the seat next to her.
"I found a show."
"Gimme a second."
My heart is in my throat as I empty the dustpan and put it and the broom away, washing my hands after. I'm nervous. Whyam I nervous? I haven't felt this nervous about a girl since high school.You're just high,I tell myself.And you like her, I admit. When I walk back in and see her my heart flips in my throat. When I sit next to her, it starts to drum painfully. I purposely put space between us, but the couch sinks a little in the middle, and within seconds, we've slid into the middle and are leaning into each other. Her head is resting on my shoulder, her body pressed into my side. It feels so good, I hope she never moves.
"Okay, now--I need you to trust me on this," she warns, and I look at the TV to see she's queued up K-Pop Demon Hunters. When I groan, she laughs. "Give it a chance. For me!"
"All right. For you."
