“You’ll be expected to go to this weekend’s event at the food bank with Mr. Moskins,” she informs me, not looking up from her computer. “I confirmed with his agent this morning.”
I don’t know if the tingly, fluttery feeling in my stomach is good or bad. But something tells me I’ll find out on Saturday.
*
Kourtney passes methe plate of steaming food before dropping into the spot beside me on the couch. She props her feet up on the coffee table with a groan of relief. “It feels so good to sit down. I’ve been prepping my classroom for the new school year and chasing Luca around all day.”
I don’t bother asking where Brad is because I don’t really care. It’s nice to spend time with just her and Luca. It means we can eat on the couch and put something trashy on the TV that usually involves finding love behind walls or the lives of Utah wives.
“He’s got a new fixation,” she tells me with her mouth half-full of the rice she stuffed in it.
My eyebrows go up. “What is it now? I thought he’d just gotten interested in car washes. I even bought him that toy where the cars change colors in cold water.”
Kourtney loads one of the streaming services and starts searching for our show. “He still likes car washes, but he’s more interested in how vending machines work. He asked for one for Christmas this year.”
I snicker. “A vending machine?”
“He doesn’t even care if there’s candy in it,” she retorts, face scrunched at the thought. “Or soda. Or anything fun. He just wants a plain old vending machine so he can figure out how it functions.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I love this kid,” I muse, snorting at the idea of him with his little toolbox that I got him last year for his birthday, and taking apart every mechanism inside.
Luca—sweet, smart Luca—is on the spectrum. He’s always been a brilliant kid, but he’s had a struggle with reading social cues. But he’s truly one of the kindest souls I know. And when he loves, he loves hard.
“So, are you going to get him one?” I ask, poking my pork chop with my fork. “Because if you’re not, I’ll find a way.”
She eyes me. “How? By stealing one? Do you know how expensive those things are? I had to Google it. Go on. Guess.”
I don’t. “Thereisone at work that nobody uses because the only things left in it are trail mix and strawberry Pop-Tarts.”
I’m not sure who is supposed to stock it, but they’ve neglected it all year.
My sister is contemplative. “I liked the strawberry ones.”
I don’t comment on that because then I’d have to point out that she’s always had bad taste in things. Like men. “I’m just saying, we could probably figure out how to take the one from work. It’s in an alcove, but—”
“We’re not stealing a vending machine,” she says, laughing as she tosses a piece of carrot at me. “Those bitches are heavy, and we have no vehicle to transport something that size.”
She’s totally considered stealing one. “I guess you’re right,” I mumble defeatedly.
When I glance down at where Luca is sprawled on the floor, I see him hyper-focused with his blue headphones on and his iPad in his hand. He’s watching a YouTube video on machinemechanisms, looking fully enthralled by whatever the narrator is saying.
“See?” Kourtney says.
I nod. “He could be into video games,” I point out. “Or saying six-seven and laughing hysterically, even though nobody knows what that even means.”
A scowl that reminds me a little too much of Moskins appears on her face. “Don’t get me started. The number of eleven-year-olds that I’m going to hear that from this year is going to drive me mad.”
I do not envy her.
“So, what’s going on in your life?” she asks me after we turn on an old season of a reality show we love. “You haven’t said much since getting here.”
Damn her for being perceptive. “I don’t have much to say,” I lie, not sounding very convincing to myself.
I could tell her about my recent revelations regarding my coworker, who still hasn’t returned. Or the fact that myothercoworker is mad at me for it. Or probably the juiciest update in my life, which is that I had an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced for once.
But I do not divulge any of that to her, because then she’d ask for details. And I wouldn’t be able to tell her for two reasons.
One being my NDA agreement.
