Page 10 of When The Noise Stops

"You're not going," I told him.

My reflection didn't argue. Just stared back with tired eyes, that permanent scowl.

"You don't owe her anything."

My reflection didn't blink.

I grabbed my deodorant. Applied it. Then went into the bedroom and grabbed a clean black shirt and jeans, and put them on. I ran a hand through my hair, tried to tame the mess.

"You're just being neighborly," I said to no one.

"She made dinner. It'd be rude not to show."

I grabbed my keys.

The lie tasted like cake pop.

I knocked on her door at six on the dot.

She opened it, and I forgot how to speak for a second.

She'd changed out of the yellow sundress. Now she was wearing a cotton dress,. Her hair was down, falling past her shoulders in waves. Her feet were bare, toes painted a bright pink.

She smelled sugar; it must have baked into her skin because it overpowered the smell her hair.

"Grizz," she smiled.

"You came."

"You asked."

"But I wasn't sure you would." She stepped back, holding the door open.

"Come in. Don't stand on the porch like a weirdo," she chuckled.

I stepped inside. Her apartment was her.

Crocheted blankets on the couch. Plants everywhere—trailing off shelves, hanging from the ceiling, taking over the windowsill. There were books with tatted men on the cover stacked on the coffee table. A half-finished puzzle of a girl with an afro was on the dining table. Some fairy lights wrapped around a cheesy painting on the wall.

It smelled like her. Sweet sugar.

"Like it?" she called from the kitchen.

I grunted. "It's a lot."

She rolled her eyes.

"Have a seat," she said, gesturing to the couch.

"It'll be ready in five minutes."

I sat. The couch was plush, the kind you sank into. I felt too big for it.

I could see her moving around the kitchen, humming along with the music, and I watched her. Couldn't stop.

This wasn't how I'd pictured tonight going. I was supposed to be sitting on my own stoop, another beer, maybe a ride if I felt restless. I hadn't pictured this.

"Wine?" she asked, holding up a bottle.