She does not make these brownies willy-nilly.
Watching me watch her niknaks like a fox watching a chicken out of the safety of its coop, she clears her throat. When I look up at her, she motions to the pan in my hand.
Right! Cocoa à la Lexi! Coming right up.
Maybe tonight won’t be as hard as I thought it would be. That is, until Nikki’s brow furrows and she steps closer to me with a scrutinizing eye. Reaching up, she touches my cheek, then my lip with a gentle touch and mutters, “Babe?”
Shit, fuck, crap!
My face flames and she steps back to search my face. Turning her head to check on Dave, she pulls me into the corner of the kitchen and whisper-hisses, “Talk.”
So starts Whisperfest 2014.
“It’s nothing. I swear. Don’t make a big deal. I don’t want Dave to freak out.”
She whispers back heatedly, “If you don’t want me to say anything, I suggest you tell me what happened so there will be less freakage on my part, and I won’t need to alarm our sweet-yet-sad David.”
Slapping her shoulder, I hiss out, “Shhhh! He’ll hear you!” Not having taken an inch of my dramatics, she glares at me while tapping her foot. And I cave. “Okay, so you have to promise not to freak out.”
But as soon as I say that – of course – she freaks out. Wide-eyed, she steps back and whisper-shouts, “Who did this to you? Was it George? It was George, wasn’t it? I told you I didn’t want you living next to an unstable dude!”
George, my bipolar neighbor, would never lay a hand on me. The guy loves me! Being a caseworker, the first time we spoke, I picked up on his behavior right away. I’m sure he wasn’t used to what he got from me.
A hug.
I told George that I worked with a lot of people who suffered mental illness, and that if he felt a panic attack coming on that I would be there for him; all he needed to do was call. Which he has done. And I’ve always been there to help talk him down and soothe him from the overwhelming state he finds himself in. He has never – I repeat – never been violent towards me. So I’m a little pissed at Nikki right now.
I glower at her, “Don’t you do that, Nikki! That’s not cool, babe.”
“Do what?” she responds, exasperated.
Staring her down a moment, I state, “Stereotype.”
Brows rising, she whispers, “Holy shit. I totally did, didn’t I?” Taking a step away from me, her brows bunch. She’s obviously upset with herself. And now I feel like shit.
Taking her hand, I sigh, “Babe, I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But right now, I’ve got cocoa to make, you’ve got niknaks to slice, and we’ve got to come up with a way for Dave to make this right with Phil.” Gesturing to my face, I tell her, “This…is not a priority right now.”
Her eyes search my face, and I add, “Do I look like a withering mess right now?”
Rolling her eyes, she responds sullenly, “Well, no.”
Nodding, I agree, “Exactly, Nikki. Priorities.” She throws me a curt nod. I feel the need to add quietly, “Because what I’ve got to tell you…it’s not pretty.”
Her face turns anxious, but she covers it quickly. Clapping her hands together, she opens the fridge, hands me the milk and orders, “Right! Cocoa à la Lexi. Now, lady!”
This is one of the reasons I love Nikki. She knows me well enough to know I’ll talk to her when I’m ready. And we don’t keep secrets.
So why am I thinking of a suitable lie to tell her about the state of my face?
Pushing that thought aside, I go about making my famous concoction and pouring the steaming goodness into mugs. Placing the cocoa and bite-sized squares of niknaks on a tray, I walk them into the lounge room and put them on the coffee table.
Not even looking up at me, Dave reaches forward and takes a mug. Robotically, he puts the mug to his lips and sips. Two, three, four sips later, the robot comes back to life. “Damn, girlie. No one does cocoa like you do.”
Smiling gently, he looks up at me, and his face turns stunned, “Baby! What happened to your face?”
Lying like a pro, I shrug and say easily, as if rehearsed, “Tripped on the last step down and planted my face into the brick hall.” He gasps, and looking up in thought, I add to lighten the mood, “Not as much fun as it sounds.”
Dave chuckles, “Shit, Lex. Only you would do something like that. Queen klutz, you are.”
Smiling through my split lip, I glance over at Nikki. Her eyes narrow at me, and unease climbs over me. Clearing my throat, I take my mug and announce, “Right! Well I think the first course of action tonight is finding a way for Dave to tell Phil he wants him to move back in.”
Dave smiles at me so warmly, so brightly, that I’m suddenly reminded that there are people I also have that I can talk to about my issues. My mind stills on this thought.
People I can talk to.
Talk to.
Talk to them.
Don’t talk to them.
They would never understand.
I don’t want them to understand.
Twitch is mine. Just mine. And right now, I like it like that.