I walked into the apartment and closed the door behind me. My mom hadn’t planned on going anywhere that night, so the silence meant that she was probably asleep already.
Which was kind of a bummer, because I’d been looking forward to the brownie batter party, but also a relief because if she was asleep, that meant there was definitely no Scott underfoot and I would have the place all to myself. Mr. Squishy came over and rubbed against my calf before dropping flat onto his back and rolling from side to side.
“Hey, Squish.” I stepped out of my shoes, then rubbed his fluffy belly with my foot before he got spooked by a nonexistent something and ran down the hall.
“Freak.” I went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a can of RC and a can of Diet Rite. I was wide awake after my weird day of training and kind-of-fun evening with Nekesa and Aaron at the bookstore, so I was excited to just stretch out on the couch and mindlessly binge-watch The Bonk. I grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and a bag of Doritos.
I was just pushing the door to exit the kitchen when I heard, “Bay, is that you?”
I gritted my teeth, stopped, and dropped my snacks onto the counter as if they’d been burning my hands. The cans tumbled into the sink. “Yes.”
“Come here, will ya?”
I breathed in through my nose before going into the living room. I wanted to scream as I saw Scott all stretched out on the sofa with only the muted television lighting the room. He was lying on his side, watching football in his stupid white crew socks.
Why can’t he keep his damned shoes on?
“Where’s my mom?”
“She went to bed.”
So why the hell are you still here? He was giving me a sleepy half smile, like he’d been dozing before I showed up, and his obvious level of comfort in our house made me clench my fists so tightly that I knew I’d have crescent-shaped marks on my palms when I escaped to my room.
“Your mom said you’d be home by eleven.”
I blinked and my cheeks got warm. “Yeah?”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s past eleven, Bay.”
Bailey. It’s fucking Bailey. I tucked my hair behind my ears and said, “We, um, got a little carried away at the bookstore.”
“Don’t worry—I’m not going to tell your mom.” He gave me a smile that I think was supposed to be warm and adulty. “But you should probably get less distracted next time so she doesn’t worry, don’t you think?”
My face burned, and all I could manage was, “Yeah. Um. I’m going to bed.”
But inside, I was raging. This man was speaking to me about my mother? Scott was talking about her like she was his primary concern, like it was his job to make sure she was happy?
I clenched my jaw and had taken one step when he asked, “Did you have fun?”
I stopped. “What?”
Again with the fatherly smile. He asked, “Did you guys have a good time shopping?”
I smiled back as I daydreamed about pushing him off the couch. With a cattle prod. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He snuggled back into the couch pillows. “Night, Bay.”
MY NAME IS BAILEY, YOU SHOELESS DOUCHEBAG! I wanted to roar it like a bloodthirsty hellbeast, because only my friends and my mom got to call me that.
But I just said, “Good night.”
As soon as my door closed behind me, I gritted my teeth and threw my head back in a silent scream. It was so unfair. Wasn’t your house supposed to be the one place where you felt at home? Like, relaxed and comfortable? My heart ached with homesickness whenever I thought about the house back in Fairbanks. Not because of the home itself, but because it seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d lived with the wrapped-in-a-blanket comfort of knowing that at any given time, the only inhabitants of the place were the members of my family.
No dates, no boyfriends, no coworkers who liked to yell Whoo when they had girls’ night at our apartment. I missed my home being my home so much that I rarely allowed myself to even remember life before the split.
It hurt too much.
I flipped on my little TV, but Scott’s presence had ruined The Bonk. I was too worked up to get lost in trashy reality TV. I tossed my phone onto the bed and changed into my pajamas—my dad’s faded old Global Weather Central T-shirt that still went down to my knees—as I silently raged.
I felt like I was going to explode.
My phone buzzed, and I didn’t recognize the number that popped up. But when I opened the message, it was from Charlie.
Hey, Glasses.
Even though he’d said he was going to text me, I couldn’t believe he actually kept his word. I stared at the phone in my hand like I’d never seen a phone before, wondering how to proceed. Do I answer and engage with him? Do I ignore it and pretend it never happened?
I felt too ragey about Scott to think rationally.
But as I flopped down onto my bed, I thought about what Charlie had said about his interactions with his mom’s boyfriend. Did he really just go off whenever he felt like it? I could never do that, but imagining it was sublime. Calling Scott a peckerface and telling him to put some shoes on his gnarly feet? That was some euphoric kind of daydreaming.
Instead of responding to his “hey,” I went wild with oversharing.
Me: My mom’s boyfriend just called me out on being late. She’s asleep, as in down for the night in her bedroom, but he is still here watching TV. Is there a way to kill him without getting caught?
There were immediate texting bubbles, and then—
Charlie: Just ask him why he’s still there and throw in the word “loser.” Tell him he’s gotta go.
I couldn’t believe I was smiling, but I was. The idea of that conversation was just too funny. I texted: I can’t do that.
There were more conversation bubbles and then they disappeared.
Just as my phone rang.
It was Charlie.
Almost on instinct, I let my phone slip from my hand.
Why is he calling me?
My heartbeat picked up as I retrieved the phone, unsure yet again on the best way to proceed. Talking to Charlie on the phone, instead of just texting, seemed like a big bump up for us on the friendship scale and seemed somehow unwise.
But for reasons I didn’t have time to explore, I answered.
“Hello?” I said, beyond hesitant about this unexpected form of communication.
“Quit being a wuss. Go out there and get it done.”
I lifted up enough to kick the throw pillows off my bed before flopping back down. “I don’t like confrontation.”
“Do you like hiding in your bedroom?” he asked, his voice sounding deeper over the phone.
“Well, no.”
“And you can’t just give up your territory, by the way.” I could hear music in the background, and I wondered what he was listening to. “As soon as he conquers the living room, he’s only going to advance and take more space. Before you know it, you’ll be living in an occupied state where he is the king. Stand your ground.”
I turned over onto my back, amazed that anyone’s brain worked that way. Love him or hate him, Charlie was definitely his own person. I said, “He’s not advancing, you psycho. This isn’t a war.”