“Well, I’m coming in with you,” Lydia says and crosses her arms over her chest as if I’d object.
“Good,” I tell her and point the flowers at her, pausing with the keys slipped into the lock of the door, “’cause I have two bottles of red that aren’t going to drink themselves.”
Lydia cracks a hint of a smile, but she doesn’t let up that the break-in isn’t something I should make light of.
Swallowing down that thought, I push open the front door and I’m met with the beep beep beep of the new alarm system that requires a code I quickly punch in.
The moment I hit the little green button, it’s silent save for Lydia pushing the front door shut and letting out a sigh of relief.
“See, safe and sound. The alarm system was a good idea,” I tell her as she looks around like she hasn’t been here nearly every weekend since I rented out the place.
It’s a small house, a little rough around the edges but with good bones. The inheritance my mom left me was supposed to go toward part of my college tuition, but that fell through. Just like most everything in my life.
“What did the police say?” Lydia asks as we go in and I toss my keys on the kitchen table, then hang my purse over the back of one of the wooden chairs. Setting the flowers down, I follow Lydia’s gaze. She scopes out the house like she doesn’t trust it, her eyes wandering from room to room.
“You know I didn’t call the cops.” Lydia stares at me, eyes wide with exasperation. She’s silent, though, ’cause she knows that’s not something I’d ever do.
Her mouth opens and closes with a silent protest, but then they form a thin line.
“You ready for a glass?” I ask her and she reluctantly nods, slipping her bag off her shoulder and draping it over her chair. “Let me just have a look around,” she says without actually asking permission. With my head in the cabinet, snagging two glasses, I listen to the old wooden floors creak as Lydia goes about her way.
I have everything I need here. A little kitchen, a little living room. A bathroom. Two bedrooms. It’s plenty of room for me, but barren for the most part.
I can’t imagine what anyone would want to steal. Nothing was taken but when I came home, the front door was wide open with the small glass panel busted out, answering the question of how the intruder got in. I’m not going to lie, I was terrified at first.
That’s the only reason I called Reed. I had to.
I didn’t see anything out of place and he didn’t see anything that made me worry. The alarm was his idea, though, and he had it done in a day. Emotions toss and turn as I remember the way he looked at me and how I couldn’t even look back at him.
With a long exhale I snatch up my glass of wine in one hand, grab scissors for trimming the flowers in the other, and take both to the table.
I’ve spent some time putting the place together. I found the dish towel that hangs on the oven at a thrift store last winter. I liked the look of the owl embroidered on the front, with teal streaks running through it and a floral pattern behind it. I hung new curtains just before the break-in happened. They have a bit of blue in the pattern that goes with the dish towel. I have a teal teapot I’m in love with and a thick floor mat by the sink that cushions my feet when I’m washing dishes.
It’s cozy and cute and I’m sure whoever broke in was sorely disappointed. If only they’d known I was broke and barely making it by.
“I still wish you’d called the cops,” Lydia murmurs as she makes her way back into the kitchen, striding right for her glass of wine.
“I called Reed,” I tell her as if it’s no big deal, but my attempt at a casual tone is anything but.
“Did they help you at all?”
They. Lydia doesn’t say MC, and a chill creeps down my spine. I can’t ever think about the club anymore without feeling an empty pit in my stomach. Loss and sadness. They were my family, and I lost almost all of them that night.
“Reed said he’d look into it for me.”
“And?”
I shake my head, focusing on tossing the stems of the flowers and not looking her in her eyes. I know there will be questions there and I’m not ready to answer them. “Haven’t heard anything.”
One of the things I love most about Lydia is that she knows when to push and pry versus when to drink wine with me talking about nothing, pretending like it’s all okay.
“You okay otherwise?”
“Yeah.” And I really am okay. It took a long time to feel normal after what happened that night for years ago and seeing Reed brought it all back and then some. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell her and myself both.
It took a long time to stop waking up with tears in the corners of my eyes. I still miss the MC and I never drive down Cedar Lane just to avoid any thoughts of the garage and the club. I think anyone would miss a group of people who were like a family to them. But I don’t cry about it anymore. At least not much.
Lydia sighs a little. “You want a snack?”
“You know I do.”
“Chips?” She’s already digging through my pantry like it’s hers too. That’s how it’s been for most of our lives. She’s as comfortable in my kitchen as I am in hers. I could sleep in her bed as easily as I could sleep in mine.
“You know I’m going to miss this,” I comment and wish I hadn’t. I know she already feels guilty about leaving me here while she takes off living out her dreams.
“It’s not like I’ll be gone forever,” she chides, the bag of sour cream and onion chips crinkling in her hands.
With an audible inhale, I tell her she better not be.
I center the flowers on my countertop and riffle through the pile of mail, grimacing at the bill I’ve been avoiding, the one stamped red. “Ah, fuck it, I’ll deal with it on Monday.” I toss the mail back onto the counter, feeling free of it. Bills can wait for one more day. I want to savor this time with Lydia. It’s going to go so fast. “Why do you have to leave me again?”
“College.”
“Right, right, right.” I grin at her to cover up the ache in my heart. “The whole doing better for yourself and all that,” I joke.
I laugh at her and she fake laughs at me back until we’re both actually laughing. I’m going to miss her so much. She’s been the only constant in my life for so long. But it’s what’s best for her. She’s going to be a doctor one day.
“So …” The tone of the conversation shifts with that one word and I’m on alert again. I stare her down, but she stares into the red of her glass, her fingers fiddling with the skinny and tall stem. “You feeling okay with Cillian getting out soon?”
My stomach drops at the casual question. I’m frozen with my glass at my lips, ready to take another sip. Finally I do it just so I can complete the movement, then put it back down on the countertop. I don’t taste a thing. “I didn’t know Cill was getting out. No one told me.”
Lydia’s dark eyes go wide and then narrow. “But he’s staying with you?” She makes the statement almost like it’s a question.
“What?”
“That’s what Reed said. He couldn’t convince him otherwise.” My head falls back with disbelief. He was just here. Standing right where she is.