“We were,” I defended quickly. “The Grizzlies, I mean. I’m from Memphis. Was.” A flush of red flared across my face. “We just moved here.”
“Yeah, I saw the sign in the yard. Do you play?”
I nodded.
I can’t be entirely sure, but I think he smiled. His eyes narrowed into little crescent moons, framed by impossibly thick sooty lashes. “Cool. Me too.
Maybe we can do a pickup game sometime. When al this is over. I’m Luka,”
he added.
“Mil ie.”
His eyes curved at the corners—he was smiling again, maybe. “I guess I should probably give you your food now, before it gets cold.”
“Right. Here,” I said, thrusting the money out at him before quickly dropping my hand, horrified at how easy it was to forget I wasn’t supposed to go near him. “How do we do this?”
He laughed. “It’s total y weird, right? I’ve been leaving stuff on the porch at other people’s houses. You set the money there and then we’l do a whole Bridge of Spies trade-off.”
“Okay.” I put the twenties on the porch, then stepped back with a slow theatricality that made him laugh again. It was such a happy sound, I wanted to hear it again and again.
He came forward and set the boxes down, leaving the bag on top. Quick as a wink, he snatched the money, counting it out. Now in the glow of the porch light, I noticed the waves of his dark hair were more than a little shaggy, definitely due for a trim.
“Need change?”
“Nope, al yours.” His eyes lit up and I realized I must have given him an outrageous tip.
“Nice. Thanks! Wel …welcome to the neighborhood, Mil ie. Have a good night.”
“You too—stay safe.”
He nodded, dipping back into the yard’s darkness. With a final wave, he was gone.
—
I sliced the razor down the center of the packaging tape with unnecessary panache. After a morning of unpacking, I’d become an expert at popping the
boxes open with just three flicks of the blade.
Give me a set of box cutters and I’d total y be a Final Girl in whatever slasher film you wanted to cast me in.
This was the last of the kitchen boxes. I swept my eyes over the space, proud of the work I’d accomplished. Plates, bowls, and cups were stacked behind the glass display cabinets with organized clarity and the lower drawers were ful of pots and pans. Cheery red towels hung off the oven and dishwasher racks, adding a pop of color against al the oak. I’d even put up our col ection of magnets on the fridge, adding the Slice of Bliss one Luka had included in the salad bag last night.
Remembering the pizza made my stomach growl with a sudden ferocity.
After I sorted through this final box of silverware, I’d take a break and dive into the leftovers.
But before I could start, the doorbel rang, chiming loudly in the quiet of the house.
“Final y!” I exclaimed, making my way to the front.
My phone held far more photos than it did music or podcasts and with Dad’s old radio stil packed away somewhere, the morning had been brutal y quiet. I’d forlornly imagined al the Zoom meet-ups my friends were holding without me. Last week Zoe had mentioned wanting to DIY her own highlights and we’d al gleeful y promised to watch her livestream the disaster.
I slipped a mask over my face, wincing as one of the elastic straps twisted into my flyaways, yanking at the strands of hair, then opened the door.
A man in gray coveral s stood just off the porch, a good six feet away. He had on a blue mask and white latex gloves.
“Hi, hi, come in!” I greeted him, stepping back to al ow him access through the door.
He hung back, his thick eyebrows furrowing into a solid line of confusion. “Miss?”
“You’re with the cable company, right? To instal the Wi-Fi?”
He nodded. “I already got you al set up outside—checked al the lines and you should be good to go.”
I tilted my head. “But don’t we need a…box…or a router, or whatever?”
“They’re al in there. HDMI cables and the remotes too.” He pointed to a bag on the porch I’d just noticed.
“Okay…” I trailed off, stil not fol owing. “Want me to bring it in for you?”
“I can’t come inside the house, miss,” he said. “Company policy. The rep should have told you?”
They might have told Dad al that when he’d set up the appointment, but he’d certainly not passed it along to me.
I blinked hard. My eyes felt itchy from al the dust I’d kicked up while cleaning.
“So…what am I supposed to do?”
“Everything you need is in there,” he said, pointing to the bag again.
“Instructions too.”
“I’m supposed to set it up?” I asked, realization dawning on me. I sneezed once.
“Or your parents,” he suggested. “Your dad. If he’s not too sick.”
Ignoring the implied sexism, I stepped onto the porch to rummage through the bag. As I came forward, he faltered back, keeping his distance.
“I’m not sick. It’s just al ergies.” I pul ed out a mess of cables. “I don’t…
How am I supposed to—”
“The instructions are in there,” he repeated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “If you’ve got questions, there’s a number to cal .”
I flashed unhappily back to the rotary phone.
“You’re sure you can’t just come in and set it up?” I tried, smiling my widest grin before realizing he couldn’t see it. “We just moved here, and nothing works right now. I swear, none of us are sick.”
Of course, I sneezed again. Final Girl indeed.
“It’s just al the dust, from the boxes and everything.”
Another sneeze.
He shook his head adamantly. “It’s against company policy.”
“Okay, but—”
“Just cal the number if you have any questions,” the technician said, inching closer to his van. “Oh, and when you do, make sure to tel them you were satisfied with our visit today. Those surveys real y help with our numbers. Anything less than a ten is a failure for us!”
He was halfway down the drive before I could even think to laugh at the utter absurdity.
—
“He wouldn’t come inside?” Mom repeated an hour later over the phone.
She’d cal ed the landline and so I’d perched on the kitchen cabinet to talk, twirling the spiral cord around my fingers in an unconscious gesture, over and over.
“And I went through everything in the bag but I stil don’t know how to set it up. He said I could cal if I had questions but the phone cord doesn’t reach the cable outlet.”
I felt like I was in one of those inane comedy shows where someone was about to pop out from behind a couch, pointing a camera while cackling at my surprise.
“We’l get it figured out when we get home,” she promised. There was a pause. “We’l be a bit late tonight.”
“Why?” My mind instantly jumped to the worst-case scenario.
They’d already started working with the virus.
There’d been an accident.
Dad was infected.