Come over.
He’d said he wanted to come over.
Here. To see me.
No pizza required.
“Err…hang on….” He fished out his cel . “Hey. Yeah, I’m stil over at—
okay…Yeah, no worries…Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Love you too.”
Love you too.
My heart sank. It was official. There was a girlfriend.
He lowered the phone, turning back to me. His mask puffed out as he released a deep sigh. “Sorry about that. Gotta run. Duty cal s.”
“Oh sure,” I said, fumbling to think of a normal way to end the conversation. “Your girlfriend could come too—to study, if you want.”
Great, Mil s, total y normal.
His eyebrows quirked, head tilting in confusion. “Girlfriend? Oh, no—
gosh no! That was my dad. Big emergency at the store. Some morons are throwing a ‘social distancing party’ ”—he turned his fingers into air quotes, rol ing his eyes—“and ordered like thirty pizzas.”
“Oh geez. That’s not…that’s not good at al .”
“Nope,” he agreed. “But he real y needs another set of hands. I should get going.” He jogged back to his car. “Later, Mil ie.”
“Later, Luka,” I echoed, scooping up the boxes and offering a wave as the station wagon roared to life.
He started backing out of the driveway, then stopped, rol ing down his window. “Just so you know—there’s no girlfriend in the picture. Like, at al .”
“Oh. Wel . That’s good,” I stammered, mortified to have been so thoroughly seen through.
“I just thought I should make that clear.”
My cheeks flushed with a delicious heat as he took off his mask, tossing it into the passenger seat. His grin was easy and wide and I’m sure it was
dazzling, but real y the only thing I noticed was the gleam in his eyes as he winked at me.
Before I could respond, he was at the end of the drive, giving his horn a friendly beep. I stood on the porch long after the red of his tail ights disappeared, feeling happier than I had in days.
—
“Morning, Mil s,” Dad greeted me as I stumbled into the kitchen.
“You’re up early.”
I’d fal en asleep long before they’d come home, passed out on the couch in an exhausted stupor after getting half the living room boxes unpacked.
Someone, probably Mom, had tucked a quilt around me.
“Lots to do.” He was already dressed for work, perched on a stool, eating a slice of cold pizza straight out of the box.
“That was my lunch!” I protested.
He studied the crust with a wry grin. “No…Pretty sure that was my breakfast. Good cal on the extra peppers.”
“Dad! The groceries don’t come til tomorrow.”
“You’l be fine. There’re two slices left, plus that bag of whatever.”
I grabbed a glass from the shelves and crossed to the sink. “What bag?”
“There was a bag on the porch last night when we got in. Had the pizza logo on it. I stuck it in the fridge for you.”
I blinked, frowning at the box he was eating out of. “But I brought the pizza in.”
He shrugged, closing it. “I gotta get going. Mom already left. She told me to tel you she got the router figured out. Internet is up and running.”
“She did? When?”
Dad laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine. The woman never sleeps.”
Glancing at the clock on the coffeemaker, he wrinkled his nose. “I’m going to be late.” He ruffled my hair before planting a kiss on my forehead. “Kitchen looks good, Mil ie. I’m impressed. Keep it up.”
“Have a good day at work,” I said, trailing after him to the front door.
“Hope it’s not another long one.”
He made a face. “Think there are going to be a lot of those for the time being. Chin up, though.” Dad let out a little half-laugh-half-groan. “There are signs with that al over the hospital. ‘Chin up. Masks on.’ It’s bled into my subconscious.”
“Sounds like the new ‘Keep Calm and Carry On.’ ”
“We should make greeting cards. Get on that, okay?” A quick hug and he was off.
I stood at the window, watching him leave and listening to the soft sounds of the empty house.
Another day on my own.
But at least there would be music.
Maybe Weezer, I thought with a smile.
My laptop was stil in the living room. The TV was useless without streaming, so I’d fal en asleep watching an old Hitchcock film, one of the few DVDs I’d hung on to in the move. Battery total y drained, I took it into the kitchen to charge.
As the computer hummed back to life, I spotted the pizza box stil on the counter. In his race out the door, Dad had forgotten it. I was tempted to dive into the last slices for breakfast but then remembered the bag Dad had mentioned.
Curiosity sent me to the fridge, where a Slice of Bliss bag sat innocuously in the middle of the empty shelves. I shoved the pizza back into the cold confines and took out the bag, utterly bemused as I peered inside.
It was a book.
A book on a box.
I traced my fingers across its cracked spine. “Henry James,” I read aloud.
A flutter of delight sparked within me and I knew I wouldn’t be getting many boxes opened today.
Flipping through the tattered pages, I saw dozens of underlined sentences and notes scribbled in the margins. It looked just like my favorite books. Wel loved and thoroughly beat to hel .
I set the book aside and turned to the box. A thick slice of German chocolate cake, dark and drizzling, peered up at me. On the inside flap of the box, a note was scrawled in thick slanted lines.
You won’t find this in any textbook, but I have it on good authority Salinger once said that chocolate cake was Holden’s favorite. I’m off Wednesday—want to hang out? Six feet apart, of course. Luka.
With a ridiculous grin plastered across my face, I picked up the telephone and dialed the numbers, fingers dancing over the rotary with impatience.
“Hi, I’d like to place an order…Chocolate cake…two slices…For delivery.”
The first time I met Daxton O’Brien, my dog Griffin peed on him.
I was out walking Griffin and we were in the park near my house, across from the weird alcove with the community garden and the smal rock sculptures. The neighborhood has made it into an unofficial dog park, where it’s okay to let your dog off leash. It’s my favorite place in the world, because dogs. Way, way better than people. Low bar.
I always try to get Griffin to run there, but he’s not a dog that real y understands play. I take him off leash and he just sits at my side, hoping for liver treats. Cut to him an hour later, staring at me with his mouth open and panting while I’m bingeing Top Chef on the couch. I’m like, You had your chance, buddy.
We were alone in the smal , shaded, grassy square when a mini-parade of dogs marched by. I don’t mean like the dogs were on floats dancing, or there was a marching band and confetti; there were just six dogs.
They were al attached by leashes to people, yes, but who sees people when you can look at dogs?
In front was a gray Siberian husky, prancing like it owned the sidewalk.