Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I run a hand over the top, but I’ve lived with hair that naturally kinks like an unfortunate 1980s perm long enough to know there will be no help for it without a shower and proper wave-enhancing or eliminating products.
I avert my gaze from my reflection and start opening drawers.
In the first, I find boxer briefs and quickly close the drawer again. I’ve worn a guy’s boxers before, but never his boxer briefs, and that feels too intimate in the context of mine and Matty’s relationship. I move on, discovering socks, shorts, jeans, and finally, a drawer with t-shirts and flannel pajama pants.
I change into a pair of red and black flannel pants paired with a black t-shirt and white athletic socks and head to the bathroom to hang up my towel. I step back out just as Matty’s coming in the door, dripping rain onto the welcome mat as he pushes his hood away from his face.
His gaze rakes up and down my frame. “You found clothes.”
“I hope that’s okay,” I say, leaning against the wall just outside the bathroom, one socked foot on top of the other. “I was chilly all wet.”
“It’s fine,” he says, hanging his coat on one of the metal hooks nailed to the wall by the door before opening the large rucksack he acquired while we were apart. “But if you’d like something that fits better, and is a little warmer, I brought these.”
He crosses to the couch and proceeds to toss out a pair of blue and white flannel pajamas in what looks like my size, a pair of jeans, a package of underwear, two sports bras with the tags still on, three pairs of socks, two white t-shirts, a black sweatshirt, and a knit sweater with a flower print around the neck. I assume he’s done, but then he goes back into the bag to extract a pair of brown hiking boots with sturdy red laces.
“These are used, but still in good shape,” he says. “They used to be Melissa’s, but she swapped them out for something lighter last year.”
I shake my head, marveling at his haul as I join him by the couch. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or…concerned.”
“Concern is the typical response,” he says with a sigh. “The only response, so far, actually. Mel is the only other person I’ve shown all this. I wanted her to know she has somewhere safe to go if things get crazy. And I wanted her to be able to tell the rest of the family about the house and the bunker if I’m not around. I realize a complete breakdown of society, or an alien invasion is a long shot, but it’s not out of the question. I’d rather be ready than caught by surprise.”
I fight to keep my expression neutral as I nod. “So, you’re…a doomsday prepper?”
“I’m prepared. For doomsday or…whatever.” He shrugs. “I just want my family to have somewhere to go if a wildfire takes out Bad Dog or the town water supply is compromised the way it was a few summers back. Building this has been good for me. Comforting. It helps me feel in control in a world that seems pretty out of control most of the time.”
I nod. “I get that. The world can be scary. It seems like people are always fighting or reeling from some unexpected financial blow or recovering from a natural disaster. It can be a lot.”
The thunder rumbles again and the rain continues to pour down like the heavens have opened the floodgates.
I motion toward the windows. “See? Mother Nature clearly agrees with you. You aren’t a weirdo. You’re just a little…extra. But in a nice way.”
Matty’s lips lift on one side. “Thanks? I guess?”
“It was a compliment,” I assure him, though I can’t help adding, “But there is a part of this that still feels strange to me.”
“What’s that?” He moves to the small circular table near the kitchen area and begins to unpack canned goods, pasta, and other supplies from the bag.
A part of me insists that I should let this go, but I already know I won’t. That’s not the kind of person I am. I can’t let things go, even when letting go would be best for everyone involved.
I showed up to meet my mother at the roller rink for months after Aaron stopped caring whether she made our visits. I’d put on my cutest outfit, do my hair in the pigtails I knew she loved, and pray Mom would show up in a good mood.
After a while, I transitioned to praying she showed up at all.
I spent five consecutive months waiting in the roller rink lobby with Gram, my stomach sinking as the minutes ticked by with no sign of my mother, before Gram told me the visitations had been cancelled by the judge over at family court. I was sixteen when she finally confessed that she’d lied about that. The visits hadn’t been cancelled. She just couldn’t bear watching me get my hopes up every month only to have my heart broken again and again.