“I’m not being weird,” I allow. “I’m being…shy.”
She sits back, resting against the swing. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Is that like, a British thing?”
No, it’s an I don’t like being told what to do thing.
“Bet you would kiss me if I had scones stuffed down my shirt.” She laughs, and my eyes are drawn down her face to her chest.
“Do you have scones stuffed down your shirt?”
’Cause that would be amazing. Scone tits?
Hell yeah.
She laughs again. “I feel like you would know—my boobs would be all lumpy.”
Kaylee giggles again.
I’m not sure what she thinks is funny because I quite personally think the whole thing would be awesome, but whatever. I would eat those scone tits in a heartbeat.
Apparently she’s given up trying to kiss me because she’s crossed her arms and her legs both. One of her legs gives a jaunty little bounce, causing the swing to rock a bit, back and forth, back and forth.
Back and forth…
“What’s your favorite color?” she asks out of the blue. It’s such a weird random question to ask for no apparent reason, and I crane my head to look at her. Does she actually give a shite what my favorite color is?
Who gives a fuck?
I’m just salty because I’m knackered and would rather be sleeping right about now, questioning the wisdom of this Friday night out.
“You going to knit me a sweater in blue?”
“I would if I knew how to knit,” she flirts.
“Well…my favorite color isn’t blue, it’s gray.”
A fact that always drove my mother mad. When I was younger, I wanted everything to be gray, gray, gray and would wear only that color. Threw fits if my tiny pants weren’t my color of choice. Then, when I went to boarding school, obviously I had to wear the uniform colors.
Poor me.
“Gray?” Kaylee wrinkles her nose. “Why?”
I shrug because what other reply is there to that? My favorite color is my favorite color!
“What’s your favorite color?” I mean—I don’t actually give a shite, but why not ask to be polite?
“Oh my gosh—so many. I love pink. And blue. And…purple. No, lavender.”
Okay…
“So your favorite color is rainbows?”
Kaylee giggles. “Yeah, pretty much.”
The laughter is followed by silence as we rock back and forth, swing creaking, chains rusted.
Glancing up at the ceiling of the porch, I sigh.
There is no rugby meeting or practice in the morning, but a sudden urge to head home—or at least get moving—has me standing.
I cannot keep sitting here making idle chitchat with Kaylee. I will lose my mind.
“Where are you going?” She looks up at me, big doe eyes wide.
“Taking you home?” I hedge, gambling on the knowledge that she will jump at the chance to leave with me. We’ll walk to her house and maybe I’ll get to see—
Shite.
You are not thinking about the roommate, you are not thinking about the roommate, you are not thinking…
I wonder what the roommate is doing and if she’s home on the couch with a bag of chips, sketching and watching the telly, hair tossed up in a cute messy bun.
“Come on, let’s get a move on.”
We rise, swing hitting the porch railings, the wood clashing with a loud bang.
It continues swinging in the breeze as we make our way down the steps at the front of the house.
“So…” The silence drags out. “You’re really not going to tell me what she works on in that book of hers?”
Now why did I just blurt that out? She’s going to think I’m dicked in the knob.
“Ha.” Kaylee scoffs. “I’m shocked she didn’t tell you herself.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know—she loves drawing those little cartoons of hers, so I would think she would have shown them to you.”
Kaylee’s hand moves from her side, materializing on my bicep.
“Little cartoons?”
She waves her free hand in the air as her eyes focus on the stairs, her steps measured. “You know—comics or whatever.”
Comics.
Eliza is into comics?
Interesting.
And coincidental because I am into comics as well.
Perhaps not drawing or sketching them like she has apparently been doing, but I definitely have an interest and always have. It was one thing I loved doing at school to occupy myself, watching movies and collecting memorabilia.
In fact, I have so much comic memorabilia it’s almost embarrassing. I couldn’t bring much of it with me because there are totes upon totes upon totes of action figures, posters, movie collectibles.
Magazines and comic books.
Marketing toys from vintage movie adaptions to shows on the telly.
No franchise or universe is off limits.
I did bring along a few framed pieces and a poster or three to hang on the walls of my new place to make it feel more comfortable, and yeah, my bedspread is Spiderman. The shower curtain? Captain America.
I won’t apologize for all the money I’ve spent over the years collecting all that shite—it’s something I have always loved. Kind of kept me company when I was lonely at school without my family.