“Me, well, I would probably say either Amy Winehouse, before she . . .” He paused. It was lovely, a mark of respect somehow. I smiled, urging him to continue. “Or Kings of Leon on their first tour. Back when they were virtually unknown.”
“I’m going to make a playlist of unknown bands before our next . . . hangout session, or whatever we’re calling this,” I said.
“Our next not-a-date,” he said. I think we were both relieved to hear the word “next.”
“Right,” I said, feeling both relieved and excited.
“So,” Kael said. “Here’s another question for you. If you could describe your brother, Austin, in one word, what would it be?”
“Hmm.” I tapped my nose, thinking of one word to describe my twin. “Well-intended?” I finally answered. But I was unsure. It wasn’t the word I was going for. Not exactly.
“That’s two words,” he said.
“Actually, it’s hyphenated, so that counts as one word.” He liked that. I could tell. “He has good intentions,” I continued. “He makes bad choices to go along with them.”
“I get that,” he said. And I really felt that he did.
“My turn,” I said. “What about you? What about your little sister?” His expression hardened almost to say I had crossed a line. Then, just as quickly, it went back to normal. After a moment he answered me: “Powerhouse.”
“Powerhouse?” I repeated. What a lovely way to be viewed by someone, especially by someone in your own family.
He nodded. “Yeah, she’s brilliant. And doesn’t let anything stop her. Her high school, it’s one of those fancy private schools where they focus intensively on one subject. Science is her thing. She tested high enough to get into the school back when she was nine, but my mom can’t drive and wouldn’t let her ride the city bus alone until she turned fourteen. Now she takes the bus on her own, across town, every morning, and every afternoon.”
“Wow” was all I could manage. Of course Kael’s sister was brilliant. It was impressive and ironic to compare this teenage prodigy riding a bus across town to get to her gifted school to my twenty-year-old dropout brother who managed to get himself in trouble even when he stayed home.
Kael turned the game back to me, and I continued with a basic question. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”
“Get massages”—he smiled at me—“and work on my place. I bought a duplex while I was deployed. Remember when you took me to the parking lot to get my keys? They were supposed to be left there, sitting on my tire, but they weren’t. Turner, the soldier we saw at the commissary, tracked the keys down and brought them to me.” He casually mentioned her like I hadn’t visualized a thousand scenarios involving the two of them since I’d met her.
“Anyway, I bought this run-down duplex and I’m fixing up the empty side now, and slowly working on my side so I can rent it out and eventually move into another one and repeat the cycle. Maybe spread out toward Atlanta when I can. Real estate is one investment that hardly ever decreases in value.”
“I bought my house for the same reason,” I told him. He broke a piece of orange off and popped it into his mouth. I could smell the sweetness from where I sat. My mouth watered.
“Well, the remodeling part. I don’t think I’ll ever own more than this.” I waved around the kitchen. “But I’m totally fine growing old and dying here because it’s mine.” I touched my chest. “I couldn’t stand living with my dad and Estelle anymore, so I found this little house and I’ve been slowly, I mean, s-l-o-w-l-y, fixing it up.” I dragged out the word for emphasis.
He laughed, inching closer to me. “I noticed.”
“Don’t you think I’m doing a good job?” I asked. “Didn’t you see the shower tiles?” Kael was flipping houses—he was semiprofessional at this point—and I bet he cringed at the number of unfinished projects scattered around my house.
“Yes, you are. You’re doing it on top of working and you live alone. Well, sort of alone.”
“‘Sort of’ is right. I do as much as I can, when I can.” I knew I procrastinated when it came to hard projects. I went through phases alternating between doing a ton and doing absolutely nothing for a few weeks at a time.
“What room do you feel the most at home in?” he asked, looking around the kitchen.
“Are we back to our game?”
He nodded.
I put some thought into my answer. “I’d have to say my room. I love my living room for hanging out with Elodie and sprawling across my couch on a weekend without having to wear a bra or socks.”What the hell, Karina!I felt my cheeks turning red, but continued. “And I love my kitchen for being open and cute. It’s easy to cook in, doesn’t get too hot. My bathroom will hopefully be a favorite after I finish it. But for now, my bedroom, specifically my bed, is my spot. Me and my phone and I’m set.”
He was close to me, so close that I could smell the fruit on his breath. I didn’t know if it was me or if it was Kael, but one of us was inching closer to the other as we continued our little game. By the time Kael and I had asked each other random questions like how long we could hold our breath and what noise could he listen to all day, every day without being annoyed, we were inches away from each other, both leaning out of our seats.
It was a magnetic pull. An irresistible attraction. He was by far the smartest, most philosophical person I had ever met. He had the answer to everything; he knew exactly who he was. I really loved that, and his conversation drew me out. I told him how I first fell in love with figuring out life on my own. I told him how I would never change who I was for another person. I didn’t exactly know who I would become, but I knew it would be on my terms.
“I could listen to you talk all day,” he said, surprising me.
“No one has ever said that to me before.”