Jameson
Millie has been acting strange all day. She’s been quiet and jittery, but I thought she was sad since it’s the first anniversary of her father’s death. But then I noticed her staring at me a lot, and she was normal with Lo. I’m starting to think she’s being weird because of me.
I’ve just pulled up in front of my house, and I walk around to the passenger’s side of my truck to help her down. I open the door and hold out my hand for her, but she ignores it and jumps down instead. I shove my hands into my pockets and watch as she takes off into a run toward her house.
I slam the door of the truck and walk into my house. I was hoping she’d want to hang out for a while, eat dinner together or something, since her sister bailed on her. No one should be left alone on a day like today, no matter how fine they say they are. She cried at story time when reading a children’s book, for goodness’ sake. She’s obviously not as fine as she says she is.
I slam the door to my bedroom in frustration and change out of my jeans into some workout clothes. I lace up my sneakers and head back to my truck. I already texted the guys and told them I wasn’t going to make it for baseball tonight, but since Millie obviously doesn’t want to hang out with me, I’m going to go anyway.
My eyes immediately land on the cream-colored purse sitting on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat when I climb inside. It feels like an olive branch…or an invitation.
Before I can overthink whether or not I’m invading her alone time, I snatch the purse off the floor and march over to her front door and ring the doorbell. There’s a crashing sound coming from what I think is the kitchen and then a swear that I never thought I’d hear come from her mouth. I bring my fist up to my mouth and clear my throat to keep from laughing.
No laughter comes from my mouth when she answers the door and I see her face. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and makeup is streaking down her face. As soon as she sees me, her face crumples, and she covers her face with her hands. I walk into her living room, toss her purse on the floor, and tug her into a tight hug.
At first, she’s tense, but after a minute, she takes a deep breath and relaxes. Her arms wrap around my waist, and I feel her fist the back of my t-shirt. Without letting go of her, I lead her over to her couch, and we plop down onto it. Millie lifts her knees to her chest and ends up mostly in my lap. I’m not complaining.
No, no. This is a serious moment. Don’t think about how nice she feels.
“I’m sorry. I’m such a mess,” she says when she finally looks up at me, wiping all of the smudged makeup from her face. I cup her cheek in the palm of my hand and run my thumb underneath her eye.
“You have every right to be a mess today,” I tell her. “What was that crashing sound I heard before you answered the door?” I ask.
“Oh, that…that was the shelves in my pantry betraying me,” Millie grumbles as she climbs off my lap. I’m reluctant to let her go. I like her here; it feels natural. She grabs my hand and leads me to the pantry in her kitchen. The two bottom shelves are broken, and the food that I’m assuming belongs on those shelves is now spilled all over the floor.
“What happened?”
“I was climbing on them so I could reach my secret stash of chocolate—it’s top secret, okay? If Lo finds out about it, she’ll eat it all,” she points in my face and says.
“Why don’t you have a stool?”
She shrugs her shoulders, and I make a mental note to get a stool for her so she’s not scaling any more unstable shelving. I do a quick scan of her body and note the bruise forming on her shin. Other than that, she appears to be okay.
“Okay, where’s this secret stash? I’ll get it for you,” I ask as I move things around on the top shelf. I’m not finding anything resembling chocolate. There’s a box of Wheaties, a bag of flour, oatmeal, granola bars that look like they probably taste like grass, a canister of protein powder…no chocolate.
“Oh, it’s in the Wheaties box!” she says. Very sneaky. I admire her devious ways.
I hand her the box, and she dumps the contents onto the counter to rifle through it. There are Snickers, Twix, Reese’s cups, some sort of chocolate bar with hazelnut and raisins (gross!). I reach for a Reese’s cup, and she smacks my hand away.
“Ouch!” I say as I hug my hand to my chest.
“Oh, sorry, natural reflex! You can have some,” she says begrudgingly. She watches me carefully and purses her lips. I get the feeling she’s not excited about sharing her chocolate. I chuckle as I reach over her shoulder and grab an entire handful. Her mouth falls open, and she quickly snaps it shut. It’s taking every ounce of self-control she possesses to not say anything.
I peel open my Reese's cup and make a big show of popping the entire thing in my mouth at once. I haven’t eaten candy like this in far too long. Why don’t I have a candy stash at home? That will be corrected immediately.
I tear open the wrapper of my Snickers. It says “fun size,” but really there’s nothing fun about this. It’s so small it just leaves you wanting more. It should be called “tease size.” Before I know it, I’m tearing into the next one, and Millie grabs my hand to stop me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks. She looks appalled.
I shrug my shoulders and say, “Eating chocolate,” around a mouth full of Snickers. I assumed my actions were pretty self-explanatory.
“No, you’re committing a crime against candy bars everywhere!” she shouts in complete outrage. I think steam is going to escape her ears any minute now. “You’re wasting my chocolate!”
“How so?” I ask and pop the next Snickers into my mouth. Her eyes grow wide with anger as she watches me chew and swallow in approximately ten seconds.
“You’re not even taking the time to savor it,” she squeaks. She swipes the rest of my treats away from me and tosses them back into the Wheaties box. She stands in front of the pantry, contemplating how she can get the box back into its home on the top shelf. I snatch the box out of her hand and grab a few more pieces of chocolate from it before placing it back on the shelf.
Millie reaches to take the candy away from me, but I take off in a run into the living room, holding it above my head. She jumps to try to grab it, but with my height and her lack thereof, she doesn’t even come close to reaching it. She jumps again and wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist.