Page 29 of The Fake Out

When he returned, it was with two bowls of soup and a glass of water. He found the TV trays Granny had used religiously and set one up in front of me.

“Eat up.” He stared at me while I took a slurp of soup before he sat and tucked into his meal.

After a long stretch of silence, I set my spoon down. “This is weird.”

His forehead wrinkled. “What? Is it the soup? Is it warm enough?”

“No, I mean, it’s weird you’re here.”

He shrugged. “Got nothing better to do.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“You’re welcome.” He ate a spoonful of soup, but his eyes were busy taking in the living room, the floral couch and loveseat, TV, coffee table. More rabbits. He picked up one of the throw pillows next to him. It featured bunnies playing baseball. “Rabbits are kind of creepy. If you look at them close enough, they sort of look like giant rats. You know they sleep with their eyes open?”

“I did not.” Despite Granny’s obsession, we’d never had a pet rabbit. “Let me guess, another Scout badge?”

“Nah.” He picked up a framed photo of Granny, Mom and us girls that was sitting on the little table next to the couch. In it, I was about fifteen and sullen and very not-smiling. “Future Farmers of America. I raised rabbits one year.”

I hummed and took another spoonful of soup; it was good. I tried to remember if I’d even eaten anything today. Maybe that made it taste even better.

“This is your mom and sister and grandma?” Chris tapped the photo.

“Yes. Granny passed away my last year of college. Cancer. I miss her.” I frowned, hearing the sadness in my words. Why in the world was I telling him this?

Chris, perhaps sensing my mood, was polite enough not to offer empty platitudes. “Who is this very angry teenager?”

I tried, and failed, to snatch the photo from his stupidly long arm. “It was a phase.”

“You’re kind of intense here. I wouldn’t have wanted to get on your bad side.”

“Thank you. Exactly what I was going for.”

Back then, I’d been angry at my father, Mama, life, the world. I bet Chris had been popular and upbeat and came from a nice family which did not include a felon. We would never, in a million years, have been friends.

He stared at the photo a beat longer before putting it down. When I finished my soup, he took our bowls in the kitchen and I heard the water run. Then, “Why is there duct tape on your dishwasher?”

“To keep the door shut, obviously.”

He paused at the entrance to the living room, hands on his hips. “That’s not how dishwashers work.”

“That’s how they work here.” In a house with three women on a very limited budget, that is. I wasn’t completely useless, and I’d tried to fix it after watching forty-three YouTube videos and reading several how-to articles. But I’d run into a problem without having the right tool, and I was worried I’d break something else in the process.

Anyway. The duct tape worked fine, thank you very much.

Chris shook his head and sat back on the couch. “Wanna watch something?”

“I guess?”

He found the remote and started flipping through channels before coming to a stop. “Gilmore Girls. This is a good episode, too.”

I scoffed. “Oh, right. I’m supposed to believe you watch Gilmore Girls.”

“I told you, four sisters. They had marathon weekends all the time and I guess I got roped into the story.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Okay. Name one character.”

“I’ll name you two: Luke and Lorelai.”