Page 14 of Until Joy

July almost doubled over with laughter.

“I don’t get it,” Kayan said. “What’s wrong with nice?”

“Nice is kryptonite,” July could finally spit out. “How is he nice?” she asked me.

“Besides buying Miss Laverne groceries, he pulls out Miss Laverne’s chair for her to sit down, and he always clears the table and loads the dishwasher because we’ve cooked. He’s just really nice.”

“Yeah. I get it now,” Kayan nodded. “You’re screwed.”

“I give it two weeks before you go on a real date,” July nodded sagely.

I rolled my eyes, but deep down, I was pretty sure she was right.

***

The sound of something loud hitting the side of the house ripped me from sleep and I bolted upright.

What the hell?

My heart was racing a mile a minute.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and pressed in 9-1-1, so I’d be ready to push send if I needed to.

After all, it was six-twenty-six AM, and this neighborhood was always quiet this time of the morning. I listened to the silence. Had I imagined it? I looked out the window

A car door slammed.

“Where do you want this?” a man yelled.

“Over here,” another man yelled.

I heard and felt feet pounding up Miss Laverne’s porch steps.

How big was that guy?

Was he a gorilla?

He was practically shaking the house.

“Here you go.”

This did not sound like anybody breaking and entering.

I looked out my window, but it looked out over the backyard, so I saw nothing of interest.

Usually, I would just walk out my bedroom door in my sleep shirt since it was just Miss Laverne and me, but since we had company, I threw on pajama shorts, a mandatory bra, then grabbed a tank top since it was already getting hot.

Shuffling out of my bedroom, I headed to the kitchen.

Miss Laverne was at the stove making pancakes. She always cooked breakfast for me, even though I told her every day she didn’t have to. But since she watched me swallow down everything she put in front of me, she continued to feed me. This time she was cooking at six-twenty-nine.

“What’s going on?” I mumbled.

“Graham brought some boys from his club to paint the house. Isn’t that sweet?” She leaned into me, and I gave her a squeeze around the waist. “I have raspberry syrup for your pancakes. I bought it at the farmer’s market.”

Blinking slowly, I tried to take in what she was saying.

Painting.