Rated T for Language
"What do you mean, you're not coming?"
Mom sighed into the phone. "Rin, they're saying two feet of snow is gonna drop tonight. We can't drive all the way across town."
"But… it's Thanksgiving."
I heard shuffling. "Maybe we can celebrate when the weather clears out."
An empty feeling was forming in the pit of my stomach. "Are you going to Josie's?" My aunt's house wasn't as far away as mine.
"We might be able to make it over there with the family."
"I could drive there instead," I suggested hopelessly. "I don't mind."
"Honey, I don't want you out in this weather either."
I was at a loss for words. "Mom… I already bought a turkey."
"Can you freeze it? We'll cook it next week. Together."
I knew she was lying. "I guess I can."
She sounded relieved. "Good. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Get some sleep."
I wiped at my eyes with my free hand. "I'll try."
And with that, I hung up, setting my cell phone on the couch next to me. My empty apartment felt lonelier than ever. I glanced into the kitchen, checking the time on the stove. It wasn't too late to see if maybe Miku wanted to hang out for the holidays. Or anybody.
I picked up the phone again, and dialed her number. She answered after only a few rings.
"Hey, M," I greeted, trying to keep the despair out of my voice.
"Oh, hey, Rin." She sounded awkward. Just like everybody else.
"Uh, what're you doing tomorrow? For Thanksgiving? You wanna come hang out?"
She let out a deep breath. "Damn, dude. I wish you'd asked me earlier. Kaito and I are up at his family's place up in the mountains."
My heart dropped. I chuckled fakely. "Trying to beat the snow?"
"You know it."
I tried to ignore the impatience in her voice. "I can understand that. Well, I'll let you go then."
"Thanks, man." Her tone changed suddenly. "Uh, how're you feeling? You doing okay?"
I nodded, though I knew she couldn't see me. "Yeah. Today was fine. Perfectly normal."
"That's good. Happy Thanksgiving, Rin."
"Yeah." I replied as the call quickly ended. "You too." But the only thing to hear me were the walls of the apartment.
I threw the phone down on the couch in defeat. I couldn't blame them, and I knew that. I could understand that they didn't want to be around me after the news; they couldn't just pretend everything was alright. I knew they felt bad, and I knew they didn't know how to handle it. They probably thought they had to do something. But I just wished for everything to be the same. I almost wished I hadn't gone to the doctor. I almost wished I didn't know anything.
But my own mother? At least Miku asked me how I was feeling. She just lied to me. Strange that this year just happens to be the year that my mother formed a phobia of driving forty-five minutes in the snow.
I had felt the tears forming in my eyes before I even hung up with Mom, but only then did I let them fall. I'd never spent a holiday alone. If they couldn't handle my diagnosis, how did they think I felt? The worst thing they could do was distance themselves from me; I already felt so alone. My family was all I had left. And my parents couldn't even come visit their only child on Thanksgiving. Their sick only child, to make it even worse.
I pulled my blanket up to my chin, wiping my eyes with it. I guess I could just spend the day watching the South Park marathon on cable. Or maybe I could just skip Thanksgiving altogether, and put up my Christmas decorations. Hopefully, by then, my friends and family would get over their pity, and come see me. I could only hope.
I paused my sniffling as I heard someone walking up the stairs outside. My apartment was all the way at the top of my building, and the hallways between houses were made with cement walls and flooring. Every time someone walked up the stairs, I could always hear them. Their footsteps would only stop when I'd hear the jingling of keys, and opening and closing of their front door. It was so loud; you could drop a cotton ball off the staircase and be able to hear it in the next state.
This time, I heard a voice talking. I recognized it as the voice of my neighbor. "No, there weren't any at King Soopers, either," he was complaining. "No, I checked all the stores in the county. I'm already home- I don't wanna drive another hour to Silverthorne." A pause. He was talking on the phone. "I was busy! I completely forgot about tomorrow until Lenka texted me this morning about it." Another pause. I stared at my front door from the safety of my couch as I heard his steps echo past my apartment. "No, I'll cook. I have everything except the turkey."
My head perked up. My mind went straight to the uncooked turkey in my fridge. Without thinking, I stood up, and walked to my door.
"I'll just do the usual stuff," he continued. "The pies, the potatoes, everything. I have an uncooked chicken, if I need to use that instead."
No, no, no, I thought. Turkey's a tradition. I set a hand on the handle, but something stopped me. I couldn't bring myself to open the door.
I heard keys jingling outside. "I didn't need to buy that stuff. I already had it." He was unlocking his door. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I like to cook. Tease me all you want."
I pressed my forehead against the door. More tears fell from my eyes as I squeezed them shut. After all the rejection in just the past few minutes, I couldn't have it happen again. I didn't want to be that weird neighbor who just happened to have an extra turkey. Not that I'd be needing it, but still.
I heard his door open, and his voice disappeared inside. The door slammed loudly as it shut on it's own; he always let it shut on it's own. Never guided it to the door frame quietly, like I did. It probably drove the neighbors crazy, but not me. I didn't mind so much.
I'd never known Len much, but I at least knew his name. I assumed he knew mine. I'd only spoken to him on a couple of occasions where our mail got mixed up, and we had to exchange bills. He was pretty nice. He always seemed a bit quiet, though. He was more of a listener than a talker, which may have been one of the reasons I liked him so much. Until only recently, I'd loved talking.
I also knew him well enough to know that he loved cooking. The entire building knew that, actually. Nearly every day, the floor would fill with the heavy scent of whatever was on his stove. Sometimes it would be sweet smelling, like a cake or cookies, and sometimes it would be meaty, like chicken or cheeseburgers. It was different every day, and I highly doubt he made the same thing twice. Nobody knows where the food all goes; he's a pretty skinny guy, there's no way he could have eaten it all. There had been a couple times when I was close to knocking on his door to ask for some. The classiest meal I'd had in weeks was a bowl of Lucky Charms with milk a day past it's expiration date. I had neither the money, nor the skills to cook.
I sat back down on the couch. I sniffled a few last times, but the crying had stopped. I didn't turn on any shows, I just waited. The smell had to be coming. He was definitely cooking tonight.
I was right. It wasn't too long after he disappeared into his apartment when the smell of pumpkin reached my living room. I breathed it in, my stomach rumbling at the scent. I didn't even know how to cook a turkey. What was I going to do with it?
The pumpkin was soon replaced with marshmallows. Mmmmm. Sweet potatoes. Mom made the best sweet potatoes.
I could only imagine what his Thanksgiving feast would look like. An entire table filled with the delicious smells and sights. Fluffy mashed potatoes, green beans still steaming from the oven, the light brown tint to the marshmallows on the sweet potatoes, the sweet aroma of fresh apple pie…
The only thing it'd be missing is a turkey.
That final thought was enough for me to rise from my seat once again, and walk out of my front door into the hall. On my way out, I took a glance in my bathroom mirror, making sure I didn't look too terrible from my crying. My face still looked a little red, but even I could barely notice it, so I called it good and walked into the chilly hall. I rubbed my bare arms, suddenly wishing I'd brought my blanket with me.
With no hesitation this time, I closed the distance from my door to his, and knocked. The scents were even stronger here, and they warmed me up better than my blanket could. I heard some shuffling on the other end of the door. I realized with a flash of embarrassment that it was pretty odd to knock on his door at eight o'clock at night, but it was too late. He opened the door just as the thought popped in my head.
He didn't even try to hide his confused expression. "Hey," he said. His hair was pulled back in its normal ponytail, and his was wearing a white apron with the letters "Kiss the Cook" written across it in cursive. He either forgot about it, or didn't care.
"Hey…" I answered awkwardly, feeling suddenly self-conscious of my pajamas and undone hair. "I, uh, I couldn't help but hear that you needed a turkey?"
His head perked up. "Yeah. I went everywhere but all the stores are sold out." Over his shoulder, I could see only the corner of the counter in his kitchen. It was covered in plates and bowls.
"Well…" I tried to think up an excuse for why I had no use for mine. I couldn't admit that nobody was coming. "I have an extra, if you need it."
"Wow, really?" His confusion only intensified. "You don't have to-"
"No, no. I want to. I don't need it."
He didn't know what to say. "I can pay you for it."
I smiled, my cheeks reddening. "You don't need to pay me." I pointed my thumb back at across the hall. "I'll go grab it and bring it to you, okay?"
He nodded. "Yeah. That'd be awesome."
"Okay." I nodded at him one last time, and turned my back on the door. I heard him close his door as I opened mine. My kitchen was bare, and my fridge was empty. Compared to his food-stocked house, it only made me feel worse. The lone turkey sat on my bottom shelf, still wrapped. It chilled my bare hands as I grabbed it. At least it would get cooked now.
I brought it back across the hall, and knocked on Len's door with my elbow. He opened it almost instantly. "Oh wow," his expression lit up. "That thing is huge."
I chuckled. "Yeah. It's pretty heavy, too."
"Oh," he held his arms out. "Here, I'll take it." I handed it to him. I thought he was going to send me off then, but he surprised me by leaning against the open door. "Do you want to come in for a bit? I could use some help."
I was taken completely off guard by the invitation. "Y-Yeah, sure."
He grinned. "Come on in."
I stepped through the doorway, taking a deep breath in. "Wow," I said aloud.
The door shut behind me. "Yeah," he answered, his voice strained under the weight of the turkey. "Thanksgiving is definitely my favorite holiday."
I followed him through the doorway. His apartment was identical to mine, just mirrored across the hall. The kitchen was on the left over here, while my kitchen was to the right. He set the turkey on the only empty spot on his overcrowded kitchen counters. It was right on his oven, and it was obvious he had cleared that spot in the past fifteen seconds.
My eyes scanned his apartment. Believe it or not, it was spotless. Even the counter was clean. Crowded, yes, but in the few open spots on the marble countertops, I could see my reflection. His carpet was whiter than the snow falling outside, and there wasn't a stray dish in sight. His living room was just across from the kitchen, and the carpet looked newly vacuumed. A door stood next to his couch, and I knew, since it was identical to my own home, that the door led to his bedroom.
"You're a lifesaver," he said, bringing me back from my thoughts. "Really. I almost had to cook chicken instead."
I was thankful his back was to me. He couldn't see my blush. "I didn't want it to go to waste," I offered, shyly. I looked over the counters. "You don't look like you need much help," I pointed out.
He chuckled, and opened up some cabinets below the counter. "I've had some practice." He pulled out a giant stainless steel pot; it was just taller than my knees. With it, he pulled out what looked like a single stove top. He flashed me a sly smile. "Shhh. Don't tell anybody I have this."
I cocked my head to the side. "What is it?"
He picked up the stove top, leaving the pot on the ground. He set it down at the end of the kitchen, so it was out of the way, and picked up a small bottle of propane from another drawer. "We're gonna use it as a deep-fryer."
I raised my eyebrows. "You deep fry your turkey?" I completely ignored his use of the word "we."
He shrugged as he screwed the cap of the propane bottle on the stove. "I wanted to try it this year. What time is it?"
I looked over the turkey on his stove. "8:43," I read.
"Sweet," he muttered. "We do have time." He began unscrewing the propane.
"For what?"
"To brine the turkey. I didn't think it was a good idea, but it can brine over night."
I smiled slightly. "I'll just pretend I know what you're talking about."
He nodded, and set the propane bottle on the counter. "That's probably a good idea." He pointed to some cabinets right next to me. "Can you get me one of the big pots in there?"
I crouched down next to the cabinets and pulled them open. I was met with a sea of pots identical to the first one he pulled out, but a fraction of the size. "Which one?"
"The biggest one you see," he clarified.
I unstacked a couple of piles, and pulled out the largest one I could find. "Is this one okay?"
He was rummaging through some other cabinets when he looked over his shoulder at my findings. "Yeah, that's perfect. Just set it on the stove next to the turkey."
I did as he instructed.
"So," he began. "What're your plans for tomorrow?"
I sighed, looking down at my reflection in the empty pot. Truth, or lie? "I'll probably just hang out in my apartment. What the Harry Potter movie marathon on ABC Family or something." I chose truth.
He set down a glass measuring cup in front of me. "We need six quarts of water in here," he informed me as he tapped the metal pot. When I brought the bowl over to the sink, he continued our conversation. "When's your dinner?"
I poured one quart into the pot. "I don't think I'm having one."
I heard shuffling behind me. He was mixing something. "Why not?"
I knew he was just trying to make conversation, but I couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed at my ignored attempts of getting around the subject. "My Mom says there's gonna be too much snow for them to drive down here." It wasn't exactly a lie.
"Ah. They live far out?"
Two quarts. "Maybe an hour drive away, depending on traffic."
"That's not too bad." He cracked an egg.
"Yeah. They were supposed to come down here, but they'll probably just go to my aunt's house and spend the day with them."
"Why don't you go down with them?" He suggested.
Three quarts. "Honestly, I don't think they want me there," I admitted with a sigh.
"Oh," his tone darkened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"Oh, no, you're fine." I felt I owed him some explanation. "I've been having medical issues, and they don't really know how to handle it."
He cracked another egg, and continued mixing. "But that doesn't mean you should have to spend your Thanksgiving alone." I expected his tone to be more sympathetic, but it wasn't.
I nodded, though I knew his back was to me. My thoughts exactly. "They need time. I can understand that." Four quarts.
He didn't say anything. An awkward tension filled the air as I dumped the fifth quart into the pot.
"What about you?" I asked, trying to clear the air. "What're your plans?"
He seemed thankful for the distraction. "The whole family's coming over here."
I smiled. "You can fit a whole family into this tiny apartment?"
There was amusement in his voice. "We manage. Somehow."
"The people who live below you must hate it." I picked up the full pot, and turned around.
He shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be out. And it's not my fault they chose the apartment below me."
I set the pot down on the stove. "It's filled."
He looked over his shoulder. "Just get it boiling."
The buttons on his stove might as well have been written in another language. I furrowed my brow as I scanned the high tech equipment, wondering how a simple oven could seem so futuristic. One of the dials looked kind of promising, so I turned it to the right, and took pleasure in myself as the "Hot Surface" button lit up. Finding nothing else to do, I crossed the kitchen and found myself at Len's side.
"What's that?" I asked, motioning toward the bowl he was mixing. It was full of orange paste, the empty can next to the bowl told me it was pumpkin, and had white specks in it. In all honesty, it didn't look too appealing.
"Two-ingredient pumpkin bread," he declared as he continued stirring. "It's just spice cake mix and canned-pumpkin. But we're gonna frost it."
I nodded, watching the white flecks slowly disappear. "Have you made it before?"
"Yeah. It's delicious." He chuckled. "But then again, everything I make is delicious"
I grinned as he continued to mix until the batter was completely orange.
"Tell me about your family," I suggested after a moment of silence.
He chuckled. "They're crazy."
"How so?" I was curious.
He thought for a moment. Those deep blue eyes of his were glued to the bowl in front of him. "Well, whenever we have a family gathering of any sort, there's just kids everywhere. My sister has three kids, my brother has four kids. And then one of my cousins has two, and the other has five. Five children." He shook his head. "Can you even imagine having to watch over five kids?"
I laughed softly. "How old are they?"
"The oldest out of all…" He counted on his fingers. "-fourteen of them is ten. And she's the biggest brat of them all." His tone said he was joking, but his expression disagreed.
"Oh God," I muttered, amused.
"Yeah. I'm the last of my generation to not have kids. But, as my mom puts, it-" He paused his stirring, and flashed me an amused glance. "'No pressure or anything.''
I laughed. "Wow. That's…"
"Shitty? Yeah, it is," he finished. "Hey, there's a bread pan on the counter somewhere. Can you find it for me?"
"Yeah." I followed the edge of the counter, my eyes scanning over the ocean of cooking supplies and ingredients. I finally found it sitting dangerously close to the edge, right next to the fridge.
When the water was finally boiling, we poured it into the giant pot. Len mixed six pounds of salt, which I found preposterous. Who keeps six pounds of salt in their pantry? He dumped ice, and cold water in as well, and finally lowered the turkey. He told me we'd have to let it sit overnight, so we set it aside.
We baked pies, cookies, breads, rolls, everything. We even made soup with the chicken he was originally going to cook for the main dish. I've never been much of a soup person, but this stuff was probably the best thing to ever meet my taste buds.
It was late when Len finally switched the last two dishes out of the oven. The empty bowls and ingredients along the counter had been replaced with steaming pans of varying dishes, each covered with paper towels or aluminum foil. I didn't even bother looking at the clock. I didn't plan on waking up early anyway.
It's crazy how well you get to know someone in a few hours. We'd chatted the whole time about everything from politics to family to movies and tv shows. I knew him better than most of my other friends, it felt like. It was nice. I'd completely forgotten about my shitty situation.
As he closed the oven on a batch of sugar cookies and pulled off his oven-mit, he looked up toward the only cabinet I hadn't been through that night. "I have some pretty good wine, if you're down for a celebratory drink."
I watched as he opened the cabinet. "What are we celebrating?" I asked with a smile.
He pulled out a green, unopened bottle. "An amazing Thanksgiving feast!" He yelled a little too loudly, holding the bottle over his head in victory. "It's not like you have to drive home or anything."
I nodded. "I've never had wine before," I admitted.
He shrugged, and pulled a corkscrew out of a drawer. "There's a first time for everything," he said as he stabbed the cork with the metal wire. "You don't have to."
I thought for a moment, and came back to my original thought that I have nothing to lose. "I'd love to try some."
A small smile appeared on his face. "Do you remember where the glasses are?"
I nodded. They were in the cabinets right above the bar with the plates and bowls. I retrieved two tall wine glasses. Len began filling them with the wine before I even set them on the counter. The liquid was clear, with a slightly green tint. It bubbled as it splashed into the glass, and I found my mouth watering.
"It tastes like apple cider," he explained as if he had read my mind. He picked up a glass in one hand, and, with the bottle still in the other, made his way out of the kitchen and toward the living room. I grabbed my glass, feeling very elegant to be drinking out of anything except a hand-washed mug, and followed him. We both plopped down tiredly on opposite ends of the surprisingly soft couch. Len set the bottle on the table, and leaned back, touching the glass to his lips. I mirrored him, and almost flinched as the taste hit me. It was strong, but delicious. I'd always had a sweet tooth, and this definitely satisfied it. It was like apple pie in a cup. There was the slight hint of sweetness from the apple, along with a little spice of cinnamon. It bubbled as I drank it, and I found myself taking several sips only seconds after I sat down.
Len chuckled next to me. "You like it?"
I nodded, swallowing another frothy gulp.
He grinned. Then he set his glass on the coffee table next to the bottle, and leaned forward to untie his apron. He crumpled it in a ball threw it toward the kitchen, but it barely made it halfway before catching the air, and fluttering pathetically to the ground. I watched it settle into a small, crumpled heap on the ground, and sighed.
His hand found the glass once again, and he relaxed into the couch. "Is everything alright?" He sipped as he asked the question.
I looked down at the small bubbles in my glass. With a small swing of my hand, they swirled around on the surface of the liquid gold. "Have you ever been really sick?" I asked. "Like, so sick you had to be in the hospital for a long time?"
The question seemed to take him off guard. He furrowed his brow. "I've had to stay in the hospital before, but not because I was sick."
I nodded with a hanging head. "How'd your family take it?"
He shook his head. He showed small traces of a smile. "They were more worried about me than even I was," he reminisced. "They refused to leave the hospital for days."
I took a sip of my wine.
"I'm sorry," he said after a pause. He had caught on. "I didn't mean to upset you." His tone was dark now.
I smiled insincerely. "It's okay." Of course they were there for him, I thought. What else did I expect?
He didn't say anything. He just watched me, as if he expected me to keep talking. I knew what he was waiting for. That's one thing I learned pretty quickly with my condition; people always want to know about it. They always want to talk about it. Ask me questions. Usually, it would kill me to talk about it, so I rarely did. But in the early hours of Thanksgiving morning, sitting with someone who was both a complete stranger and my best friend, I decided I didn't really mind.
"I have this... thing," I began with a deep breath. "Some part of my brain is messed up. The part that process how I see things...and stuff." I paused. This was harder than I thought. "And it's always been messed up. Like, since I was born. When I was a kid I'd wake up every once in awhile and I'd be completely blind." I took another sip. "And the doctors said that it was gonna get worse as I get older, and that I'd have more days where I wouldn't be able to see."
"Damn," he said in awe. He surprised me, however. He was still looking me in the eye. He didn't have that pitying look in his eyes, either. "How... How often did you...?"
I shrugged. "It was probably once every two months. I'd wake up blind, and wake up perfectly normal the next day." Another sip. "But it started happening more. Now it's at, like, once or twice a month."
He soaked in my story like a sponge. "What do you do? I mean, when you can't see?"
I took another deep breath. "Mostly just lay in bed all day." He shot me a worried glance and I waved him off. "I mean, I could get out if I wanted to. I can get around my apartment pretty easily when I can't see- Hell, I even walk around with my eyes closed for practice sometimes."
That made him smile, and I was glad to lighten the mood a bit. "It's amazing what people with disabilities can do. It really is."
I smiled sadly. "It's... been hard. On everyone. But I manage." I stared at the unlit fireplace across the room.
He didn't respond for a few moments. Instead, he stood from the couch, and sat down so he was barely even an inch away from me. He smelt like pumpkin pie. "Here," he said, setting his wine glass down. "Look at this."
I watched in confusion as he began to roll up the long sleeves of his shirt. My eyes widened as he revealed the skin of his upper forearm. A huge scar began just below his elbow, and stretched up his arm nearly to his shoulder. The line was red, and puffed up from the rest of his skin.
Without a second thought, I ran a finger softly over the bump. "Whoa," I whispered. "How?"
He held up his sleeve as I felt the scar. "When I was in college, I was walking home one night and I got hit by a drunk driver."
That was enough to make me freeze. I looked up at him, not knowing what to say.
"I was majoring in Culinary Arts, too," he added with a dark chuckle. "I was alright, except for this." He pulled his sleeve back down as my hand returned to my lap. "I could barely move my hand when it happened. I thought I'd never be able to do any of this-" he motioned to the food-stocked countertops. "-again. But look at me now." He ended with a smile.
I stared at him. "Wow. That... That's awesome."
He looked down at his now-covered arm, and his smile grew wider. "It took a lot of physical therapy, but it's all okay now. All I have left is the scar and the occasional numbness." He gave me a reassuring look. "But the doctors say that's normal. They were surprised." He added with a proud smile. "They told me I might as well have the arm amputated." He opened and closed his hand, staring down at his curling fingers. "But with a little determination, you can do anything."
My glass was almost empty. "You have no idea how much better that makes me feel," I said after a couple of peaceful moments of silence.
He smiled warmly. "Anytime."
We held eye contact for a few sweet moments, before I set my now-empty glass down on the table and stood. "It's getting late," I observed, feeling suddenly shy. "I should probably get going."
He stood with me. "Yeah. I should probably get to bed."
He held his door open for me. My steps echoed as I entered the freezing cold hallway. "Happy Thanksgiving," I chirped as I passed him.
He nodded. "Happy Thanksgiving."
I felt his eyes on me as I crossed the hall, and heard the familiar slam of his door only when my hand fell on the handle of mine. I hesitated before opening it. I almost preferred the cold, unwelcoming hallway to my lonely, unwelcoming apartment.
Almost.
I opened the door, and kept my eyes to the ground. I walked past all the dirty dishes, the smelly trash can in my kitchen full of unclean plates and bowls, and the mountain of unmade laundry on my couch. I tried to imagine my counters full of Thanksgiving goodies, pies, breads, the deep-fried turkey... but I couldn't. The smell was missing. So was the warmth of the heated oven. And Len.
I walked slowly through the doorway into my room, and crawled into bed. I felt exhausted from standing so long, and I was half asleep the second my head hit the pillow. My fluffy comforter, likely my most prized possession, felt like a cloud as I cuddled it.
Usually I'd be scared to go to sleep. Well, I'd be scared to wake up. But after my neighbor's uplifting story, I wasn't so scared of it anymore.
I dreamed of white wine and pumpkin pie.
The first feeling I felt when I awoke was relief. Most people wouldn't be thankful to wake up and see a room that looked like a tornado went through it, but I was. At this point, I was thankful to see anything.
The second feeling I felt was loneliness. According to my phone, it was already well past noon. Mom and Dad should be setting up Thanksgiving with the family. I imagined them crowding around my aunts table, arguing over which side of the plate to put the forks on, laughing with the distant family members we only saw once a year, and crowding on the couch to watch football.
As quickly as it came, I tried to push the thought away. Maybe I should have just driven to be with them, for my sake.
It took me a long time to get the courage to get out of bed. When I finally did, I took my cloud-comforter with me, clutching it around my shoulders like a cape.
I couldn't ignore the mess around me now. My stomach rumbled, and I pulled a box of cereal out of my near-empty pantry. The only thing standing in my fridge was a small carton of milk. It was a day past the expiration date, but I didn't care too much. I poured it anyway, and left it by the sink. I decided I'd pour it out when I was done with my breakfast.
I held my blanket around my shoulders with one hand, and my stale bowl of cereal with the other. I was too lazy to bother with the laundry on my couch, so I sat on the floor in front of it, and flipped on the tv with the remote.
My suspicions were right. Harry Potter marathon for the whole day on ABC Family. At least I could spend my lonely holiday immersed in Hogwarts and the crazy antics of its students.
The cereal tasted like a cardboard box, but I ate it anyway. I imagined it as the pumpkin bread Len cooked last night. Covered with cream cheese frosting... Ugh. It just barely made the cardboard box bearable.
Just as I swallowed the first lump, I froze at the sound of a knock on my door. I threw the bowl carelessly on the ground; no doubt spilling milk everywhere, and jumped to my feet. I left the safety of my blanket and opened the door.
Well, speak of the Devil. "Hey," Len greeted me. He was dressed up in semi-formal attire: a pair of dark jeans with a button up shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing part of his scar. His hair was perfectly combed and pulled back. I was unprepared for my heart to flutter at the sight of him.
"Hey," I said dreamily, leaning against the door for support. Also because I didn't want him to see the trash bin that was my apartment.
"So, I was thinking," he began. "Since you helped me cook everything last night, I thought it'd only be fair for you to be able to eat some."
"Oh, no, it's okay," I answered before he even asked. "I don't need any leftovers. I've got plenty of snacks." I'd never really looked at him in a romantic way, but damn he looked good in that button up shirt.
He chuckled, and it only made me fall harder. "No, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come join us for dinner."
My eyes widened. "Really?" I asked, a glimmer of hope now in my dark, depressing day. "You wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all." He motioned with his hands as he spoke. "In fact, I really want you to come. I think the fam would like you." His expression showed sign of shyness, and I smiled at it.
"Yeah. I'd- I'd love that," I stammered in response.
"Sweet," he said happily. "Do you wanna come help me set up?" He motioned back toward his door.
"Yeah, sure," I answered too quickly. "Just let me get ready first."
"Alright. See ya in a few."
I nodded hastily. "Uh, huh."
I closed my door as he turned away. Oh God. What was I gonna wear?
I bounded over the random things on the floor as I sprinted to my walk-in closet in the bedroom, flicking on the light switch with the urgency of an ambulance driver. My closet was nearly empty; most of my wardrobe was strewn across the couch. But all my fancy things were still hung up; I didn't wear them nearly as often.
There was one shelf dedicated to my dresses, and I excitedly looked through them. Black? Too depressing. Pink? Too girly. Blue? Too... Blue.
It didn't take me long to settle on a white, knee-length dress with like pink and yellow flowers stitched around the waist. I kept my accessories in a cardboard box, tucked away in the corner. I shuffled through it and finally pulled out a white bow. It'd been awhile since I'd had to work one of these in my hair. A tall mirror was nailed into the wall opposite the door. I grabbed a brush off one of the empty shelves, and began running it through my knotty hair. It hurt, a lot, but I didn't slow down. I wanted out of the hell-hole that was my home as soon as possible. When it began to look half-decent, I opened the clip of my bow, and slid it onto the back of my head. I grinned at my reflection.
I decided against makeup, just putting on some quick chapstick, before I shuffled through the box once again to find a leather satchel that I used to carry around all the time. It's light, creamy color went well with my dress, and I would need somewhere to keep my phone anyway.
I pulled out a pair of light pink flats from under my bed, dusting them off by beating them into the ground. They were almost too small for me. But I was squeeze my feet into them.
I took one last look into my closet before leaving, and stopped at the sight of the mirror at the end. I admired the way my bow poked out from either side of my head, and the way my hair fell evenly just over my shoulders, and the way my dress flowed gracefully down my legs, and how cute my tiny feet looked in my old flats. My eyes followed the curve of my arm, down to where my hand rested on my satchel. And all I could think about was, what if I had woken up blind this morning? And Len had asked me to join him? A picture appeared in my head of me sitting at the dinner table, Len's family and friends surrounding me, looking like I had when I woke up this morning.
I walked past the mirror, trying to push the image out of my head. Instead, I remembered Len's story. And how he coped with it.
I admired the fact that he didn't let it alter his everyday life. The scar had been pretty obvious with the shirt he was wearing, but he didn't seem to mind. At all. Maybe, hopefully, I'd be the same.
It was freezing outside. It had snowed even more overnight, and from what I could see from the hallway, more clouds were rolling in. I didn't mind much. Despite my mother using it as her excuse for not seeing me, I'd always loved the snow.
I knocked on Len's door, and he opened it nearly instantly. His eyes scanned me up and down, and I was amused by the fact that he actually looked surprised to see me like this.
"You clean up well," he said with a small smile on his face.
I blushed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was intended as so." He welcomed me into his apartment for the second time in twenty-four hours. The carpets were recently vacuumed, the tables and counters were wiped clean with Thanksgiving treats scattered around them, and the tv was turned to the sports channel. The fireplace below was also lit, adding a homey mood to the whole place.
"My family are a bunch of sports nuts," the blonde explained as I watched the reporters on the screen.
"When are they gonna be here?" I asked. The thought hit me that I was meeting his entire crazy family.
He looked down at a silver watched on his left wrist. "In about an hour. Everything's pretty much set up already. The turkey still isn't done frying, but it will be by dinnertime."
I laughed. "So you don't need help setting up?"
He shrugged, and sat down on the couch. "I like the company. And I assumed you would too." He waited for me to respond, but I just sat down next to him. "Nobody deserves to be alone on Thanksgiving."
I smiled as I sat next to him. "Thanks for thinking about me."
"Of course," he said as he turned his attention toward the tv. I watched, too, but I wasn't nearly as interested in what the hosts were talking about.
I sighed contentedly. This beat a Harry Potter marathon, any day. I could feel the heat of the fireplace even from across the room. The food smelled amazing, like always. But the best part was having a living, breathing person next to me. It was nice.
But, as always, whenever I found myself happy, it had to come tumbling down. I blinked at the tv, and when I reopened my eyes, it wasn't there anymore. And suddenly I was alone again.
I blinked again, quicker. It was back. My gaze snapped to Len next to me. He was there. He hadn't noticed my suddenly twitchy movements. I blinked again. He was gone.
Okay, I thought, closing my eyes. Don't panic. He'll be there when you open your eyes. It's just a flicker. But this had never happened to me before. It was so sudden. It only happened when I woke up. No.
I opened my eyes again, and there was nothing.
Being blind is a weird thing. It's not like I see black, or anything. I literally see nothing. It's just... not there. It's like looking at the back of your head, or trying to see past your peripheral vision. It's just nothing. Fear began to creep into me. Even though I was sitting down, I felt like something was going to hit me. Like I was going to run into something. Like something was going to attack me and I wouldn't be able to see it. Or defend myself.
I opened and closed my eyes a few more time rapidly. Nothing. The sound of the tv and the crackle of the fireplace was drowned out in the quickening beating of my heartbeat. Not now. Please not now.
I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward, feeling the couch below me. I touched my face, my fingers meeting my skin way before I expected, and flinched from my own touch. In another world, I heard Len's concerned voice, but I had no idea what he was saying. My breathing quickened. A pit had formed in my chest. My heart felt like it was trying to break out of me.
Then a hand appeared on my back. I felt it gradually. Like, I didn't just suddenly feel it. It felt like it was there the whole time, but I slowly began to sense it. Feel it there. And then I realized that even if I couldn't see him, Len was still there.
"Rin?" He was saying, over and over again.
I tried to breath evenly but I couldn't. "I can't... I can't-I-I-" I cut myself off. "Where are you?" My voice was panicked.
I would guess he then understood what was happening. "Hey," he said, his voice low. "I'm right here." He was to my right. His hand was still on my back. "I'm right here."
My hands were shaking in front of me. "I can't see!" I wailed. "I can't-"
"Shhh-" he shushed me. I felt his hand grab one of mine. "It's okay."
"No, it's not! I can't-"
"Just calm down, Rin." His voice was still low. "You'll be okay."
"I can't just calm down!" I snapped, standing without even realizing it. My breathing was becoming painful.
He must have stood with me, because his hand returned to mine once again. "You need to breathe," he said firmly, but kindly. "Rin, listen to me."
I shook my head. "No-"
"Breathe," he repeated, louder this time. He then started to take loud, audible breaths. "Come on."
I sniffled a few times, but tried to keep my inhales and exhales in sync with his.
His hands found my shoulders. "Good," he encouraged. He guided me back down to the couch. "Keep breathing."
I steadily regained my composure. I kept blinking as quickly as I could, waiting for my vision to flash back in.
"Wait," I whispered, as I saw the flash of a fireplace. "I... I think it's coming back..." I trailed off, and began to blink slower. Every few blinks, the scene of the living room flashed in front of me, and then was gone the next.
I was only vaguely aware that he was still holding my hand.
And finally, the room stayed. I closed and opened my eyes several times, and the fireplace, the tv, and Len were all there. I took deep breaths, and eventually relaxed back against the couch, staring greedily at the crackling fire. I was suddenly glad that I didn't wear makeup; my cheeks felt wet with tears I didn't even know spilled.
I turned my head to see Len staring at me intently. I shook my head quickly. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I'm sorry..."
"Don't be sorry," he answered with a concerned voice. "Are you okay?"
I wiped my cheeks. "Yeah. Yeah I'm..." I sniffed. "I'm fine."
An awkward tension filled the air, and instead of feeling lonely, I felt guilty. I pulled my hand away from his, and buried my face in my hands. "Maybe it was better for me to stay home after all."
He perked up. "What? No, no not at all," he insisted.
"Oh God, if I'd been with my parents..." I felt like crying again.
"It's okay," he assured me. "It's not like you could help it."
"Yeah... but it's still embarrassing. And just because I have to deal with it doesn't mean everyone else does."
He considered that for a second. "It's not about having to deal with it. It's about being there for you when you're dealing with it."
My hands dropped into my lap. "What do you mean?" My eyes were still red. I couldn't look at him.
I could tell he was looking at me. "I mean that people shouldn't distance themselves from you just because you're different. In fact, I think it's terrible that they're distancing themselves from you at all like this." He paused. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to force my opinion on you, but it's true. When this-" he held up his scarred arm. "-happened to me, I had all the support in the world. I couldn't even imagine having none."
I stayed silent.
"So," he continued, still watching me. "If they aren't gonna be there for you, I will. And so will my family, I know it. I want you to stay, and enjoy a nice Thanksgiving dinner with me. And them. And then you can forget all about it. Okay?"
I still couldn't look at him.
"Okay?" He repeated.
I knew he wasn't going to budge, so I sucked up my courage, and met his gaze. "Okay," I answered with a voice crack.
And just when I thought nothing would make me feel better, he smiled. "Not a sports fan, huh?" And then he changed the channel for me, and we watched a starting Christmas movie marathon.
I gradually began to relax again. I could pay much more attention to The Polar Express. And as the scene began to feel bright and cheerful- peaceful, even- again, I almost found my panic ridiculous. Of course nothing was going to happen to me, even if I couldn't see.
I found myself admiring Len's reaction to it. He seemed so calm about it. If I had been with my parents… I'd probably be in the E.R. right now. What a great Thanksgiving that would have been. And usually I hated it when people touched me. But his hand on mine had felt so comforting.
I looked down at his, resting limply on the couch. He was paying too much attention to the movie to notice. Without a second thought, I slid my fingers between his, and looked back up at the movie.
He didn't say anything. His eyes stayed glued to the tv, and he squeezed my hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the hint of a smile.
We sat like that for a beautiful while. The train had just made it over the frozen lake when we began to hear a clamour in the hall.
"Did he make the pumpkin bars?" a high voice squealed. "I want the pumpkin bars!"
"... just have to see when we get there," a sweet, female voice responded gently. There were a horde of footsteps coming up the stairs.
"Is Janey gonna be there? Janey always has the cool pictures," another young voice appeared.
Len looked over at me, amused. "That's them," he said. "Brace yourself for the storm."
I giggled.
"I think Janey's coming later," the woman answered. Their voices all echoed through the hall.
Yet another new voice sounded. "Did Lenny set up the tree yet?"
I laughed. "Lenny?" I asked him as the voice continued from the hall.
He stood, and I followed suit. "They all call me that," he answered, embarrassed.
"I think it's cute."
I couldn't keep the voice straight anymore.
"The tree doesn't go up 'til Christmas, dummy."
"Hey, don't call me a dummy!"
"Then don't be a dummy!"
I laughed at the exchange as Len put a hand on the handle. He gave me one last exasperated look. "Show time," declared.
And then he opened the door.
Sorry I'm late! I started this the day before Thanksgiving thinking I'd finish it. Hah. Wishful thinking, I guess. I've started a TON of other stories, but I just can't get the motivation or time to finish them. Too many ideas, not enough hours in the day.
This one actually turned out to be a lot longer than I thought it was gonna be, but that's okay. Also: Quick note, I'm fairly new to this site and I only just figured out that I can reply to comments. Go me!
Song- Cold Hand ft. Kitsune Tsuki (Who is an UTAU I know please don't hate me) by YouTuber kyaami. The original version used Rin, but I'm honestly not a huge fan of it.
Link- watch?v=laVQlFgVSmk
Thanks for Reading! :)
