Day Zero, Part Two
They all moved into the house, heading up the stairs together. The suitcases bumped against the banister a few times as they went. The noise must have been what drew Morty—who else could it be? Jerry only had one son— from his room, because he appeared after the first few bangs, peering over the railing from the landing at the top. "Hey, Dad, hey Summer," Morty said. Like his father he had mousy brown hair, but like Summer he had those same silvery eyes. His face was far less round and oblong than Summer's, his nose not quite as long or pointy. Phoebe's own face sported high cheekbones and epicanthic folds, her slim, delicate jawline a part of a heart-shaped face.
Summer outright ignored Morty's greeting. Jerry, however, did not. "Hey, Morty," he returned, "This is your Aunt Phoebe, the one I told you about."
His eyes shifted to her and his lips formed into an awkward, lopsided smile full of shyness. "It—it's nice to meet you, A-aunt Phoebe. G-gosh, you're pretty." The boy was obviously as socially awkward and nervous as his father, poor little bastard. Ah, well. Someone had to be the confident one in the family, and Phoebe supposed that job fell to her. She had no idea if Beth were confident or not, but that hardly counted since they weren't really related.
Phoebe graced him with a soft upturning of lips, wanting to be kind. "Thank you, Morty. Do you mind opening the door to the guest room for us?" She tried making it a gentle suggestion.
"No problem!" He replied cheerfully, turning and walking ahead of them.
Jerry reached the landing first, followed by Phoebe, with Summer right behind her. The bathroom was directly across from the stairs. Morty had opened the door to the first bedroom on the right side of the hall. Judging by the open doorways of the others she was across the hall from Summer's room. Her deductions were confirmed when Summer started labeling each one. "This is my room," she gestured, indicating the first room on the left. She swung around and motioned to the door Morty had opened. "Obviously this is yours."
She opened her mouth to continue, but apparently Morty wanted to share in her role as tour guide to the Smith (now Smith-Johnson, technically, since Phoebe kept her mother's name) family residence. "And I sleep in the room next to Summer," Morty jumped in, sounding as overexcited as earlier. He was absolutely adorable in the way puppies were adorable when they tripped over their oversized paws.
"Beth and I sleep at the end of the Hall," Jerry added as if feeling excluded.
"Good to know," Phoebe said, nodding at him and formulating a mental layout of the top floor in her mind.
"Grandpa Rick's room is downstairs," Summer finished, rolling her eyes at her father and brother.
The lot of them piled into Phoebe's room and dumped her luggage into the floor. With all of them looming around her she felt almost claustrophobic, not used to such a large family. Her dislike of crowding didn't help with the smothered sensation. She wanted them to leave the room, but she was torn between following them and getting to know them better or immediately unpacking. She glanced around for a second, considering, then decided on unpacking. Not only would she appreciate alone time, she could do something productive. Multitasking.
"I better unpack," she said, before anyone could suggest anything else. It was still early, just before ten on a Saturday. "If you'd like we can all meet up for lunch and maybe get to know each other better?"
Jerry, Summer, and Morty glanced at each other.
"I guess," Summer shrugged, neither disappointed nor enthusiastic
.
"That—that would be great, Aunt Phoebe," Morty replied in his usual stammer, obviously excited.
"Alright," Jerry agreed, clearly more disappointed not to spend more time with her immediately. He bemoaned not growing up with a little sibling as much as she wished she had an older sibling to look to while growing up as a supposed only child.
"I mean, Jerry," she said, thinking quickly and deciding she could keep from upsetting him with the same action that would make her life easier. The downside would be losing that alone time she was fantasizing about only moments earlier. "If you want, you can help me unpack. I just assumed the kids wanted to have some down time, and I thought helping their Aunt unpack would be boring."
"You'd be right," Summer answered honestly.
"Summer!" Jerry interjected, sounding appalled.
"What?" she shrugged. "I'm not going to lie about it."
"Go have fun," Phoebe ordered, making shooing motions.
"Really?" Summer blinked, a little surprised.
It was Phoebe's turn to shrug. "I'm not your mother. It's not my job to tell you to do your homework. Besides, it's Saturday. Homework day is obviously Sunday."
She didn't have to say it twice. Before Jerry could object, Summer had gone like a flash. Her Aunt might be interesting, and she might even like Phoebe, but she sure as hell wouldn't want to help her unpack if she wanted to go out for a bit. Phoebe's feelings weren't hurt. She didn't blame her. She wasn't looking forward to it herself. Unpacking made dull work.
Morty hovered by the door, a little uncertain. "I don't mind helping, Aunt Phoebe."
Her lips twitched but she didn't say anything. Her underwear and bras she could do later that day by herself when she got a few minutes alone, but it would be nice if they would help her put away her clothes, books, electronics, craft supplies, and miscellaneous things, including a few of her knives. She'd mailed the rest of them to herself using their address. The TSA probably wouldn't have felt comfortable with her bringing all of them onto the plane, even if they couldn't be in her carryon luggage anyway. She nudged a bag toward Morty and opened one of the suitcases, starting to pull out clothes.
With the three of them working together it took them a little under half an hour to get it done, sans anything she wanted to unpack privately. Almost all of her clothes were either in the closet or the bureau, her books were on the bookshelf, her electronics and knitting were laid out on her desk, her knives were tucked away safely, and her chargers were set up on her nightstand. She'd placed her toiletries into the bathroom, though she kept her hair care supplies in her room. The (mostly) empty luggage was shoved unceremoniously into the closet and under the bed, wherever it would fit. "Well, that's everything," she said brightly. "Everything I can unpack in front of you two, anyway." They had to have noticed she hadn't put away any underclothes, and she'd rather die than have her brother or her nephew know she had a vibrator in the bottom of that compartment underneath them.
Morty laughed nervously, letting her know that Jerry passed on more than one anxious trait.
"That's—er...that is," Jerry muttered, turning red. While he would never guess the vibrator, he had to realize it was something embarrassing or inappropriate—any idiot could figure that out. "We'll just...we'll let you get to those, then. Come on Morty."
Somewhat reluctantly from what she could tell, Morty followed his father to the door.
"Hey, Jer," she said, as Jerry stepped into the hall.
"Yeah?" he said brightly.
"Where's Beth? I've heard so much about her and I thought she'd be here when I arrived."
"Oh, she has a book club Saturday morning."
"Oh, neat. I guess I'll see her at lunch then?"
"Yeah, probably," he conceded. Morty, who had fidgeted while she asked about Beth, joined his father in the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Phoebe sighed and went to retrieve the luggage with her underwear and vibrator, quickly stowing away the last few items in the top drawer of the bureau. She might as well do it while she was thinking about it. It just wouldn't do to forget to unpack her underwear and take a shower tonight with none to step into when she finished. She glanced around what would be her home for the next few years, taking in the gauzy curtains hanging in front of the blinds, the dark woods of the furniture, the soft sheets—new or unused, she couldn't tell—the bookcase, the ugly lime green desk lamp. This would be a home away from home, a second home, she hoped. She glanced at her watch to check the time. It was still way too early for lunch. With nothing else to do she decided to check out the downstairs area of the house, and then maybe read or knit in the living room. She checked her phone battery first, grabbed her current-project bag, and then left her room with her phone in her pocket and her bag in one hand, starting down the stairs.
At the bottom she turned right, took a few steps down a short hall, and found herself looking in on a dining room with a china cabinet against one wall. The door to the right led to the guest bathroom, a small, nondescript, half-bath with a fuzzy blue rug. The door across from her led into what could only be Jerry's "man-cave": he had golf clubs standing in the corner, a gaming computer setup, a recliner in front of a flat screen TV with a tablet on the side table. The door to the left, which was actually an open archway, led into the kitchen. It was rather large, and there were notes posted to the fridge. She saw a door set in the far wall and moved toward it, curious. She crossed the room, hand outstretched, her fingers hovering over the knob when she got close enough. She lowered them, her fingertips inching closer, but a second before she could touch it Morty yelled "Ah! D-don't!" from directly behind her, startling her.
She jumped, jerking her hand away as if the knob would burn her. She whirled on him to find him staring at the door with wide, horrified eyes. "Morty oh my god what the fuck," she swore, then smacked herself in the forehead when his eyes widened further. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't talk like that around you."
Morty seemed to calm down some and shrugged it off, totally unfazed. "I've heard the same or worse," he replied. He sped over to her and grabbed her hand, startling her again, his pale flesh a contrast to her own darker skin, and tugged gently. "Y-you really shouldn't go in there, Aunt Phoebe. Come watch television with me," he said in a clear attempt to get her away from the door.
She jabbed her thumb toward it over her shoulder, "What's behind the door?"
"I-it's, ah, it's the garage."
"And," she prompted, allowing him to tow her toward the archway and away from the mysterious door to the garage.
"And-and it's Rick's workroom, and he doesn't like people messing with his stuff or disturbing him, so just stay out of it, okay?"
"I won't go in unless he invites me," she promised.
Morty's shoulders slumped in visible relief. "Good," Morty said, pulling her to the couch. They sat down next to each other and he reached for the remote. "What do you like to watch, Aunt Phoebe?"
"Sci-fi," she said instantly, "fantasy, mystery, nature docs, Discovery Channel, horror, that sort of thing. And Morty, you can call me Phoebe if you want to. Summer can too."
"Oh, ok," Morty said. He turned the TV on and started flipping through channels until he found a few viable options: a documentary on Cheetahs, Saw 2, Star Trek. Phoebe grinned and picked Star Trek. Unbeknownst to her it was to Morty's mixed surprise and panic. She settled back to watch it, pulling her project from the small bag she used to make things portable, her hands settling into a quiet rhythm as she watched with rapt attention. The sound of the needles clicking softly filled the room. She hardly glanced down at all, moving mostly on muscle memory. Morty, for his part, didn't seem totally bored, though he did seem vaguely unimpressed, which made her wonder. What kid didn't like sci-fi? She decided to ignore it.
They passed the time in silence, Phoebe not even noticing that the door to the garage opened, nor when someone rummaged around in the kitchen to make a sandwich or when that same person peeked into the living room. Her eyes were intent on the show, her hands intent on her work. She was so engrossed in both that she didn't notice a lab-coat- clad willowy man with wild hair giving her a long, hard once-over with his silvery eyes, or the critical eye he then cast at the screen, his eyebrows rising in clear judgement. She didn't notice him leave, either.