"I'm concerned," were Derek's first words that following Sunday. "You're sashaying and I want to know why."
Casey set the basket down on a chair and exaggerated concealing the small plastic billy club holstered to her waist.
"What's there to be afraid of, Derek?"
He watched her set out two plates and two floral-print napkins. He closed the front door and slowly leaned against it, silently damning the rest of the family's schedules for keeping them away.
"I'm impressed that you're awake at ten in the morning." Casey commented as she took out the jam and syrup in little glass jars.
"Holy crap." He whispered to himself.
"Sit down! What were you expecting to have for breakfast, Zebra Cakes and ramen?"
That brought Derek back to reality a little. "Is that whipped cream? You-you could've been one of those flesh bags with dried blood around their mouths, but no…you were busy with your Little Bo Cop weirdness. What is this for?"
Out came a very small pepper shaker full of powdered sugar and Derek began to salivate.
"Why'd you choose a policewoman costume? Where did the billy club come from? It's just bigger than one of those bottles of Hugz."
As he spoke, his eyes darted down her toned legs.
"This uniform is empowering----" she replied, but was cut off by a grunt outside the house.
Derek shushed her and hurried to the window, moving the curtain. "Aw f**k, I was afraid this would happen."
Casey's back straightened. "Is it a zombie?" she asked quietly, biting her lip. Her jaw twitched. "What's going on?"
"It's digging through the flower bed, probably looking for a finger from this house's former owners."
She smacked his arm as hard as she could, and over his complaints, retorted, "You idiot. Stop trying to scare me! That's disrespectful, you sick bastard!"
"Hit me again, please, but…use the whipped cream this time."
"Oh, shut up!"
"I have to go, um…hunt zombies. I had it all planned out. You should go. Have this breakfast with Liz and Marti or somebody later."
"You're kidding. I did all this and you're literally running scared?"
"Zebra Cakes just sound better."
"Keep the pancakes I made and these condiments to accompany them. You can clean everything up, too. I'll go, you big baby, but I'm taking the shovel."
"You have your billy club," Derek insisted. "And there really is a zombie outside, but it's chained to the neighbor's house."
"Once again, just shut up."
"This plague has made you a new woman. I like it."
He winked and she scoffed.
"You've kicked me out. It's too late to hit on me."
"How are you holding up?" Paul inquired. He arranged paperweights and picture frames on the desk before him.
Casey tilted her head to rest against the door frame and took a sip of her Snapple. "My plan has been executed flawlessly."
After a pause, Paul swallowed and asked, "What plan?"
"You know, the plan where I make pancakes for Derek and---"
"You made him---wait, I'm sorry to cut you off, Casey, but…don't get impatient with me when this is a moment worthy of shock and revelry."
"---costume."
"Was there a weapon involved?"
"It came with a fake billy club."
"He could not believe the lengths I'd gone to, and he didn't seem to believe it was really happening!" Casey chuckled and shook her head, reminiscing with pride.
"Do you have a specific goal here? Kissing, or…or…love?"
Casey's gaze left those of her former counselor. "Is this your new office?"
"Nope."
Paul's smile remained and he started to spray a rag with wood cleaner.
Nodding slowly, Casey replied, "Good luck! I have to get to class."
It was quite difficult to avoid Derek when he again lived in the same house she did, and no longer had school or a job. She felt she had to do it, though, as part of her super-secret plan to entice him. She didn't respond to any phone calls or text messages from him, nor did she allow herself any stares at him during family meals. Glances that contained (she hoped) complete neutrality were the only looks she wanted to send. She hadn't before realized that the relationship between them had changed drastically since high school, until this communication freeze. At least Derek had stopped sending texts saying, "If you're pissed at me, just say so."
She lasted only a few days. In her mind, there was only one completely appropriate way to make up for what she had done: more pancakes. Leaving the picnic basket on the makeshift desk in his bedroom seemed the way to go (couldn't have the family know). Heading to the family car, Casey's mind whirred through ideas: how angry could Derek be at her if he hadn't texted for an entire day? Had he decided that her first pancake breakfast was a "family moment"? Was everything just utterly ruined, and she'd never catch him doing a double-take at her appearance again? She looked around for stumbling, heavy-breathing undead, and upon seeing none, started sniffling. Her eyes watered immediately. When she finished wiping her eyes and cheeks, hoping that her makeup wasn't streaked, she moved to the car door. In the window's reflection, she saw a very familiar face and spun around.
"I'm sorry!" she gasped, a teary gasp bursting from her throat. "I'm sorry."
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of jacket. His feet were bare beneath plaid pajama pants.
"I-I'm sorry, I won't do it again." She added, sniffling.
"What are you doing out here without a shovel or a gun?" he inquired, his eyes darting around. "You know, Great Panic, World War Z and what-not."
A small ache started in Casey's chest. She sat down on the curb and removed her Betsey Johnson shoes, then her striped socks and locked her wet eyes with Derek's dry ones she couldn't read. His hands left his pockets. She insisted he put the socks on, her hand that held the car keys making a noisy flourish in the air.
"I'm going to go now. Make sure you wear these."
Then she drove off, regretting it the whole way.