Chapter Five
Mrs. Bainbridge started to clean the table after J and Oliver left. I stood and gathered my things to help her. She smiled at me warmly, probably the warmest she'd ever smiled at me up to that time. "Thank you, Walker. I appreciate it, but you don't have to do that if you don't want. I have it."
"No, ma'am. I don't mind. Don't have anywhere to be at the moment." I smiled and picked up a few dishes to follow her into the kitchen with.
"You don't have a hot date?" She kidded in front of me as she led me into probably the most beautiful kitchen I'd ever had ever seen. Seriously, I don't get excited about kitchens that much, but this one… wow. It had obviously been updated since the building was a hotel, but it still had a lot of the character. Tall ceilings with ornate moldings. It had a pretty big wooden island in the middle, big for the space in the kitchen anyway. It had a chef style stove with an old-timey, antique range hood. Someone had clearly put a lot of money in the renovations of the house. Even I was impressed and that's saying a lot. I was happy with my small kitchen upstairs.
"No, ma'am. Unless you count my sofa and the laptop. Which I don't. I'm going to look up my classes and have a map planned out for tomorrow. Don't wanna get lost on my first day." I put the dishes I was carrying into the sink and wiped my hands on a dishtowel. It was pretty too, just like everything else on the first floor.
"Good plan. So… English, huh?" Mrs. Bainbridge's eyes twinkled when she said that. I knew she was kidding me about Oliver's off-handed remark earlier.
"English. It's not a dumb major." Okay, I was starting to get defensive because… I don't know, it was like I had to prove to these people why I wanted to be a writer. Just like in Oklahoma when I had to convince my dad of the same thing. His prize-winning football scholarship son had turned into a has-been writing major. If it wasn't for his being a preacher, he would have probably berated me for it. As it was, I could see the disappointment on his face. It hurt worse than if he'd said something about it.
"I never said it was. I admire writers," she said, slicing into a mouth-watering pecan pie. I was already stuffed after the bowl of vegetable soup, but man, I have to tell you, I do have a weakness for pecan pies. Pecan pies and brunettes.
More on the brunettes later.
Without asking, she plated one of the pieces on a white china saucer and handed it to me. "Jordan left without her pie. Oh well," she shrugged. "That's her loss." She winked as I took it.
Once the first bit of pie hit my tongue, I was already in love. I'd have married Mrs. Bainbridge right then and there if she could keep making me those pies forever and ever. Maybe she'd make 'em for the guy upstairs. "You really admire writers? Not many people do."
She took a small bite of her pie. "I do. It has to be difficult to come up with places, people, times right in your head and make it so real people root for them. Or hate them. Think about it. It's just letters on a page, but it moves people. It's a God-given gift."
I told her my father didn't think it was a God-given gift, and the man was a preacher so he should know.
"My father was a know-it-all too," she said wistfully. "They think they know everything, but trust me. When they are gone, you miss their advice."
I thought about that as I finished my pie. Honestly, I just wanted back to my apartment to change clothes and settle in for the night. Plans to map out tomorrow were on my mind. That, and if I really wanted to be honest — which I didn't — J was on my mind too.
What was she doing with Oliver?
No. No, I didn't want to know that. What she did with him was her business. I just didn't want to know about it.
"Well, thank you for supper and dessert. I appreciate it." I set my plate in the sink.
She told me not to expect food every night. She wasn't my cook. Or my maid. But she'd surprise us from time to time with food. It sounded good to me. I thanked her again and started to go back to my apartment. Mrs. Bainbridge stopped me before I got through the hallway door. "You know, economy like it is, it might be smart for you both to carpool to college. Wonder if your classes are at about the same time?"
"No idea," I said before leaving the dining room. But the idea was planted, which is what Mrs. Bainbridge wanted I think. Did we have the same basic schedule? Not the same classes — me being an English major and her being a Criminology major — but maybe both of our classes started at eight and ended at the same basic time. It wouldn't be beyond reason for us to carpool. It would definitely save on gas.
Maybe I'd talk to her about it. Maybe I wouldn't. But all I knew at the second was I wanted my apartment, and my comfortable clothes… and my warm house shoes.
By the time I huffed it up the two flights of stairs, I was already sort of regretting agreeing to the apartment. The food was good. The company was good. The climb… well, let's say my knee hated me at the moment. Still does actually. It might never recover. That's the least of my worries now though. But you only wanted the beginning. So I'll stick with that… for now.
After I changed into some comfortable clothes — a black long-sleeved shirt and red and plaid pajama bottoms, I think. It wasn't like I paid much attention to it. I sat on my couch with my laptop on my lap and my class schedule next to me. With the TV on as background noise, I started mapping out my first day.
Tuesdays and Thursdays
8:00—Chemistry 101 Weston Hall (of course it was)
10:00—Algebra 101 Squires Hall
Then a lunch break.
2:00—English 102 Mercer Hall
3:00—Journalism 101 Bainbridge Building (Yeah, the coincidence didn't get by me either.)
I was due to leave by four. It wasn't a horrible schedule. Tuesday and Thursdays were my longest days. Four classes each. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I only had three classes which was good since I worked from two to nine at the dry cleaners.
After writing and mapping until way after the sun went down and my eyes were crossing, I heard footsteps on the stairs. I'd purposefully left the door open so I could hear when J came home. I told myself it was just to make sure she got home okay, and so I'd know when to go down and ask her about tomorrow and carpooling.
When I heard footsteps on the stairs, my stomach started getting butterflies, I'm not going to lie. It was weird since I just met her and all, but sheesh. Fate or karma… or maybe male hormones.
Anyway, I threw some shoes on — my knee yelling at me to sit back down the entire time — and hobbled down the steps to the second story. I didn't even have to knock. She had the door open and was throwing her bag down on the coffee table. "Hey." She smiled, but I didn't know if it reached her eyes or not.
I smiled back. I'm sure it reached my eyes. Suddenly very nervous. And apparently, I stammered when I was nervous. Because stammer I did. "Uh… did you and… Oliver… have a nice time?"
She rolled her eyes. Not a good sign. And threw her keys down on the coffee table next to her bag. "It started off okay. Movie was good. And he took me out for dessert."
I turned my eyes to a large clock on the side wall. It wasn't much after nine. "Didn't stay very long."
"I got mad at him and I shouldn't have. He was just being nice and considerate and I was being… me." She slumped down on the couch and threw her feet up on the table next to her things. She leaned her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes.
"Do you take things badly often?" I asked, not sure what to do. Should I sit? Should I stand? My knee kinda wanted to be in the same position as J, but I wasn't sure it was appropriate.
"On occasion." She never opened her eyes.
"What did Oliver do that was so terrible?"
She shook her head, eyes still closed. "He called my brother and got me out of work tomorrow night."
For the life of me, I couldn't understand why that was… bad. I mean, I didn't get it. "How evil of him."
"Don't start." She scolded.
"Did you need the hours or something?"
"See… I took it wrong." Sh
e sighed.
"No… I didn't say that." Before I could control my feet, I had walked over to her and plopped down beside her. She looked as surprised as I felt. But I was there now, so I just stayed. And besides, it was really comfortable. Soft and nice and… okay a lot more comfortable than the leather couch in my apartment. "I just don't understand, that's all. Did you need the money?"
"I mean, it doesn't hurt. Classes start tomorrow and who knows how much books will be? I get paid pretty well at the police station. Well, as well as any other part-time dispatcher. But I don't like him doing things for me behind my back."
I bit my lip to start with because, you have to remember, it was none of my business. I didn't know J then like I do… I didn't know her well and I didn't know exactly what to say. But I already had a bad opinion of Oliver and she wasn't helping it much. "Does he do that a lot?"
"What?" She picked at her nails nervously.
"Does he go behind your back a lot?"
She shrugged. "Sometimes. He really is sweet."
I must have made some sort of unintentional noise.
"No, I'm serious." She smiled and whacked me on the shoulder. It wasn't the first time we'd touched. We shook hands the first time we met. But it definitely affected me. And even though it was a light smack on the arm, I had some sort of a reaction to it. A good reaction. I… can't explain it exactly. Let's say, I didn't hate it.
J cleared her throat. Clearly she felt it too. I hoped so anyway. I think she did. "He is. He's nice. And I like spending time with him. And I like him."
"And he has money." I winked. It would have been a good reason for anyone to date him.
"Last on the list." Her face fell. "Actually, it's the least thing I like about him. It's so annoying to go somewhere and get the best table and the best food because Oliver's a Weston."
"Sounds horrible." I scoffed.
Given our short history, I half-expected her to whack me on the shoulder again. She surprised me. "It's true. I hate that he has all of those connections and people look at me like that. Like I'm just dating him for his money and his name… and that his daddy is some big shot. I'm not a gold digger. In fact, I didn't even want to date him to start with…"
J went on about how Oliver had started wooing her when she was still in high school. He wouldn't let up, apparently. He sat next to her at a football game and they started talking. He wanted her number, and she said no. I guess it went on for another month before he finally did something big and awesome to get her attention. I can't say I remember what the big awesome thing was. It wasn't important enough for me to waste brain cells on.
Anyway, after her big spiel, she said, "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this."
Truthfully, I didn't either. I was listening. I swear I was, but wow, when she got to talking, she talked a lot. "Maybe you need to convince yourself why you started dating him. You don't have to convince me. He's not my boyfriend."
"Do you have a boyfriend?" she asked with a sly grin.
"No."
"Girlfriend?"
"Nope."
My love life, or lack thereof, was the last thing I wanted to talk about at the time. The ex wasn't important enough to chat about — I take that back. She was important enough. I didn't cry when she broke up with me, but I sure did think about it. I listened to old, sad songs and stuff. But I didn't feel the need to tell J about it. Unfortunately, she could read me even then. "She dumped you when you moved here, right?"
"Something like that," I said.
There was a pause. I wanted her to talk about something else, and she, obviously, wasn't going to until I told her about the love in Oklahoma.
Finally, after it became so uncomfortable I couldn't take it anymore. I cracked. "Okay, fine. Her name was Lauren. We dated since sophomore year. We were prom king and queen. She went to the University of Oklahoma to study early childhood education. We promised to stay together. Got a text message about a month ago saying she wanted to see other people."
"Brutal," she said, which made me happy. At least she didn't take up with the girl. In my experience, most girls took up with the girls when relationships broke up.
"It wasn't pleasant," I admitted. "But it's in the past. I'm moving on. Not ready to date, but moving on." And I didn't tell her, but it was nice to talk to someone about Lauren. I didn't hate her. I couldn't hate her. Long distance relationships were hard and I honestly hadn't had any high hopes for it lasting. Didn't mean it didn't hurt, though.
"That's good. That you are moving on. It's hard," she said and turned around to check the large clock on the wall behind us. The same one I checked before. "Well, it's getting late. Gotta get up early tomorrow for the first day of classes. I'm nervous."
The fact that she was nervous made me feel better. "Me too. I have my classes all mapped out. At least you know the layout of the college."
"Sorta. Still nervous though."
"Agreed. Actually, that's why I'm here." I let her in on my plan for us to carpool to school.
She thought about it for a minute.
"And it would save money on gas," I added to the end, just in case she needed the extra incentive.
"Okay."
I wasn't exactly expecting that. Hoped for it, but never expected it. "Really?"
She pulled her hair around her shoulder. "Well, yeah. We can try it tomorrow and see if it works. I have my first class at 8:00. My last class is at four."
"My last class is at three. I can hang out in the library until it's time to go."
"Sounds good… if you want."
I nodded. "It's a plan."
"Okay then." She held her hand out and I shook it. "Roomies and carpoolers. What more can a girl ask for?"
What more could she ask for? Hmmmm… probably more than I gave. But at that moment, we had a plan. Too bad it wouldn't last.