CHAPTER 26
“Ozzy agreed to sell you the house?” Aggs sits on the sofa next to me; her position mirrors mine. Her legs are folded beneath her, and she’s hovering over a plate of food. A hand holding a fork hangs midair, while several strings of spaghetti link from her plate, to her fork, to her mouth.
“I can barely believe it myself. As soon as Lakeman signs the deal, I’ll draw up the papers.”
I’m so close to my goal, I’m giddy. My head bobs to the pop music we have playing in the background as I slurp my pasta. Red sauce splatters my cheeks. I’m carb building for tomorrow’s marathon. It’s another personal goal I’ve been working toward.
“So when can I see my room?” She sets her plate aside and wipes a napkin across her face.
“Absolutely not,” I say with a full mouth.
“Why must you force me to break into your place? You know I love sleeping in your bed while you’re out.”
I know she’s kidding, or I hope she is. I glance at the ceiling, recalling every time I returned home to a messy bed when I was positive I had made it that morning. I thought I was overworked and losing what was left of my mind. But in reality, I was getting punked by Aggie. I concentrate my gaze on her as she continues.
“Just remember who saved your ass the other day with my spare key. You owe me, Cait.”
“But if we lived together, you wouldn’t need to break in. You’d have your own key, not a secret one. Wouldn’t it take all the fun away?” I try reverse psychology. Yes, I want to be free like Aggie, but not live with her. This is where I draw the line.
“Hmm.” She ponders with a squished face and then concludes, “I hate when you’re right.”
Knock, knock, knock.
My attention swings toward the sound. I swallow what’s in my mouth and pause at the following uncomfortable silence. Even the music has stopped. My gut rolls, but there’s no sense in pretending we aren’t here. They’ll have already heard Aggie’s loud mouth.
“I’ll get it.” Aggie saves me by circling the sofa and darting across the room. But when she swings the door open, no one’s there. She swoops down and lifts a cardboard box from the hallway’s floor. She turns it around in her hands and reads the return label.
“Looks like it’s from Maryland.” She glances at me.
I choke in surprise, having to cough a few times to clear my throat. The emails. The calls. And now this?
“Oh, don’t freak out. It’s probably just from your parents or something.”
I hurl an inquiring glance in her direction. I never revealed where they lived. I’ve never even talked about them before, much less acted like they existed.
“Okay, so I know how to use Google. I stalked you online a little bit.” She huffs and continues, “All right, all right, I stalked you a lot. Okay? And I may have chatted with your cousin Samantha on Facebook.”
“Aggie,” I whine. There’s a pillow in my grasp, and I’m unsure if I want to nail her in the head with it or shrink to the size of an ant and hide beneath it. I toss it aside and stand when she closes the door with her foot and crosses to the kitchen. She settles the box on the counter and continues with her squeaky fast-talk.
“She was really cool, well, mostly weird, especially that blue tattoo covering her face. Seriously, she kind of scares the bejesus out of me. How are you related? The good news is she told me what I needed to know. Doesn’t matter. I’ll continue to pretend I know nothing until you’re ready to talk about it. It’s fine. I’m fine with it. Okay? Okay.” She releases an exaggerated breath. I can tell she was nervous to confess but now that it’s out, I release my own pent-up breath and cross the room.
“Really?” I ask. When she nods I give her a hug, squeezing her tiny frame. She grabs my hands in hers when I withdraw.
“What happened to you sucks Transformer balls, and I get why you aren’t exactly eager to talk about it.”
“Thank you.” My eyes water. I find unexpected relief in the fact that she knows, and she’s not freaking out about it. She’s not even looking at me the way everyone else does when they find out. That awful pity face. In fact, she looks—intrigued? She releases my hands.
“Can you show me your scars? I bet they’re kick ass.” She playfully lifts my T-shirt, but I smack her hand away.
“We’ll see, stalker.” I laugh.
Aggie finds a knife in a drawer and returns. The blade gleams shiny and silver under the lights. Before she stabs at the taped seam on the box she says, “You want the honors?”
“Can I really tell you to back off when you have a knife in your hand?”
“Good call. It might get bloody.” She waves it around victoriously before plunging her sword into the binding tape. She saws at the seam, from right to left, and the top snaps open. She sets the knife aside, spreads the flaps, reaches inside, and removes a curious item. She pinches her brows tight.
“An old sock turned inside out?” She looks at me for verification. I lift my hands and shrug. I have no explanation. She accepts this, but then proceeds to smell it. She scrunches her face in disgust. “It reeks.”
She tosses it aside.
“Let me see this.”
I slide the box closer. Tipping it forward, I peer in. It’s filled with things I’ve never seen. Regardless, I understand what this is. I moan with irritation as I riffle through the random contents.
By giving me mementos, my parents hope I’ll find something of myself in them. That looking, touching, and holding them will trigger old memories. They’ve tried this before, several times. It’s an old tactic that never works. Acting disinterested, I close the box and shove it away. I return to the couch and pick up my dinner. It’s turning cold, and I need to eat another plate of carbs before the night it over.
“Really? A random box of crap appears and you have nothing to say?”
“You were right; it’s from my parents. They want me to remember.” I take a heaping bite of spaghetti and chew.
She appears disappointed. This strangely unnerves her. Or this proves she’s normal, because no one can learn about my medical condition without offering a suggestion to make it better. It might be human nature, but it’s annoying.
Aggie’s slapping cabinets, open and closed looking for something. Her mind seems to have flip-flopped to a new topic, which is fine by me. But a few moments later, I halt mid-chew when she asks, “Where are my Milano cookies?”