Page 52 of I Knew You Were Trouble

“In a quarter mile, take the next right on Haste Boulevard.”

I check my mirrors, turning my blinker on to get into the right lane. The small town Indiana streets are bustling this Christmas Eve, most likely people getting to the various parties they’ve been invited to. The only parties I remember growing up were family ones. My parents aren’t into the fancy stuff, preferring holidays to be spent more intimately. And I didn’t mind one bit. Parties freak me out. They’re level green on my fear chart.

A slow dip rumbles my empty stomach. What if this invitation was Pete’s way of getting me to tackle that fear? There could be a party at his apartment right now and I’ll be stepping smack into a trap! What a butt!

I make the right turn and my GPS tells me my destination is up on the left. Relief washes over me when I pull in to a mostly empty parking lot. A laugh floats out of my lips. A party for me… I’m real silly sometimes.

Gertrude sits under a covered spot, the number 11 nailed in the tiny beam that stretches across a row of reserved parking. It looks like a 2 was nailed there before the eleven, the paint underneath the missing number much cleaner.

I park in an uncovered spot not far away. Most of the spots are surprisingly vacant. Maybe college kids went home for the holiday or are out at a party. Even under the reserved parking, Gertrude only has three neighbors in a row of twelve.

My trunk pops, and I climb out, fixing my coat. I grabbed just a couple of things—baking supplies, a sleeping bag, my trusty pillow, and a present for each of them. I did do some Christmas Eve boxes, too, but I was able to put them in my duffle. I was tempted to buy gifts upon gifts, but I know it’s important to Pete that he’s the one to provide Christmas for his sister, and I don’t want to overstep.

I still feel awkward intruding on such a family holiday. Did he extend the invite just to be polite and I went ahead and took it seriously? He genuinely looked excited at the idea of me joining in, but heck, maybe I read that all wrong.

My heart thunders as I gather all my stuff. I stick my pillow under one armpit and my sleeping bag under the other. I pull my overnight bag out and toss the strap over my shoulder, chucking the weight back until it hits my butt. I have a reusable grocery bag with all the baking ingredients that I set on my other shoulder, and I sigh, eyeing the three presents I have no idea how to get inside.

Yeah… maybe I have more than I thought.

I adjust the weight on my shoulders and dive in. I stack the wrapped gifts one on top of the other and use my chin to hold them in place. My teeth find the inside of my bottom lip as I reach for the trunk button.

I imagine I look very much like a one-man band hobbling my way across the parking lot and up the two flights of stairs to get to apartment 211. My bags crash against the railing with each step upward, my sleeping bag sliding down my side and sticking between my hip and my forearm. I’m completely out of breath when I stand in front of his door.

I have no free hand. I stare at the peeling green paint covering the wood, a festive wreath set on a nail just above the peephole. It looks homemade—tiny pieces of fabric covering the wire frame. On closer inspection, the red and green fabric is peppered with black Star Wars print. A silent chuckle slips through my wheezing breath.

I take a step back, eyeing the doorbell. I fling my leg up, trying to catch the button with my boot. It takes me four tries before I finally hear the bell ring out.

“Come on in!” I hear Maddie from the other side. My sleeping bag slips farther down my side, now on my upper thigh. I hunch over, trying to keep it from hitting the ground.

“Uh…” I choke out. “Little help?” Unless she wants me to kick down the door, I’m going to need a free hand.

The presents start to tip, and I press them tighter under my chin. I can’t drop these. Demi’s is super fragile, and I don’t think Maddie wants a busted GoPro camera. Pete’s can fly down the stairs, get run over, and be fine.

A few seconds-that-take-hours later, the click of the door echoes down the open apartment alcove, and Maddie swings the door open with such gusto the wreath nearly rocks off the nail.

“Hey… Oh!” she says, her face flush, the smell of honey ham permeating the air around her frazzled hair. She quickly rushes for the gifts. If my arm could breathe, it just let out the biggest sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” I say through a laugh.

“Next time text.” She waves me inside, and I squeeze through the door, letting my sleeping bag fall to the worn carpet. “I’m a pro at emptying trunks in one trip.”

If I had her number, I probably would have. Or not. I don’t know her that well.

She sets the presents under the purple tree. Oh good, he did decorate it more. A popcorn string starts from the top and ends just before it hits the bottom. A couple of ornaments hang in random places, with no rhyme or reason. It looks like they tried to do tinsel, but gave up with meticulous placement and ended up chucking the rest in massive, random chunks.

And someone went candy cane crazy. Almost every branch hosts one, and there are so many that the bottom of the tree looks like it has a candy cane fringe skirt on. A single strand of colored lights is completely burned out, so only the top half of the tree is lit.

I know it should bug me—the haphazard decorations and the imperfections, but a smile curls on my lips as I take it in. There is more love put into this tree than I’ve seen in any I grew up with.

“Pete should be back any minute.” Maddie pulls my attention away from the crooked star on the top branch. “Let me take you to his room.”

I jerk back. “Where?”

She laughs. “Don’t worry. He cleaned it.” Without further explanation, she scoops up my sleeping bag and eases my overnight duffel off my shoulder. She leads me past a small kitchen, an open closet in the hallway that is home to their washer and dryer, a bathroom, and then turns left into an open bedroom door.

Pete’s bed is pushed against the far wall and takes up about three-fourths of the floor space, and it’s only a full. I don’t see a dresser, but I eye the closet door. There couldn’t be enough room for a dresser in there, could there? Is that something people do when they don’t have much room to work with?

His nightstand has a single lamp and charging cord, and the top drawer has a tiny slip of paper or something poking from the top, almost like he swiped everything from the top into the drawer and shoved it shut.

---