Page 15 of Pitcher Us
Racing over, there are flames growing rapidly, fueled by a box of stuffing mix. Grabbing the top of the box, I toss it in the sink, flipping the faucet on before returning to the stove. I turn the burner off and take a rag to smother the small flames remaining.
When it seems like it’s under control, I turn off the water and turn to Callie. Her hands are stuck to her cheeks with a look of horror on her face. My first instinct is to yell, “What the hell happened!” but she speaks first.
“Oh my goodness…I almost burned down my apartment.” Her voice trembles and her hands shake as she brings them away from her face.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Letting my hands take the same spot on her cheeks, she looks up with watery eyes. “I’m going to open the windows to let some of this smoke out, okay?”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
I let go of her face and walk over to the windows. “Let me know when you’re ready for questions.”
“Questions?” she asks just barely above a whisper.
I push one window open then go to the next. “Yeah, I got three whenever you’re ready.”
“Can you ask them nicely? Because I’m not sure if I’ll cry or cuss you out if they’re mean.” Her voice is still shaky and low.
Honestly, the face of pure terror she had a moment ago was enough to kill any anger in me, so yeah I can ask them nicely. After opening the last window, I walk back over to her. “First question.”
“I didn’t say I was ready yet,” she mumbles.
“Callie, are you okay?”
Almost stunned, she blinks once, then twice. “Am I okay?”
“Yeah, there was a fire in your kitchen, and you could have seriously hurt yourself. So, my first question is ‘are you okay?’”
Folding her lips in a thin line she pulls at the sleeves of her Yale crew neck before crossing her arms. With a deep breath in and out, she nods. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Good. Okay, question number two. Why didn’t your fire alarm go off?”
“Well, last night the one in here was beeping and I couldn’t sleep.” Shrugging, she uncrosses her arms to move her hands while she talks. “I tried calling the super, but no one answered. So, I might have stacked my small step stool on a chair and took the batteries out myself.”
I follow her hand gesture over by the wall behind her where the chair with a pink step stool is still stacked on top.
Don’t give her a lecture. Do not give her a lecture.
“Okay.” I sigh. “I have some fresh batteries, I can fix that. Final question, what are you doing that it sounds like you’re remodeling in here?”
Huffing she throws her hands in the air. “I just wanted to cook some food for Thanksgiving, but I’ve already broken a plate while unloading the dishwasher and concussed myself from opening a cabinet and all of my Tupperware falling on my head. Then I accidentally knocked my sugar off the counter and thought I would try to start boiling some water while I cleaned it up, but I turned on the wrong burner and nearly burned this place down! And now my box of stuffing is ruined and I—why are you smiling?”
I’m smiling? Shit, I was just imagining how her morning played out then thought what if I had been here to help her and, in that daydream, she’s wearing my sweatshirt instead of this worn out Yale one.
“I’m sorry, I was just amazed that one small person could create so much damage.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Burying her face in her hands she cries, “I just wanted to make some food for mine and Adam’s sad little Thanksgiving, and I…I?—”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I know I shouldn’t, but I pull her hands away, wanting to wipe her tears myself. It’s an out of body experience, but right now I want to be the reason she stops crying, not starts.
“I guess crying was my answer.” She half laughs then looks at me with her glossy green eyes. I know at this moment I’ll do anything she’d ask me to.
“I don’t have to leave for my mom’s for a couple hours. Let me help.”
Her eyebrows furrow with a sputtered laugh. “You want to help?”
“I’m not too bad in the kitchen. Plus, someone’s got to keep the blaze under control.”
