Page 61 of Even If the Sky is Falling
I hop back over to the fridge despite his protests that he’s fine. As I reach for the bottle of water in the door compartment, I spot a half-full bottle of bourbon on top of the fridge, hidden behind the stack of disposable plates and utensils.
I grab it along with the water and stand in front of Caleb, holding one in each hand. “Pick your poison,” I tease.
“Wow. You’ve got the best-stocked basement I’ve ever seen.”
“This is what I always wanted, a basement that is essentially a second living room. My one upstairs is for show with the all-white aesthetic and completely impractical Pinterest-inspired decor. This one is where family and friends can come over and party.”
He laughs and reaches for the water, thanking me again. I move to put the bourbon back but he stops me.
“Actually. You feel like having a drink with me?”
There’s a shyness in his eyes. It sets off what feels a lot like butterflies swarming in my stomach. Why does it feel like he’s asking me on a date? And why does it excite me more than any other offer for a date I’ve had recently?
I eye the amber liquid swishing around in the stout bottle before looking at Caleb again.
A drink with my hot Viking contractor who I’m trapped in my basement with while the world is ending around us? May as well.
I grab two paper cups from the top of the fridge and pour us both doubles.
I sit back down on the couch and raise my cup. “To one hell of a workday.”
That crooked smile I’ve already decided is my favorite appears, and I fight the urge to swoon. “Indeed.”
“No way. I don’t believe you.” I nearly choke on a sip of bourbon, I’m laughing so hard.
“Believe me,” Caleb says. “I was sixteen and very, very foolish. And not very smart.”
“So sixteen-year-old you thought it would be a good idea to mail a naked Polaroid of yourself to your high school girlfriend while she was studying abroad?” I have to stop twice while speaking to catch my breath between giggles.
Mango peers up from where he’s been sleeping in his bed, clearly irritated at the loud noise. I reach down and give him a pat.
“I’m not proud of it,” Caleb says. “She was studying in Mexico City, so that meant we were going to be apart for Valentine’s Day, and for some reason, my teenage self thought it would be romantic. Her host family didn’t think it was very romantic when they saw the picture.”
Caleb explains that his girlfriend was so shocked to receive the surprise nude, she screamed and dropped the envelope on the ground in full view of her host family, who then called her parents and ratted him out.
“At least I had the sense not to include my face in the photo. So it was just my scrawny torso and naughty bits,” he says. “What a lucky girl she was to get that.”
I clutch my aching stomach as I cackle. Bourbon was a great idea. We’re three drinks deep, which has loosened us up to the point that now we’re exchanging embarrassing stories of when we were teenagers. It’s only been a few hours of chatting, but it feels like I’ve known Caleb for longer. I realize I’m comfortable around him in a way that I’ve never felt around any guy I’ve known for just a few hours.
Maybe that’s a product of the strange circumstances we’re in: sheltering from an impending meteor impact in a small space after he saw me nearly naked. That forces you to get to know a personrealquick.
But then I realize that the reason doesn’t really matter to me. I genuinely like this guy—I like talking to him, laughing with him, drinking with him, just being around him. Hunkering down in my basement with Caleb is a better time than most dates I’ve been on. That’s gotta count for something.
“Believe me,” Caleb says when he catches his breath. “I wish the most embarrassing thing I did as a teenager was dye my hair the wrong color.”
“You do not.” I run a hand through my now-dry hair, swiping it over my shoulder. “My normally jet-black hair did not take to the blond grocery store hair dye. At all. It was orange for two solid weeks until I could earn the money to go to a salon and have it dyed properly. So I walked around school my freshman year looking like a troll doll. My mom was livid and refused to help me pay to go to the salon. She said it was the perfect opportunity for me to learn from my mistake.”
“Yikes. She’s hard-core.”
“She is. Good thing my dad’s around to soften her.”
“They sound like quite a pair.”
“They are. He’s this tall, menacing-looking white dude, but he’s a huge softy on the inside. And there’s my mom, a tiny Filipino woman who looks so sweet, but will rip your throat out if you cross her.”
“Sounds like my grandma and grandpa. My grandpa was this burly homebuilder who was a total softy for my grandma. He wrote her poetry. And he’d bring her flowers every Sunday before they went to church together.”
“That’s so sweet.” I notice Caleb’s glass is nearly empty and lean closer to refill it. “So you took after your grandpa then when it came to your career?”
