Page 12 of Revelry
Shaking my head, I cranked up the music, ensuring the volume rested on an even number. I made it home without more thoughts of Gertrude and parked my truck, heading inside the house.
It was the same house from my childhood. I’d renovated it over the years, making it more modern and less cluttered. I didn’t like clutter. I liked clear surfaces and no knick-knacks. I toed off my shoes and placed them on the shoe rack before storing my bag in the hallway closet.
I went into the living room to look out the window, an absurd need to check that a pink Beetle hadn’t parked up next door in the time it had taken me to come inside. I saw the driveway wasempty and shook my head, annoyed at myself. I slumped down on the gray L-shaped couch that ran along one wall. The couch faced the wall mounted big-screen TV that I only watched sports on. A white baby grand piano sat in the corner.
After a while lost in my thoughts, I realized how bad I smelled, a hazard of the day job, and went straight upstairs and took a shower. When I was done, I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt. I finger-combed my black hair and swiped it off my forehead before repositioning my glasses and heading down to the kitchen to make dinner.
My kitchen was my happy place. Modern, white wooden cabinets and granite worktop that only held a coffee machine, air fryer and toaster. It was clean, minimalist and bare of mess.
Whilst I cooked, I heard a rumble from outside and immediately ran to the living room window to look next door.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I grumbled when I saw there was no pink Beetle outside. I didn’t care really, it just messed with the order of things if Gertrude’s car was there, that’s all.
I sighed, my OCD clearly on top form today, and headed back to the kitchen, chastising myself the entire way.
After an uneventful dinner, I retired to my old room which had been redecorated years ago. It no longer had posters on the wall but art prints, and a much larger king-size bed with black sheets. The spare room that had been my mother’s was now my home gym and looked out over the front of the house, whereas my room looked out over the backyard.
As I moved about the room I was distracted by the fir tree in the neighbor’s yard and remembered when I’d climbed up it after Gertrude. When she was last hurt. When she nursed my knee. Right before she had asked if I wanted to kiss her. A feeling suspiciously like regret crawled through me that I hadn’t justgone for it and kissed her. At least if I had, I wouldn’t still be wondering how she would taste.
I blinked my thoughts away, pulling back the covers and laying my aching body down for a night of fitful sleep of dreams involving pink lips, black curls and lilac boots.
Chapter Three
Gertie
“Hey Gertie, what ya doing?” Leo asked.
“What does it look like? Knitting a sweater?” Sarcasm dripped from my words as I mixed the bowl of milk, sugar, heavy cream and vanilla extract, stirring so vigorously I was in danger of sloshing it over the sides.
“Funny,” he grunted, reaching around me and dipping a finger into the bowl. I swatted at him with the beater. “Ouch, Gertie’s mean,” he whined at Kat as she entered the kitchen behind him.
She made a beeline for me. “Whatchya doing, Gerts?”
“I’m making ice cream.”
“Ooh, yummy!” she squealed. “Why are you doing it so aggressively?”
“Wait a second, how come Kat got a straight answer and I got a sassy one?” Leo complained.
“Because she’s my best friend and you’re an annoying rodeo clown,” I replied, flicking the beater at him and a little cream splattered on his t-shirt. He frowned then swiped his finger through the blobs and put it into his mouth. “Mmm,” he moaned. “Okay, you can stay sassy if you make me this forever.”
I grinned at him and went back to stirring, glad of the silly banter to distract me from my thoughts. He left us to it and I could feel Kat lingering beside me.
“What is it, Kitty Kat?” I sighed when she didn’t stop hovering.
She nudged me gently. “Why are you stress making ice cream?”
“How do you know I’m stressed?”
“Because I know you.”
I made a noise of disagreement which didn’t convince either of us. “I’m preparing to go see my mom.”
“Ahh,” Kat replied, leaning against the countertop, folding her arms over her chest. I stopped my stirring and turned to face her. The Cartwright’s kitchen was a thing of beauty. It wasn’t new or fancy with all the latest cooking gadgets, if anything it was showing its age. It’s open plan, cottage style felt cozy along with the wooden cabinets and hanging pots and herbs, it was the epitome of small-town family vibes. Maybe that’s why I felt so at home in it, not to mention I’d grown up having dinners at the battered oak dining table that was the focal point of the room.
“Yeah, I figured I’d just get it over with.”
“At least your bruises have faded a bit, it won’t be quite so shocking.”
