Page 46 of The Biker and the Loner
But I have no key to the house and I’m positive he’s gone with the club by now, so I put the delivery guys on hold, call Onyx to get Cookie’s number, then call Cookie.
“Yo,” she answers.
“Hi, Cookie, it’s Ley. Are you home?”
“Why?”
“Scratch’s furniture is being delivered today. He’s on the road and I don’t have a key. Are you able to collect them for him until he gets back later?”
“I’ve got a key.”
Huh? “Really?”
“Who do you think’s been looking after the place for Toni?” she says. “But listen, I’m heading out now, so I’ll leave the key under one of my flowerpots–the orchids. You can keep it since I won’t be needing it anymore.”
“Great. Thanks a lot, Cookie.”
“No prob.”
I hang up and switch over to give the delivery guys the go-ahead. Sitting up, I trace Papà’s name on his headstone one last time, before I get to my feet and walk away without looking back, leaving his blanket behind.
~
A scraping fewminutes before the delivery guys arrive, I get to the house and retrieve the keys from Cookie’s flowerpot. Standing off to the side, I instruct them where to set up, while two of the four men flex their muscles to impress me and compete for my phone number.
Spoiler alert, neither of them win.
Once they’re gone, I sweep and mop the floors to get rid of all the dirt and grime left behind from their steel-toe boots, then clean down the new furniture with alcohol.
I’m finishing up when my phone chirps with a text.
Isaac:Sup? You up for lunch today?
Me:Sure. I’m off today so we don’t have to do Cookie’s Treat.
Isaac:Great! Meet me at Zeppelin Station at one then?
Me:*thumbs up emoji*
I head upstairs to collect my duffel and handbag I left behind this morning. But as I’m gathering all my toiletries from the bathroom vanity, I pause and look at myself in the mirror. What am I doing? This house is one of the few places where I feel like I canbreathe. This is where Iwantto be. So why am I running?
One by one, I put my toothbrush, face wash, moisturizer, and bath gels back. And instead of packing up, I packout.
~
After lunch withIsaac, we go back to his lounge to kill a few hours. He works on a song and rejects all my horrible rhyme suggestions. We then video-call Kendra and idle some more.
Anything to procrastinate the inevitable—facing Kathy.
I blocked her number last night because I knew once a certain hour rolled around and I wasn’t home, she’d blow up my phone nonstop.
With the promise that I’d go see him perform again next weekend, I air-kiss Isaac and head out into rush hour traffic. The longer I’m stuck on the road, the more time I have to brace for the impending onslaught of shrieks and questions I’m about to walk into, and to decide how to best deal with the situation. Lie or truth? Calmness or anger? Ignore or argue back?
Guess I’ll never know until it’s time.
The sun is dull and bleary when I finally drive through the gates of our residence. As the trees clear, I can see Kathy standing out on the upper balcony in an open silk duster and a mauve panty set, puffing on a blunt, her stare fixed on my car as it drives up the winding pathway.
I expect her to be downstairs and screaming in my face by the time I’m inside the house, but I’m shockingly surprised when she isn’t. Maybe today is my lucky day? The day she wakes up and decides towake up?
