Page 9 of Bingeworthy
Chapter Four
Iwake up with a smile on my face, and crack a window to let in the cold air.
Delicious scents waft across the pool deck, telling me breakfast goodies are the way.
I peek through the lace curtains and look toward Rocco’s yard. I’m not ready for what I see. On this chilly November morning, he is out there, his broad, golden chest bare to the world. He’s dressed in nothing but loose drawstring pajama pants. What’s he doing out in the cold with no shirt on? Yoga? Tai chi? Should I bring him a coat? Would it be more efficient to press my naked body up against him?
Oh god, I’m pathetic.
The knock on the door startles me.
My sister, Jill, is in the doorway before I can answer, wearing a fluffy bathrobe and double fisting mimosas.
“Is one of those for me?” I ask, bounding down the loft ladder and reaching for a glass.
She pivots away from me, laughing. “Mimosas are for the helpers. I came to see if you were alive.”
I rummage through my weekend bag for my sweatpants. “Of course, I’m still helping prep Thanksgiving dinner. Why? What time is it?”
“It’s 9 a.m.”
“Oh my god!”
Prep time begins at 7 a.m. Mom has a strict oven schedule to adhere to.
“Well, why were you up so late last night, hmm?”
I don’t like the suggestive tone she’s using, so I tell her the truth. “Elizabeth —your daughter — fell asleep on me, and I didn’t have the heart to tote her off to bed before the movie ended.”
Mostly, I wanted to sit next to Rocco, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Why are you so jumpy this morning?” Jill asks, handing me my mimosa as we walk in our slippers across the winterized pool deck and make our way toward the house.
“Nothing! I think Mom and Dad need to build a privacy fence around the backyard,” I ramble.
My sister snorts. “Why? They already have the safety fence…oh. I see.”
“You see what?”
Jill arches an eyebrow and flits into the kitchen.
“She’s alive!” Dad jokes.
Jill says, “She’s been staring at the half-naked old man next door. That’s what’s up.”
“Shut up! And he’s not old!”
Dad shoots a look at Mom, but Mom’s busy at the stove and seems to be ignoring him. Jill busies herself with feeding mashed bananas to the youngest of her brood.
“It’s weird that you guys can see each other’s pools, that’s all,” I say, rolling my eyes and sipping my mimosa.
“Here,” Mom says, shoving a wooden spoon and a bowl at me. “Less talking, more stirring.”
“Good morning to you, too, Lucille,” I say, setting down my drink and getting to work.
Weird that she didn’t acknowledge Jill teasing me about Rocco. Ordinarily, I would say that’s a good thing, but Mom has been acting strange around our neighbor since last night. The hugging was one thing, but then she gave Rocco my popcorn bowl. Mine, the one I painted myself in middle school.
When everyone eventually filters out of the kitchen and it’s Mom and me left behind with the cooling cranberry relish and a turkey fresh out of the brine bath, I corner her.
