Page 69 of Take It Till You Make It
I point to the palm tree. “There’s a palm tree in the yard.”
He laughs. “We used to have three, but had to take out the other two when rats started living in the trunks.”
I freeze, halfway to the front door. “Ew. That happens?”
“Yeah. I think it’s kind of common.”
I glance at the tree like it did me dirty. “That really ruins palm trees for me.”
“Really, it wasn’t the tree’s fault.”
I shudder and finally continue to the front door where he still waits patiently for me, hands in pockets like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I would have taken them all out so it wouldn’t happen again.”
I step up into the house and look around. It amazes me that you can just leave doors and windows open in California and not worry about mosquitoes or flies. All the outdoor dining where you can eat and never be bothered by a single flying insect. It’s crazy to me. In the Midwest, mosquitoes carry off our hot dogs if we don’t guard them with our lives.
“What a beautiful home.” I mean it. Everything inside is bright. Linen couches and gauze sheers, in off-white and tan, with blue accents. Windows everywhere show off the lush landscaping in the wraparound yard. The entry hall opens to the living room, which flows to the dining room. I’m assuming the kitchen is on the other side of the living room wall. A half circular staircase sweeps to the upstairs on my right, and it looks like there is another living space across from the kitchen. I can see straight through the house and out the double French doors on the other side where I think I see his family in the backyard. It's all so comfortable and inviting. Open concept living has its benefits.
“Come on in and meet everyone,” Crispin says. “Do you want something to drink? A soda, maybe?”
“Sure.” If nothing else, it’ll give me something to do with my hands during the awkward introductions. I hand him the container of cookies I brought.
“You didn’t have to do this. But thanks,” he says, leading me to the kitchen.
Clutching my soda with both hands, I follow Crispin outside. Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at me with huge grins on their faces. So creepy. I almost walk back inside.
I catch Crispin giving them all a significant look, but it doesn’t change their attitudes in the slightest. “Everyone, this is Arabelle. Arabelle, this is my dad, Stan.”
I reach forward and shake his hand, since he’s the only one close enough to do that with. I grimace when I realize my hand is cold and wet from gripping the soda can. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“My mom, Pauline.”
I wave, awkwardly. She sets down the container she’d been holding on the table and rushes over to give me a hug. “Oh!” I pat her back with my still-damp hand and hold the other away from her so the can doesn’t drip on her.
“We are so thrilled to have you here. Crispin never invites girls over.”
“Ah, Mom. Come on.”
When I smirk at Crispin, I’m surprised to see he looks exactly like a seventeen-year-old kid in that moment. An embarrassed one. No wonder he still gets away with playing them.
“And that’s my sister Claire.”
Definitely not goth. Mousy and as normal a girl as they come. I like her already.
She pushes her glasses up her nose as she smiles at me. “Nice to meet you, Ari.”
I grin at the familiarity with my nickname. It feels like Crispin has been talking about me. “You too.”
She tosses a baseball, with scary force and accuracy, to a young man across the yard.
“And that’s Claire’s boyfriend, Bruno.” I’m about to wave and call a greeting when Crispin says, “He doesn’t speak much English and can’t hear well out of his right ear. Claire mostly feels sorry for him.”
“You’re a jerk, Crispin,” Bruno says, no accent whatsoever. He lobs the ball back to Claire. “And my name is Angel.”
“Okay.” I laugh. “Good to meet you.” Crispin’s devilish side never ceases to surprise me.
I look at Pauline. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Oh my gosh, how sweet of you to offer. My kids never offer.”
