He laughed. “It’s total y weird, right? I’ve been leaving stuff on the porch at other people’s houses. You set the money there and then we’l do a whole Bridge of Spies trade-off.”
“Okay.” I put the twenties on the porch, then stepped back with a slow theatricality that made him laugh again. It was such a happy sound, I wanted to hear it again and again.
He came forward and set the boxes down, leaving the bag on top. Quick as a wink, he snatched the money, counting it out. Now in the glow of the porch light, I noticed the waves of his dark hair were more than a little shaggy, definitely due for a trim.
“Need change?”
“Nope, al yours.” His eyes lit up and I realized I must have given him an outrageous tip.
“Nice. Thanks! Wel …welcome to the neighborhood, Mil ie. Have a good night.”
“You too—stay safe.”
He nodded, dipping back into the yard’s darkness. With a final wave, he was gone.
—
I sliced the razor down the center of the packaging tape with unnecessary panache. After a morning of unpacking, I’d become an expert at popping the
boxes open with just three flicks of the blade.
Give me a set of box cutters and I’d total y be a Final Girl in whatever slasher film you wanted to cast me in.
This was the last of the kitchen boxes. I swept my eyes over the space, proud of the work I’d accomplished. Plates, bowls, and cups were stacked behind the glass display cabinets with organized clarity and the lower drawers were ful of pots and pans. Cheery red towels hung off the oven and dishwasher racks, adding a pop of color against al the oak. I’d even put up our col ection of magnets on the fridge, adding the Slice of Bliss one Luka had included in the salad bag last night.
Remembering the pizza made my stomach growl with a sudden ferocity.
After I sorted through this final box of silverware, I’d take a break and dive into the leftovers.
But before I could start, the doorbel rang, chiming loudly in the quiet of the house.
“Final y!” I exclaimed, making my way to the front.
My phone held far more photos than it did music or podcasts and with Dad’s old radio stil packed away somewhere, the morning had been brutal y quiet. I’d forlornly imagined al the Zoom meet-ups my friends were holding without me. Last week Zoe had mentioned wanting to DIY her own highlights and we’d al gleeful y promised to watch her livestream the disaster.
I slipped a mask over my face, wincing as one of the elastic straps twisted into my flyaways, yanking at the strands of hair, then opened the door.
A man in gray coveral s stood just off the porch, a good six feet away. He had on a blue mask and white latex gloves.
“Hi, hi, come in!” I greeted him, stepping back to al ow him access through the door.
He hung back, his thick eyebrows furrowing into a solid line of confusion. “Miss?”
“You’re with the cable company, right? To instal the Wi-Fi?”
He nodded. “I already got you al set up outside—checked al the lines and you should be good to go.”
I tilted my head. “But don’t we need a…box…or a router, or whatever?”
“They’re al in there. HDMI cables and the remotes too.” He pointed to a bag on the porch I’d just noticed.
“Okay…” I trailed off, stil not fol owing. “Want me to bring it in for you?”
“I can’t come inside the house, miss,” he said. “Company policy. The rep should have told you?”
They might have told Dad al that when he’d set up the appointment, but he’d certainly not passed it along to me.
I blinked hard. My eyes felt itchy from al the dust I’d kicked up while cleaning.
“So…what am I supposed to do?”
“Everything you need is in there,” he said, pointing to the bag again.
“Instructions too.”
“I’m supposed to set it up?” I asked, realization dawning on me. I sneezed once.
“Or your parents,” he suggested. “Your dad. If he’s not too sick.”
Ignoring the implied sexism, I stepped onto the porch to rummage through the bag. As I came forward, he faltered back, keeping his distance.
“I’m not sick. It’s just al ergies.” I pul ed out a mess of cables. “I don’t…
How am I supposed to—”
“The instructions are in there,” he repeated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “If you’ve got questions, there’s a number to cal .”
I flashed unhappily back to the rotary phone.
“You’re sure you can’t just come in and set it up?” I tried, smiling my widest grin before realizing he couldn’t see it. “We just moved here, and nothing works right now. I swear, none of us are sick.”
Of course, I sneezed again. Final Girl indeed.
“It’s just al the dust, from the boxes and everything.”
Another sneeze.
He shook his head adamantly. “It’s against company policy.”
“Okay, but—”
“Just cal the number if you have any questions,” the technician said, inching closer to his van. “Oh, and when you do, make sure to tel them you were satisfied with our visit today. Those surveys real y help with our numbers. Anything less than a ten is a failure for us!”
He was halfway down the drive before I could even think to laugh at the utter absurdity.
—
“He wouldn’t come inside?” Mom repeated an hour later over the phone.
She’d cal ed the landline and so I’d perched on the kitchen cabinet to talk, twirling the spiral cord around my fingers in an unconscious gesture, over and over.
“And I went through everything in the bag but I stil don’t know how to set it up. He said I could cal if I had questions but the phone cord doesn’t reach the cable outlet.”
I felt like I was in one of those inane comedy shows where someone was about to pop out from behind a couch, pointing a camera while cackling at my surprise.
“We’l get it figured out when we get home,” she promised. There was a pause. “We’l be a bit late tonight.”
“Why?” My mind instantly jumped to the worst-case scenario.
They’d already started working with the virus.
There’d been an accident.
Dad was infected.
He was already intubated.
He was already—
“There’s just a lot of stuff going on here—first days are always the worst, so tomorrow should be better, right?” Mom said, her voice brightening. She always tried grabbing onto any silver lining in reach.
“Is Dad okay?” I hated how smal my voice sounded. He, my mother, any and al of us were only one wrong breath away from the end. It was scarier than anything Guil ermo del Toro could ever conjure up.
“Of course. He’s fine. It’s…a lot of to take in, but he’s fine.”
“And you?” I pressed.
“Both of us are fine, I swear, Mil ie.”
“You’d tel me if…” I didn’t want to finish the sentence but Mom knew what I meant. I could picture a smile softening her face.
“You know I would. That said,” she drew out, changing tones. “I do have a little bit more bad news. I got the groceries ordered and scheduled for delivery, but they won’t come til Thursday.”
It was Tuesday now.
“And I’m guessing you ate the leftovers for lunch?”
“Yeah…I could drive into town,” I offered. “Maybe pick up something.”
“We took separate cars today,” she said, nixing the idea. I glanced out the window, only now noticing the empty driveway. “In case our shifts ended at different times.”
“I don’t have money anyway,” I said, remembering my wal et. It was tucked away in my dresser drawer. I hadn’t touched it in weeks. What good was cash and a driver’s license when you couldn’t leave the house?
“Uh…” Mom went quiet for a moment, thinking through options. “Looks
like delivery again. I’l cal that place we ordered from last night and see if they’l hold my card til you order. Whatever you want tonight. Go crazy, kid.” Guilt colored her voice.
“Should I get something for you guys? I don’t mind waiting til you’re home to eat.”
My stomach grumbled in protest.
“That’s sweet, but I don’t know when that’l be…The cafeteria here stays open til seven—or we’l get drive-through if it’s late. The world may be ending, but there’s always McDonald’s, right?” She laughed but it wasn’t as bright as before.
“Right.” I bit my lip, wanting to say more, but felt emptied of words.
“I should get going. My break is almost over. I’l cal the pizza place right now, though, okay?”
I nodded. “Thanks. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, Mil s.”
“I hope the rest of your shift goes—” The connection cut off before I could finish, and I set the heavy receiver back into its cradle with a click.
The sob escaped me as a swel of tears wet my eyes.
This sucked.
Al of it.
The cable guy, too scared to come inside.
The groceries that wouldn’t come til Thursday.
The silent, empty house. Mom and Dad should have been here. We should have al been piled around the dining room table, eager to hear about Mom’s first day, Dad eager to talk about whatever he’d written for his book.
I’d be eager about…something.
Maybe I’d have already met some people in the neighborhood.
Maybe I’d already have made a friend.
One whose face I could see.
But no.
I spotted my face mask on the counter and bal ed it in my hands, wanting to wring it out of existence.
This stupid, stupid virus. It was ruining everything.
The sound of ripped stitches stopped me cold. I’d torn off one of the elastic ear bands and its sad frayed edge sobered me up.
There were people al over the country, al over the world, who needed masks and I’d just destroyed one in a fit of petulant self-pity.
What kind of monster would do such a thing?
“A monster trapped in a house that’s not her home and can’t do anything for herself,” I muttered, slumping to the kitchen floor, spent. I leaned against a cabinet front, bumping my head on its trim with a deep sigh.
Mom said the cafeteria was open til seven. That meant she might conceivably stil be at the hospital at seven, sitting down for dinner, so she’d finish her shift…when?
I glanced at the clock on the stove. It was five-thirty now. Lunch seemed like days ago. I was crabby, tiptoeing on the edge of hangry.
I needed food.
Things always looked better when there was pizza.
Shoving off the floor, I swiped the Slice of Bliss magnet from the fridge, then turned to the rotary phone with trepidation.
I’d answered cal s from my parents on it throughout the day, but I hadn’t actual y made a cal myself. Poking my finger into the first numbered hole, I swiped the circle around, like I’d watched Mom do last night.
“Why are there so many zeros?” I muttered, waiting for the dial to swing back to its starting position. The last number final y clicked over.
“Slice of Bliss,” an older woman answered after two rings. In the background, I could hear the cheerful commotion of their kitchen and an acute flare of envy stabbed me. I real y did need to find Dad’s radio.
“Hi…um…this is Mil ie Woodruff. My mom was supposed to cal you guys to hold a credit card?”
“Just got off the phone with her, hon. What can I get you?”
“Um…a smal pepperoni pizza…with extra green peppers. Wait, medium,” I clarified, remembering I was also ordering tomorrow’s meals.
“And a thing of garlic knots.”
I could hear the scratch of her pencil as she wrote it al down. “Okay.
Should be there in about…forty minutes.”
“Thanks. Do you know…” I started, then trailed off as my face flushed red.
“Do I know?”
I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Do you know who wil be delivering it? Um. You know, for safety…stuff.”
There was a bark of laughter. “Luka wil be there in forty.”
The cal clicked off and a moment later, the unfamiliar and whol y annoying drone of the dial tone fil ed my ear. I went back to unpacking, a smile on my lips.
—
Forty-two minutes later, a beat-up silver station wagon pul ed up to the house and the same delivery guy hopped out.
Luka.
He had on another floral mask—red tulips this time—and it set off the blue of his eyes. Luka waved as he caught sight of me sitting on the porch steps, his arms impossibly long. Basketbal player arms. My heart skipped a proverbial beat.
Gosh, he was gorgeous.
Probably.
But it was sil y to ponder the mysteries beneath the mask. There was no way a guy like Luka didn’t already have a girlfriend.
Probably a cheerleader, and they’d kiss at center court after his games and everyone would pretend to be grossed out but you couldn’t truly hate on them because they were just too cute together.
Yup. Total y sil y.
“Were you timing me?” He checked his watch before grabbing the boxes from the passenger seat and shutting the door.
“Depends. Is there free pizza for me if you’re late?”
His eyes crinkled with an unseen smile and he shook his head. “Dad would have lost so much money when Kenny was delivering. Older brother,”
he explained.
I jumped to my feet, then felt awkward standing so many steps above him as he lingered in the yard, six feet away. Even with al my added false inches, we were eye to eye. “It’s your family’s restaurant?”
He nodded. “My grandpa started it. Bliss was my grandmother’s name.
My parents took it over when Pops wanted to retire.”
“And you and your brother work there now.”
“Brothers,” he corrected. “There are five of us. But I’m the only one stil slinging pizza. Baby of the family.”
His voice was light and wry and I found myself wishing I could see the smile that must be hiding beneath his mask, certain it would be as dazzling as he was.
“What about you? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Only child.”
“I can’t imagine how peaceful your house must be!”
“Believe me, I think you’ve got it better. It was too peaceful here today.”
He tilted his head, studying me. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah…my parents both started work and it’s just…weird being in a new house al day by yourself, you know?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been home by myself,” he said with a laugh. “But at least you had total control over the remote, right?”
“There’s no cable!”
His eyes widened. “What? No!”
I launched into my tale of woe. Luka was a good listener, nodding with interest, and I was pleased when he chuckled in al the right spots. My feet itched to step in closer, shrinking the wide gap between us, but my mind replayed the ads that had flooded the news, matches jumping out of place before they caught fire, contaminated surfaces glowing red and spreading, peaked curves sharp as a coffin.
I stayed put.
“Aw, that’s terrible! I can’t believe he just left the stuff on the steps.” He glanced down at the boxes in his hands, recognition furrowing his eyebrows.
“Wel …maybe I can. There’re so many new rules about everything, it’s hard keeping track of what you’re supposed to do. Like hand washing!”
My eyebrows raised in horror. “You didn’t wash your hands before al this?”
He doubled over, snorting. “That’s not what I meant! But like—I don’t think I ever thought about how long I was supposed to wash them for. I just rinsed the soap off and went on
my merry way.”
“Not me. I always counted to twenty seconds. Twenty-five, actual y.”
“Liar. What song do you sing?”
“Song?” I repeated.
“You’re supposed to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to yourself twice.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You can’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’ when it’s not your birthday. Plus I was always craving cake.”
“Cake does sound real y good right now,” I admitted.
“You should have ordered some.”
I gasped theatrical y. “Wait, you sel cake?”
“Oh yeah, it’s what we’re known for. Mom uses my grandmother’s old recipes.”
“What kind?”
He shrugged. “All kinds. What’s your favorite?”
“Depends on what I’m in the mood for. Today I think my favorite is…” I paused thoughtful y. “German chocolate.”
His eyes lit up. “Ooh, with the coconut and the pecans? Yeah, I could definitely go for that.” He tsked. “Should have ordered some.”
“I didn’t know! You real y ought to include something about cake in the phone book.”
“Who uses the phone book?” He reached into his back pocket. “There you go, Mil ie Woodruff,” he said, smacking a menu onto the pizza box and leaving everything on the porch. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”
I picked up the trifold and scanned the dessert section, impressed. “These sound amazing.”
“They are….Hey, are you at Central?” He pointed to the paperback copy of The Catcher in the Rye I’d left open on the steps. “Mrs. Holwerda’s English?”
I brightened. “I wil be. In the fal . With al of the remote-learning stuff, my teachers are letting me finish the year in Memphis, even up here. Wel …if I ever get the internet back.”
It had been rather nice to not have eleven thousand emails and notifications chiming at me as assignments piled in.
“We’re reading Catcher right now too. It just drags. And there’s like no point to it, right?”
“You sound like such a phony,” I teased.
“Why are they making us read it? Did you know that every serial kil er ever has a copy of that book on them when they’re caught?”
“Every serial kil er?” I raised a dubious eyebrow.
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