Birthday Girl(28)

After Cam left and got her own place, I had no one to talk to. I was nobody in that trailer, and I never want to feel that alone again.

I pick up my notebook from the bed and resume the homework from my summer class that day. My textbook lays open in front of me, and I click my mechanical pencil to get more lead.

A knock sounds on the bedroom door, and I pop my head up, tensing.

“Come in?” I say, but it sounds like a question. Cole wouldn’t knock. It must be his father. Did I leave laundry in the dryer? The stove on? I go through my mental checklist.

The door swings open, and Pike stands there, holding the knob but keeping himself planted in the hallway.

“I’m ordering pizza for dinner,” he tells me. “Is Cole going to be home soon?”

I fiddle with the pencil in my hands. “One of his friends got promoted at the cable company,” I explain, “so they’re having a party out at his dad’s farm. I’m sure he’ll be pretty late.”

He stands there a moment, his large frame filling the entire doorway. My eyes keep darting to the tattoos on his arms, so I just look back down, pretending to be absorbed in my work.

“You’re not going?” he presses.

I hold out my hands, gesturing to the homework in front of me.

He nods, understanding. “Well…” He eyes me for a moment, looking uncertain and then continues, “you gotta eat, too, right? What kind of pizza do you like?”

“No, that’s okay.” I tell him, shaking my head. “I already ate.”

His eyes drop to the plate with the half-eaten peanut butter sandwich on the bed, and I know what he’s thinking. “Okay.”

He moves to close the door but then stops. “You know you don’t need to hide up here, right?”

I look up, straightening my spine. “I’m not hiding.” I laugh a little for measure, but I think he’s on to me.

“You’re doing chores,” he states. “You’re paying for your right to be in the house. So if you want to use the pool or have a friend over or like… leave the bedroom, it’s fine.”

I lick my dry lips. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay,” he finally says. “I guess I’m eating the pizza all by myself then. I’ll have leftovers for days, as usual.”

He sighs, sounding extra pathetic.

“Don’t order a large then,” I mumble, staring down at my notebook again.

But his quiet chuckle before he closes the door tells me he heard my smartass comment.

I’m sure he’s ordered plenty of pizzas in all the years he’s lived here alone. He’s just trying to be nice and make me feel welcome. Which is great of him, and I appreciate it, but it still doesn’t make me feel like any less of a freeloader. I can’t let him buy me pizza, too.

And I think about how alone I felt growing up in my father’s trailer and even how alone I’ve felt with Cole sometimes. Maybe Pike Lawson is tired of being alone and eating alone and watching TV alone, and I’m a guest in his home and perhaps he’d like to get to know the people living under his roof, right? It’s only reasonable.

And maybe I’m tired of being alone a lot, too, and maybe I’m still hungry and pizza sounds pretty good, actually.

I blow out a breath and shove my notebook off my lap before standing up. Rushing over to the bedroom door, I yank it open and peek out.

“Joe’s Pizza?” I inquire, seeing him right before he heads down the stairs.

He stops and turns his head to look at me. “Of course.”

It’s the best pizza in town, so it’s a no-brainer. I step out of the bedroom and shut the door. “Halfsies?”





Pike



No way was she paying for half the pizza, for Christ’s sake. I invited her, didn’t I? And the point of them staying here is to save money, isn’t it? I shove past her, ignoring the cash in her hand as I carry the pizza to the kitchen island.

She sighs, letting out a little growl. I chuckle. “Look, I got the pizza, okay? Just make sure I don’t have any of your limpy lettuce on my half.”

“Haha.” She walks to the fridge and digs out two sodas.

I’m a pretty simple pepperoni man, and I can get behind taco pizza, but not that warm, droopy shredded lettuce that comes with it. She can have a ball all by herself.

We divvy up the slices on two plates, but before we trail into the living room, she drops a pile of greens on my plate with a pair of tongs.

“Uh, thanks.”

“If you eat the veggies first,” she points out, “you’ll have less room for pizza. A little trick I picked up on Pinterest.”

Pinter-what?

“You’ll eat less pizza then,” she continues, “consume less calories, and you’ll feel better after your meal.”

Yeah, okay. If I cared about consuming less calories, I guess.

Fine. Fuck it. Whatever. I stalk over to the refrigerator and grab the Ranch dressing in the inside of the door.

“No,” she blurts out, stopping me. “There’s dressing on it already. Raspberry vinaigrette.”

I straighten and fix her with a look.

She just smiles and turns away.

I take out two forks, pass her one, and carry my plate and soda into the living room with her trailing behind.