The Wall of Winnipeg and Me - Mariana Zapata Page 0,130
world to Mr. I-didn’t-have-a-childhood to really focus in on that.
He blinked as he thought about my explanation. “He lost his tail when he hit puberty?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why does it matter? It’s genetic. Guys grow hair in places when they hit puberty; he can lose his tail if he wants to lose his tail. You just have to watch it to understand.”
He didn’t look particularly convinced.
“After that, there’s “Dragonball Z” and GT, and those are even better in my opinion.”
“What’s that?”
“The series when they get older. They have kids and then their kids grow up to become better than them.”
His eyebrow twitched and I was fairly certain his mouth did too. “Do you have that on DVD too?”
I smiled. “Maybe.”
He gave me a side-glance, reaching up to scratch at his bearded cheek with his last three fingers. “Maybe I’ll have to watch it.”
“Whenever you want, big guy. My video collection is your video collection.”
I swear he nodded as if he’d actually take me up on my offer.
With a victorious sigh, I turned my attention back to the street to see that it was completely empty. Not a single soul roamed our block or any other block within visual distance. Something tickled at the back of my head, really making me think about the evening, about Aiden coming out to sit with me.
I bit my lips and asked slowly, “That’s probably it for kids today, huh?”
He lifted a shoulder, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth. “Seems like it.”
I got up with the nearly full container of candy and made sure to keep my face down as I collapsed the legs of the chair together. Something clogged my throat. “Kids don’t really go trick-or-treating in this neighborhood, do they?”
Aiden hummed the most obnoxious non-answer in the world.
And I had my answer.
I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to figure it out.
He had known kids didn’t come out to trick-or-treat in his neighborhood—his freaking gated neighborhood. So he’d come out to keep me company. How about that. How about that.
“Aiden?”
“Huh?”
“Why didn’t you tell me there weren’t little kids here?”
He didn’t bother looking at me as he headed into the house with his chair tucked under an arm. “You looked excited. I didn’t want to ruin it for you,” he admitted without a shy note in his voice.
Bah-freaking-humbug.
If there was something I could have said after that that would have been appropriate, I had no idea what it could have been. I thought about the tiny kindness he’d done me as I took the chair from him and set both of them back into the garage while he went to the bathroom.
My stomach growled and I went about rinsing some chickpeas and drying them while my mind wandered to Aiden. He appeared in the kitchen and sat at the breakfast table, his broad back curling over it as he worked on his puzzle in peace. I made dinner—quadrupling what I usually would have made for just me alone—and told myself that I was only doing it because he’d been nice to me.
I wasn’t even going to bother asking if he was hungry. He was always hungry.
When the food was ready thirty minutes later, I served up two bowls and held the one with three times as much as the other out to him. Aiden eyes caught mine as he took it.
“Thank you.”
I just nodded at him. “You’re welcome. I’m going to go watch TV while I eat.” I made it all the way to where the living room met up with the hallway that went straight down the middle of the house.
“You want to watch that Dragonballs show?”
I stopped in my tracks when he spoke.
“I’m curious now what a little kid with a monkey tail who can supposedly ‘kick ass’ looks like.”
Glancing back to make sure he wasn’t pulling my tail, I spotted Aiden sitting on the edge of his seat, ready to get up if I gave him the notice. I was dumbstruck for a second before reacting. I had to force myself not to smile like a lunatic. “It’s ‘Dragonball,’ big guy, and you don’t have to tell me twice.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I was sitting at my computer when the first massive lightning bolt hit. The house shook. The windows rattled. Wind howled, slapping the house’s siding. The height of the storm I’d seen the meteorologist on TV forecasting had finally come.
And I panicked, saving my work as quickly as I could so I could turn off my computer.