Things You Save in a Fire - Katherine Center Page 0,21
was on my list of things I would definitely never ask her about.
Across the table, Diana made another attempt. “I know it’s a big change, coming here. I’m glad to introduce you around town.”
I waved her off. “No thanks. I’m good.”
She frowned. “Just a little jump-start on making friends.”
I shook my head. “I’m not here to make friends.”
I sounded like a contestant on a reality show. She held on to that frown. “What are you here for?”
“I’m here to”—I paused a second. “I’m here to do my duty.”
“Your duty?”
“Yeah,” I said, not appreciating her mocking tone. “You’re old, you’re half blind, you’re broke, and it’s my duty to come here and help you.” Okay, I’d also come to avoid getting fired. But the truth—the real truth—is that I would have come anyway. I would not have held to that no. Eventually, guilt would have prodded me into doing the right thing, even if the threat of being terminated had sped things up a bit. “I’m here to help you, as requested,” I said. “For one year.”
She looked disappointed.
What more did she want? I’d shown up, hadn’t I? Did she really have to guilt-trip me for not being happy enough about it? “What?” I demanded.
“It just doesn’t sound very fun.”
“I’m not here to have fun.”
Her shoulders went up in a little shrug. “Is fun out of the question?”
“Yes,” I said, with a decisive nod. “Fun is out of the question. I have too much to do. I have to take care of you. I have to get in better shape. I have to prove myself at a firehouse that already hates me. I have to rebuild my life.”
“Without fun.”
She was like a terrier with this “fun” thing.
I stood up, pushing my chair back with a scrape. “Time for bed,” I said.
She looked at the clock on the wall, then raised her eyebrows. “It’s seven thirty.”
I wasn’t letting her win. “I’m an early riser.”
She nodded, then, after a second, said, “I just wanted to invite you to come to crochet club.”
Crochet club? I gave it a beat.
“It’s right next door,” she said, gesturing. “At my friend Josie’s house.”
“I don’t crochet.”
“You don’t have to crochet. You could knit. Or wind yarn balls.”
“You want me to wind yarn balls?”
“It’s very soothing. Or sew something. Maybe a little potholder?”
“I don’t sew potholders either.”
“The point is, it’s more about hanging out and visiting.”
“I’m just not really a joiner. Of clubs.” That was true. Human connection had its upsides, but it sure was a lot of work. The risk-reward ratio was low, at best.
“You joined the fire service,” she pointed out, as if she might win this conversation.
“That’s not a club. That’s a job.”
“Pretty clubby for a job, though.”
She wasn’t wrong. “I avoid the clubby parts.”
“Just come for ten minutes. You’ll love it.”
Did she really think she could tempt me with the phrase sew a potholder?
“And it’s not just crochet,” she went on. “We usually put on a rom-com, too.”
She was not helping her case. I shook my head. “I have one day left to finish memorizing all the streets and fire hydrant locations in Lillian.”
“Good grief,” she said.
“It’s called knowing the territory.”
“You have to memorize them all?”
“I’ve been working on it ever since I got the job. I’ve got flash cards. Maps.”
She nodded, sighing with resignation.
I took my plate to the sink, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher. She watched me the whole time. Did she really think I’d come here to crochet? Or watch rom-coms? This was exactly what I’d feared. She wanted to bond. But I didn’t bond. With anyone.
I walked toward the staircase.
She followed me.
“It’s not going very well, is it?” she said, as I started up.
“What?” I asked.
“This. Now. Tonight.”
“It’s an odd situation. We’re suddenly living together after ten years of…” What to call it? “Not living together.”
“Feels kind of like a first date or something. An awkward one.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said then, hoping to shut the conversation down. “I don’t go on dates.”
She peered at me. “What does that mean?”
Oh God. Now I’d started a conversation. “My generation doesn’t really date,” I said.
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “I guess it just seems kind of artificial.”
“What do you do instead?”
I kept thinking each answer I gave would be the last one, and then I’d be released to go on up. But she kept stopping me—snagging me there on the staircase. “We hang out. Usually in groups.”