“And it’s so not how we wanted this to happen,” Mom said, rushing in. “This outbreak has just…derailed a lot of stuff. We’re so, so fortunate to have this set of problems and not others,” she added quickly. “But I do want to fully acknowledge this is not ideal for you. But…we’re going to be home all weekend to help. We’re certainly not expecting you to do this all yourself.”
“But if we came home tomorrow night to a totally straightened house and a gourmet meal…” Dad waggled his eyebrows at me.
Mom swatted at him with one of the pillows. “Steve!”
I picked at the label on the nearest box. LIVING ROOM—BOOKS. “It’ll be fine. I’ll just…choose a room and start opening stuff, right?”
“I’d go with the kitchen,” Dad recommended.
“Yeah, about that. We don’t have any food,” I pointed out.
“We’ll order groceries,” Mom promised. “I’ll do it on my lunch break at the lab. And the cable company is supposed to be out here tomorrow, so we’ll be up and running soon.”
“And that’s…safe?” I asked, an uncomfortable knot lodging beneath my sternum. I didn’t want to admit how much the idea of germs now scared me. Particularly to my parents, who were around them daily. “I mean, I thought the whole reason Aunt Carla couldn’t come help us was because we’re supposed to be social distancing, or whatever.”
“That’s true, but Carla is staying away more for her protection than ours.”
Mom’s sister had lupus, which could make it harder to fight COVID if she was infected. Corona. I still wasn’t sure what term I was supposed to be using. No one else seemed to either.
“And the cable company assured me they’re taking every precaution. Masks, gloves, the works.”
“They have masks?”
There’d been reports of shortages.
Mom shrugged. “Wear yours, just to be safe.”
We fell into silence, each thinking of the day to come. The gears of the grandfather clock wound up to count out the quarter hour. The sump pump thunked again.
The doorbell rang.
“That was fast.” Dad started to hoist himself up but crashed back. “Nope. Not happening.”
“Mill, can you get it? There’re a couple of twenties in my wallet,” Mom said, rubbing at her hip.
It wasn’t until I stomped to the front of the house that I realized how dark it had gotten. Guiltily, I flicked the outdoor lights on, illuminating an empty porch. Opening the door, I peered out into the dusky twilight.
Spring peepers sang their little frog songs, and I was certain it was the prelude for a machete-waving maniac to come striding around the corner.
“Hey there,” a voice called out from the yard.
I tensed, then immediately shook it off. Neither Jason nor Michael Myers were known for their chatty banter.
I really was going to have to stop it with the scary movies living out here.
“Sorry we didn’t have the light on,” I said, squinting. A form came out of the darkness. “Oh.”
The guy’s mask covered his face from the bridge of his nose down to his chin. It was homemade, with a floral print, probably created from the remnants of a fabric scrap bin. He was tall and lanky and looked about my age—as far as I could tell.
“Didn’t want to startle you,” he said, gesturing to the mask with his shoulder. His hands were full of boxes and the bag of salad was looped around his forearm.
“I like the flowers.”
He laughed. “My mom made it for me. I begged her to get some cooler fabric. They’ve got to make something with the Pistons logo, right?”
“You like basketball?” I asked, instantly warming.
“Yeah. It sucks they put the season on hold. I mean…there was no way we were going to make the playoffs this year, but still…”
“We were,” I defended quickly. “The Grizzlies, I mean. I’m from Memphis. Was.” A flush of red flared across my face. “We just moved here.”
“Yeah, I saw the sign in the yard. Do you play?”
I nodded.
I can’t be entirely sure, but I think he smiled. His eyes narrowed into little crescent moons, framed by impossibly thick sooty lashes. “Cool. Me too. Maybe we can do a pickup game sometime. When all this is over. I’m Luka,” he added.
“Millie.”
His eyes curved at the corners—he was smiling again, maybe. “I guess I should probably give you your food now, before it gets cold.”
“Right. Here,” I said, thrusting the money out at him before quickly dropping my hand, horrified at how easy it was to forget I wasn’t supposed to go near him. “How do we do this?”
He laughed. “It’s totally weird, right? I’ve been leaving stuff on the porch at other people’s houses. You set the money there and then we’ll 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, all yours.” His eyes lit up and I realized I must have given him an outrageous tip.
“Nice. Thanks! Well…welcome to the neighborhood, Millie. 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 totally 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
