What Might've Been (Cricky)

Homesick

I woke up to the sound of a very unfamiliar ringing. I remembered in that moment that I had a new phone now. I checked it and saw that not only was Chris calling me, but I also had seven missed calls from him. "Hello?" I croaked into the line, rubbing my eyes. 

"Are you alive?!" He shouted into the line, his tone panicked. "Where where you? Where are you?"

"I'm in my room. I've been in my room. What time is it?" I asked, looking at my alarm clock as I did. It was three in the afternoon currently. "I'm sorry. I missed practice today, didn't I?"

"I've been calling you for hours. I'm outside of your apartment now, actually. I tried banging on the door a half an hour ago."

"I'm sorry to have freaked you out," I yawned. "I'll get dressed and let you in, okay?"

"Okay." I hung up on him after he replied. I slid on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt before answering the door. I'd been up very late last night writing music specifically so that when I went over to see the rest of the band, there would be something to talk about. So much for that. I didn't bother running a comb through my hair, but brushed my teeth so I wouldn't seem too rude. When I opened the front door, Chris was standing there with his hands in his pockets. For the first time in a long time, my brain thought, 'Damn, that's a hot guy right there.' I brushed he thought aside. "Come in," I stepped aside for him to enter.

"I thought something terrible had happened to you," He said, still looking me over as though I'd come in through the window after a brutal attack. 

"Sleep depravity," I replied sarcastically. "I've never overslept that badly before."

"If that's all that happened, I guess I'll be on my way."

"You sure you can't at least stay for a pot of tea?" As soon as I'd said it, I'd forgotten what I'd told Chris about me and tea. 

He eyed the green numbers on the oven. "I suppose I could stay for one cup. What flavors do you have?" 

I tried not to break when I answered his question with the flavor that I used to get every time I went to that place in Seattle. "Darjeeling."

"That's it?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry to disappoint you if you were hoping for something else." I turned to put water in a kettle. I filled it up to the brim and put it on the stove, lighting it after I'd done so. I went through what little food I had in my pantry until I found two tea bags, which I draped over mugs while I waited for the water to boil. My eyes grew wide as I suddenly heard a sound I was all-too familiar with. 

"What's wrong?" Chris asked, reading me. 

"Is it raining outside today?" I almost whispered the question. 

He looked out the window and squinted to see that it was, in fact, raining. "It is indeed," He replied. The water in the kettle began to boil, releasing a high-pitched squeaking noise. It snapped me back to reality, and I turned the burner off. I picked the kettle up by its handle and poured some of the water into one mug, and some of the water into the other. "How long before that's done?" He asked, referring to the tea bags. 

"Four minutes or so," I replied. "Then you can have your piping hot tea."

Chris rubbed his hands together with anticipation. "Great. I've always wanted to burn my tongue on a fresh cup of darjeeling." I rolled my eyes, staring out the window. I couldn't believe that for the first time since I'd arrived here, it was actually raining. It'd been almost two weeks since I'd seen a single drop of water. 

Maybe I obsess over rain too much. 

"You know, it's been a little while, and I still don't know much of anything about you," Chris thought allowed.

"What do you wanna know?"  I didn't take my eyes off of the window. I wanted to walk over there and open the blinds all of the way. 

"What's your favorite season?"

"Autumn. What's yours?"

"Probably summer. It might change now that I don't have to go to school ever again though," He laughed a bit to himself. He had kind of a nice laugh. It was a little musical, even. "And your favorite food?"

"Pizza," I sighed. 

"Mine too,"  He agreed. "What's your least favorite color?"

"Orange," I said, thinking immediately of that stupid sweatshirt I had to see every day for seven months. "And yours?"

"Probably yellow," He answered. He looked over at the mugs. "Have you spoken to anyone lately? Or are you just hanging out around here?"

"We went out for dinner once," I reminded him. "I think that's interaction enough."

He pursed his lips, but nodded anyways. "I guess so."

In truth, I really was lonely. Sometimes I could swear I heard the voices of my old friends in the walls. Sometimes I spoke to myself to fill the silence. I wasn't a loner. That wasn't my thing. I liked to be around people constantly. I took the tea bags out of the mugs and handed one to Chris. He leaned his elbows against the island and took a small sip, wincing as the tea burned his tongue. "What little I could taste was really very good," He told me. 

I gave him a small smile. "I can't make it like they used to, but I think it's still pretty killer."  

"The heat certainly is." He blinked a few times before taking another tiny sip. 

"You could always wait for it to cool off," I suggested, halfway to laughter.

"I could do that." He tipped his head back and forth as though to be debating the issue. "It's just too good to wait." 

"You flatter me." The ghost of a smile, a real smile, traced my lips. 

"You should do that more often."

"What?" I immediately hid behind my mug, taking a small sip of the scorching-hot liquid. 

"Smile. It suits you."