Five Years

| three

I was just about to dig into the enchilada casserole I'd spent an hour making. As my serving spoon hovered over the cheesy, creamy goodness, my mind wandered to Dax. I knew for a fact he didn't have any groceries or pantry items yet. The least I could do would be to offer him a meal on his first night here.

Besides, I had this huge casserole that would take me a week to eat by myself. Might as well share. I debated knocking at the top of the steps, but he probably wouldn't hear me. So I made my way halfway down the stairs, the landing just visible.

"Dax?"

"Hey," he said. "Come on down."

I continued down the stairs, arriving to find Dax lying on the sectional, resting his head in his hand, propped up on his elbow. His laptop was sitting nearby, and I could hear what sounded like a sitcom with the laugh track in the background.
When he caught sight of me, he sat up and gave me his full attention.

"Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to check in and see if you've settled in okay." I glanced around the room, noticing it didn't look much different. The only new things were a few framed photos on the TV stand, and some weights on the floor.

"I'm doing good," Dax smiled.

"Well, I made a casserole. I mean, don't feel obligated to have any, but you're welcome to."

Dax looked surprised. "You're offering me dinner?"

"Yes, but you can just eat down here if you want. I mean, you don't have to come upstairs and eat with me or anything. Unless you want to."

Why was I being so damn awkward? I came down here with the intention of inviting him upstairs to eat with me. Just to be nice, obviously. It was the right thing to do.

"I do want to, if you don't mind."

I nodded and offered Dax a smile. "Well, okay. It's ready whenever you are."

Dax followed me upstairs and into the kitchen which was definitely worse for waer. The cabinets were in need of a coat of paint, or replacing altogether. The old linoleum floor was peeling in some areas.

"This is nice," Dax looked around.

"It's not. But it's okay," I shrugged.

"I don't get it. Why is my kitchen downstairs nicere than yours?"

"Mom and Dad wanted to renovate the basement first. It would be easier to rent that way."

"I remember your parents. They were always so nice to me. How are they?"

I reached into the cabinet and handed Dax a plate. "You can dish up. They're great. Mom is constantly baking and Dad is obsessed with sports. How are your parents?"

Dax was already sitting at my small kitchen table by the time I finished filling my plate. I sat down across from him, thinking how strange this was to have the same boy I babysat so many years ago at my dinner table. There was so much I didn't know about him anymore.

"They're fine," he said. "So, you look pretty much the same as you did the last time I saw you."

I laughed. "You're saying I look like I'm still sixteen?"

"Well, technically the last time I saw you, you were eighteen. I remember your graduation."

My brows shot up. "You do?"

Dax nodded. "Sure. Your class was rowdy. I remember hearing about one of the guys getting so drunk he fell off the stage when he went to get his diploma."

"Oh, yeah. I think the whole town was talking about that for weeks."

"Well, that idiot wasn't the only reason I remember your grad." He smirked at me, and I forced myself to look down at my plate so I wouldn't notice that one crooked tooth of his. "You got all the academic awards in your class. That's hard to forget."