Mess To Be Made

11

"Where's Dad this time," I asked my mother as I grabbed a piece of toast out of the toaster, taking a single bite out of it before realizing it was stale and discarding it in the trash.

"D.C.," Mom replied with a smile that started and stopped at her lips. "This project is a big deal."

My father was a highly coveted, well-respected civil engineer. He was contracted by the state government and was sent all over California for weeks, sometimes months, at a time to work on different city projects. After a large irrigation project he recently completed in LA, he was now starting to get contracts out of state.

"Every project is a big deal," I pointed out to her, repurposing a phrase he often told us when we asked him why he couldn't stay home just a little longer.

"Because, this project is a really big deal," he would say to us at the dinner table. If I had a nickel for every time I've heard that.

My mom's perfectly made-up face—despite the fact she was a stay-at-home mom and had nowhere pressing to be—dropped for a second before she simply changed the subject.

"Eggs?"

I looked at my phone. 7:17. I had plenty of time before the first bell. But I wanted to sit and gossip in Lindsay or Rachel's car. So I replied, "I'm going to be late."

"Okay, take some to go," she insisted.

"I'm fine—"

"Allison," she said and thrust an apple into my hands before I could even counter. "Eat. Please and thank you."

I smiled at her. "Thanks, Mom."

Hopping into my car, I pulled out of my driveway and made my way towards school. I'd only made one turn, before I recognized brown hair, dark jeans, a gray jacket with a white t-shirt sticking out, and black sneakers. A black backpack was slung over his shoulders as he trudged along the sidewalk.

It was a ten minute drive to school. It had to be a twenty minute walk, at least.

I pulled up beside him, slowing as my wheels neared the curb. I rolled the passenger window down.

"Hey."

He glanced at me for maybe half a second before looking back down, without responding.

"Need a ride?"

I watched him breathe deeply. "I'm good. Thanks."

The way he said 'thanks' made it clear he was referencing our first encounter. When I asked if he needed help. And he said I'm good. But didn't say thank you. And I got playful. But he got pissed.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks for acknowledging my decency."

Silence. He kept walking.

"It's just a ride," I sang, as I continued rolling along the curb beside him as he walked. "Not a death sentence, Tyler."

He stopped. Stared at me. Then repeated, "I said, I'm good."

"Whatever," I mumbled before taking off towards school.

The same thing happened the next day. He was further down the road this time when I spotted him.

I idled beside the sidewalk again.

"So is this part of your exercise routine now?"

He shot me a look that made my skin jump. "My car is in the shop."

"You know," I said, as my car crept alongside the curb. "It's supposed to rain."

"So I've heard," Tyler replied without an ounce of emotion.