Unexpected

Chapter 7

Mallory

I'm brought back to the present when my cellphone starts to alert that I received a text message. Ding . . . . . . Ding . . . .Ding, Ding, Ding. Just from the pattern of the sound alerts, I knew it was my mom. She never texts in one big message. It's always multiple small ones, and she never waits for an answer before she's texting the next thing.

Mallory, you busy?

You have time to talk?

How's the unpacking going?

I miss you.

Call me.

With a smile and an eye roll, I press the call icon by her contact name. It's not even through the first ring, and she answers.

"Hey, Sweetie! How's it going? Did the movers do a good job?"

"Hi, Mom, and yes, they were on time and super quick putting the furniture where I requested. And so far, nothing looks damaged."

"Oh, that's good! Have you stopped to eat something? I know how you are, but you gotta take care of yourself first. The boxes can wait."

"Yes, Mom. I ordered a pizza like two hours ago. I'm twenty-six. I know how to take care of myself."

"I know, I know, but I'm your mother so I'm allowed to worry over you. Speaking of, are you okay? You do sound a little off."

I wasn't about to admit that she interrupted my pity party I was having over Josh. I hate that I still think about him, and it still makes me sad.

"I'm just tired. I think I'm calling it quits for tonight."

"That's a good idea, Sweetie. You know how to eat an elephant, right?"

"One bite at a time," I answer the old childhood saying she used whenever I felt overwhelmed about something.

"I love you, Mal"

"I love you, too, Mom."

After hanging up, I toss my phone on the couch disturbing Mr. Pickles from his slumber.

"Look at us. We should be celebrating. A new home. A new job. A new life away from The One Whom We Shall Not Mention."

I head into my small yet functional kitchen to pull out the bottle of wine from the refrigerator. I got two wine glasses from the cupboard. I pour wine into my glass and some cold milk into the other. Mr. Pickles is quick to jump up on the counter.

"Cheers, to new beginnings."

 I clink my glass against his. I take a sip and smile as he greedily laps up the milk.

"You better slow down, mister, or you'll have an awful headache in the morning."

I sigh in relaxation as the wine does its trick easing the tension out of my body. I lean back against the counter and close my eyes. A roar of an engine startles me, and I slosh some of my drink down the front of my shirt.

"What in the World . . . . ?"

I go to glance out my kitchen window in the direction of all the noise. A man on a Harley Davison motorcycle is cruising up the driveway next door. The loud popping sound of the exhaust stops when he turns off the bike. I continue to stare at the long blue jean clad leg that lifts up and over. He removes his helmet and shakes out his dark, almost black, hair causing it to fall down his forehead. He grabs a black duffle bag that was attached and heads to the front door. He unlocks it and disappears inside. I let the curtain fall back into place.

"I guess that's our new neighbor," I say to Mr. Pickles who looks like he could care less.

"He seems . . . interesting."

Mr. Pickles takes a big back stretch then jumps down from the counter and heads in the direction of the bedroom.

"Alright, I'm coming, too."

But I can't resist glancing back at the neighbor's house one last time.