Here Comes the Sun

16 | cassiopeia

I TURN UP THE VOLUME on the red portable radio, maneuvering around the kitchen. Music tends to help me think and for a while, I try not to think about Eleanore or that moment in the greenhouse. To see those eyes looking back at me and remember how she felt when she wrapped her arms around me for the first time.

I never did mind people touching me up until the incident but it certainly didn't bother me much. Not until now-until her. It sends a warm fuzzy feeling through my body and even when I close my eyes, that horrible night is replaced by images of Eleanore smiling back at me. Her head resting on my shoulder and her soft perfume that smelled of honeysuckle is laced on my blue shirt.

Seeing that frown blossom into a smile that I start to like so much is etched in the back of my mind. Whatever her mother said to upset her almost breaks my heart. In fact, it makes my blood boil to think that she's never had anyone be there for her.

The timer shrieks and I immediately put on my oven mittens. I crouch in front of the oven to open the lid, warmth kisses my face when I study the final project radiating with heat. Melted chocolate oozing from the crack of the baked cookie dough. I quickly set it on the stove to cool off.

"Something smells good, Imogene!" My dad walks into the kitchen, his wire framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, hey Dad! I just finished baking some chocolate chip cookies but they're for someone else so no touching," I warn him.

"Ah, someone special, I'm guessing?"

I try not to smile so hard like an idiot when he said that but that might as well be the fucking truth. My tongue clicks against the roof of my two front teeth. "I wouldn't say someone special but..."

"But what?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

"But nothing. These are just for a friend," I tell him, not meeting his gaze and trying to hide my sudden blushing.

Sometimes I like to think that my dad reminds me of a bloodhound who not only has a good nose (only when it comes to food) but he could often tell when someone is lying.

He shakes his head, pursing his lips together like a fish. "Not buying it, sweetheart."

"What? What do you mean you're not buying it? It's the truth!" I defend.

"People who listen to the radio while baking and they have that kind of look on their face? It's for someone special," My dad smirks as he takes a seat at the kitchen counter. "I remember when I was your age, being in love for the first time."

"When you and mom first met," I say.

He raises a finger, in a matter-of-fact manner. "It was the first of many. I used to offer to take her home from Dee Dee's and we'd sit in the park, munching on the cookies that I made for her afterward. My mother taught me to make them and I paid attention to every detail."

"Aw, that was really sweet of you, Dad."

His gray eyes seem to sparkle in the lighting, almost swooning at the fateful memory. My dad tends to get lovesick and most of the time emotional when it comes to bringing up the past.

"Thanks, Immy. Besides all of that, are they for a guy?" he asks as he begins to get up out of his chair. "Because if it is then he has to go through me first before I can let him take you out."

I shake my head. "N-no."

The realization hits him and he sits back down. "Oh, so it's for a girl, then."