Tonight, I opted to ring the doorbell, not wanting a recurrence of last night, since Jordan's car was parked out front. He opened the door, giving me a bewildered look, but I just strode past him and headed upstairs to retrieve some laundry.
It wasn't that the washer was all that complicated, but standing in the laundry room with a stained leotard that happened to be the last thing my mom had ever given me, plus the majority of my underwear and sports bras that badly needed washing, I couldn't help but feel like I was on another planet.
Stay-at-home moms washed their kids' clothes. Laundry was something I'd do when I got to college.
When I returned to the laundry room later, to switch the load, I realized my mistake right away.
"Oh no! Damn it." Tears sprung to my eyes. The beautiful jeweled light pink leotard had turned a weird grayish purple, but splotchy. I yanked out my brand new navy sweat pants and tossed them onto the floor before holding my ruined outfit up to the light, examining the damage with shaking hands.
"My guess is that was hand-wash only?" Jordan poked his head into the room, probably after hearing my cry of distress.
His joke hit me a little too hard and I couldn't control my emotions this time. I tried to wipe away the tears faster than they fell, but failed completely. Jordan stood there in silence, not moving a muscle. He looked like he wanted to say something but either couldn't or didn't know what to say. I decided to let him off the hook.
"Just don't tell your dad," I pleaded with him, wiping my nose on my sleeve.
"Don't tell him that your pink leotard is now purple?" he asked tentatively. "Or that your balance beam routine would score higher than your laundry skills?"
I balled the leotard up in one hand and wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my other hand. "Don't tell him I cried about something stupid. Or anything for that matter. The last thing he needs is some emotionally distressed teenage girl to deal with twenty-four-seven."
Oh God, did I just say that out loud?
Jordan stared at me for a long moment and then flipped an empty bucket over, sitting on it and blocking the door. "You can say it, you know? It won't freak me out."
Now it was my turn to be utterly confused. "Say what?"
His eyes locked with mine and I could feel the tension building. "Your parents are dead."
[If you like this story be sure to vote!]
YOU ARE READING
Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)
Teen FictionI've gotten used to the dead parents face. I've gotten used to living with my gymnastics coach. I've even adjusted to sharing a bathroom with his way-too-hot son. Dealing with boys is not something that's made it onto my list of experiences as of ye...
