Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

twenty six.

enjoy

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"Mrs. McKinnon?" I ask the startled woman standing in the doorway of the yellow house.

"Yes? And who might you be?"

I bite my lip. I never even planned on getting this far. "I'm Damian. I'm one of Timmy's um...friends."

She smiles. "Oh, of course." He's told me all about you. I kept asking when he was going to bring you by. Please, come in." She ushers me inside. "It's pouring outside and you're drenched. Come in, dry off."

"Thank you," I mumble, and take in the boxes around me. The smell of fresh baked cookies hangs in the air and my stomach growls.

"Someone's a little hungry?" Timmy's mom laughs. "Timmy's not home right now, but he should be back soon. He tends to come back around during lunch time."

I don't have the heart to tell her what her son is doing.

"Here."

I turn and accept the cookie being offered to me. It's warm in my palms, but that could just be my hands so desperately needing to defrost. "Thanks."

She motions to the sofa. "Go ahead, you can sit."

I sit.

"Timmy's been out a lot lately. I thought he was with you-- that's what he always says." She crosses her legs, and then uncrosses them, obviously uncomfortable. "Things have been a little chaotic around here. Look at me, I don't even know where my son is."

A pang of sympathy tears at me. The old Timmy, she wouldn't have to worry about where he is. She wouldn't have to worry about what he was doing.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like and wait for him. I'm making pasta for lunch, if you'd like to join us."

My stomach growls again, quite a bit louder.

"Sorry." I clasp my hands around my abdomen and blush at the floor.

She pats my shoulder as she stands. "Don't you worry about it. I'll take that as a yes."

"Thank you."

I watch her exit the room and enter the next. Her dress is wrinkled and she drags her left foot along the ground, like lifting it just a centimeter would require too much effort. She looks as drained as her son, and I could see her falling asleep over the stove the way Timmy rests on his desk.

"Mrs. McKinnon?" I ask.

A head peaks around the doorway. "Please, call me Rachel."

"Um. Okay. Rachel?"

"Yes?"

I follow her into the kitchen. Around me, yellow walls and checkered curtains give the room a homey feeling, if the smell of food didn't already. A picture of my kitchen flashes across the space, peeling wallpaper and stacks of unpaid bills sprawled across the table. It's the coldest room in our house. I'm not entirely sure why, but it's always been that way.

"My nipples are so hard they could cut glass. Come warm me up," Justin complained.

I turned from the counter. "I thought you wanted pancakes."

"I won't be able to eat them if my fingers fall off. Come sit on my lap."

Abandoning my work, I straddled his lap and he took my hands in his. "Better?"

"Why are you always so warm, baby?" He leaned in and kissed my nose. His lips were cold against my skin.

I shrugged. "I'm not the one only wearing a t-shirt."