Oliver walked me home. Not in the romantic way (I think my exclamation at his coffee suggestion made that very clear) but in the way a friend would when they are enjoying the conversation.
I realized as I watched his back recede down the sidewalk that I had made a proper friend. I felt happy and content. The sad, lonely feeling that plagued me everyday had disappeared sometime that afternoon. I hadn’t known I’d been sad, not until I’d started talking with Oliver.
I took out my keys, opened the door to my building and proceeded up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. By the time I reached my floor, my jacket was unbuttoned and my scarf was draped across my arm. Cold weather and living on the fourth floor don’t, in my opinion, go well together.
My apartment was just as I’d left it. I hung my jacket, purse and scarf from the pegs by the front door. I slipped out of my shoes. I looked down at my toes and wiggled them. They were freezing from the day out in the cold. Fuzzy socks seemed like a good idea.
I rifled through my bin of socks, found what I was looking for and changed into a big, comfy sweater and pajama pants. Next I threw my hair up into a pony tail. Wrapping my arms around my self, I smiled. I think comfy clothes are my favorite.
My stomach rumbled. I left my room turning the light off as I went and walked back into the kitchen. The living room and kitchen were one room with a counter that jutted out from the wall separating the two. Filling a pot with water and placing it on the stove to boil, I went over to turn on the TV.
As I cooked myself pasta, I watched the news. I don’t normally, but Oliver mentioned that it might be good to start. He hadn’t specified why when I had asked him. “It’s just good to stay caught up,” was all he had said. I had no idea the last time I’d watched, so I took Oliver’s advice and turned it on.
The news always gave me a sort of creepy feeling, maybe it was because they always seemed to be talking about something horrible. Or maybe it’s because I could see what was going on, but whatever it was, a shiver ran down my neck.
Tonight wasn’t an exception. There was a piece about the war and another about a drought. I sat on the couch, ate my pasta and soaked in the unhappy, depressing news that was streaming from my television.
An hour or so later I was still watching. Not long before I had gotten up to get a cup of tea and had promptly sat back down again with mug in hand. I was deeply engrossed in a story about a new company that was testing rockets they claimed would be able to send people into space in the near future, when the buzzer for the building door went off. Hot tea flew all over me. Still recovering from my burst of adrenaline I hurried to the speaker beside the door.
“Hello?” I said, pressing the button for the microphone.
“Hi, Clair?”
“Yes?”
“Can I come up? It’s me Oliver.”
I was surprised. What was he doing here this late? Hadn’t we just said goodbye that evening? What did he want? “Can I ask why?”
“I have to show you something.”
My finger hovered over the button. Should I let him up? What was so important at this time of night? I was in pajamas and fuzzy socks. “Um, sure come on up.”
I buzzed him in and raced into my room to change into something more appropriate. I settled on switching out my pajama bottoms for jeans. I decided it was better to clean up the mess in the front room than to change out of fuzzy socks. Besides, fuzzy socks weren’t that bad, it was late at night after all.
I had just finished putting the dishes in the sink, the couch already wiped free of tea, when there was a knock at the door. Oliver must have run up the stairs. I couldn’t have taken that long.
I opened the door.
“Hey,” Oliver said, he glanced behind me. “Oh, so you’ve seen.”
“Seen what?”
“The announcement about the rockets.”
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