I get a surprise

.

The next morning Alison left by the side steps as I was eating my breakfast; her cereal bowl sat empty on the kitchen table until almost 10 o’clock. As I put the unused dish back in the cupboard, I wondered if I would ever see her again. Instead of dwelling on how badly I had presented my proposal, and her refusal I found that my mind wandered again and again to the feeling of her soft lips fluttering in surprise against mine. I would have that at least to remember her by.

I spent the better part of the day replacing eight pickets in the fence around my yard. It was probably a job that did not need to be done, at least not right away, but as I was weeding, I noticed that one of the wooden slats was starting to rot around the bottom. Once seen, I could not unsee the deterioration, and so I took out my table saw and jig and cut a new picket. After checking the rest, I found five more that were starting to show signs of decay and two others that had slight warps that I hadn’t noticed before. The new paint on the eight replacement pickets looked slightly off compared to the rest of the fence and so I ended up scraping, sanding and painting the whole damn fence.

I was still outside when I saw Alison return, and although she nodded to me as she walked by, she did not stop to chat.

Dinner that evening is frozen pizza that I augmented with a layer of sautéed mushrooms and peppers and an extra layer of mozzarella topped with fresh basil. I put the whole pie in the oven in the hopes that the smell might tempt Alison downstairs but am not surprised to find myself eating alone again. I consider leaving a plate for her outside her bedroom; it wouldn’t surprise me if she had gone the whole day without eating anything at all, but in the end, I just wrap up the uneaten pieces and put them in my refrigerator.

The news is as depressing as ever, a Corona hot spot in Saint Louis, Trump’s mega-rally in Michigan, the unemployment numbers still down and production of the latest vaccine delayed because of supply chain issues. What makes the whole thing even more irritating are the election ads that fill every commercial break. The ads make it seem like we have the choice between a racist narcissist and a geriatric dodder who can’t focus long enough to finish a sentence. Fran used to be passionate about politics, but without her to goad my conscious I just wish the elections were done and over with. I catch myself watching the silent stairway again and turn my attention back to the broadcast with a scowl.

“Mr. Patterson?” Alison is calling from the second floor. “Could you come up here for a second?” The seriousness of her tone just reminds me how badly I’ve screwed this up. It has been a few months since I’ve been up here, and I notice the cobwebs hanging from the corners of the hallway and the books scattered on the floor of the room Alison uses as her study.

“I’m in here, Mr. P” Alison’s voice comes from her bedroom, and I step into the room to a most unexpected and pleasant sight.

“What…?” I can’t even put two words together.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Alison clutches the pillow even closer to her chest. “A college hottie to use how you want?” My mouth is hanging open with my tongue hanging out like an overheated dog, and my confusion must be clear because she meets my gaze shyly and she explains. “I’m not going back to Tennessee; Mr. P. I don’t care what it takes to stay.”