Page 53 of Our Sadie
EIGHTEEN: Violence
ZACHARY
We’re all yawning at the Sunday breakfast table the next morning when Sadie joins us. It’s such a mindfuck to scan her face as she eats her microwavable oatmeal and not be certain of whether she’s conscious of having a one-sided argument with her dead mother last night.
Or that she was begging for her deceased father.
Shit.
Maybe it’s sadistic of me to tempt fate, but I have to find out if she’ll share with us on her own. That’s why I’m the one to push forth the question, all nonchalant-like.
“Sleep okay, lovely?”
Any other time, that inquiry would be innocuous. But based on how Dom goes as still as a statue and Jerome slices his gaze my way with the sharpness of a blade, I’m guessing my question’s significance isn’t lost on them.
“Fine. You?”
This is her answer, and it only adds to the mystery rather than solving it.
“Meh.”
“Would’ve thought you’d be worn out from all that swimming,” she emphasizes that last word, the tiniest bit of sparkle in her eyes. And don’t get me wrong. I had a great time with her in that pool, both while playing those games and for the naked bit.
But does she sincerely not know about the sleepwalking? I can’t tell.
Then, I bring up the topic I most expect to receive a positive response to. “So, Christmas is in a week. Do you wanna decorate this place? Maybe watch It’s a Wonderful Life or The Christmas Carol?”
Sadie’s posture becomes as stiff and unforgiving as a ballet barre.
When the silence lengthens for an almost ridiculous measure of time, Jerome comes in to save me. “We thought all four of us could pitch in. String popcorn. Put up a tree. Hang some stockings.” He pauses when her attitude doesn’t change. “But only if you celebrate it.”
“I do,” she speaks up, though her gaze stays on her plate. “I have.”
“Cool,” Jerome intones.
“But no movies. Not the Christmas kind, anyway. Maybe we can stream that FBI thriller series on Prime.”
We instantly agree, and throughout that afternoon and evening, we binge a season and a half of her series in her home studio, one of the rooms I’ve barely been in. It’s well-appointed with stadium chairs that have armrests and built-in cupholders yet lay flat if you want to stretch out. Since there are ten or twelve seats in there, there’s plenty of space where we can get comfortable.
We eat popcorn, drink soda, wine, or beer, and pass chocolate and red licorice around like we’re having a party. Well, a party teens who’ve broken into the liquor cabinet might have.
Sadie ends up with her feet in Dom’s lap as he provides her with a foot massage and her head in mine while Jerome sits cross-legged behind her in the middle. I think all four of us are addicted to the show, but even great television is no match for next to zero sleep. For me, at least. I’m struggling not to nod off.
We head off to our separate beds after that, and even though I’m a little disappointed that she didn’t ask for any of us to climb in with her, this is still early days. But the bonding of all four of us is going well, I think. Dom and Jerome already think they know what’s going to happen to the bad guy on the show, and Sadie thinks it’ll be this other more innocent character.
It’ll be interesting to see if any of them are correct.