Page 27 of Really Truly Yours
I pick up a tail on the way into the kitchen. “Grayson.”
The nearest drawer squeals its way open. “That’s Gray to you.”
Look at that, first try. I choose a knife and slam the drawer a bit on purpose. My stalker trails me to the living room, where my full audience watch me slice the packing tape and fold aside the cardboard.
Freed up, the AC unit sits like a boulder, daring, like it knows and enjoys my humiliation. I’ve got the strength, but—blast it all! I crouch down.
“Hold on!” Sydnee unfreezes, extracting one arm from the silly sweater, then the other, tossing the weird getup onto a chair.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her without the gargantuan sweater. The neckline of her white t-shirt forms a vee, and the cotton is fitted. As are her tight little jeans.
The lady has been keeping secrets.
“Let me help, Grayson.”
Unless she’s talking about cuddling up to me when all this is over, there’s nothing she can do. “I got this.”
“I’m helping.”
I spurt something reminiscent of a laugh. “Yeah? How?” A strong wind would carry her away.
She glares, ignores me, and crouches near the unit in kind of a catcher’s squat.
I flap the backs of my hands. “Move.”
“No.”
“Sydnee.”
“I. Am. Helping.”
Our glares go at it.
I remember to shrug the other shoulder for a change, a hollow victory at this stage of the game. “Have it your way.” Let her think she’s contributing. “On the count of three.”
“Both o’ you stop it right now! I don’t need no air conditioner. Grayson! Sydnee! You’re gonna hurt yourselves!”
Won’t be the first time. I tick off the count, and on three, hi-yah. I get the thing flush with the window. Pain stabs fiery blades into my left shoulder. The unit slips. I cuss, oops, but as I struggle to regain a grip, an unexpected forcefield lifts the skidding end, helping me guide the unit into the opening, where I drag the cracked wood frame down to secure it.
Sydnee’s self-satisfied smirk needs to be wiped away—and I know just how I’d like to do it.
She sags onto an ottoman. I, dadgummit, moan and sink my butt onto the carpet, pressing my spine into the wall. Donny starts cackling. Not the time, old man.
He slaps his knee. “He-he. We’re a sad lot, ain’t we?”
“Speak for yourself, dude.” I fire off a fully charged glare.
Sydnee’s laughter rings out, a novelty to my ears. Her cheeks are pink, almost the same bright shade as the roses circling Mom’s patio.
Aw, what the heck? I free a laugh, too. Her eyes warm to the blue of a summer sky. Our gazes click and we share the moment.
She blinks. It’s like a cloud drifts in front of the sun. “Does it hurt really bad?”
Bad enough I start envisioning what retirement at twenty-seven will look like.
I cap my bad shoulder with my palm, close my eyes, throw my head back, and begin a righteous moan.
Donny laughs.