Taut: The Ford Book
Page 24
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She walks to the stairs, puts one hand on the banister, and then turns and speaks calmly. “You’re nice-looking. You’re smart and wealthy, well-bred, maybe. And I feel indebted to you. But you’re also very rude. And I’m not a worthless person. Maybe I’ve got a lot of problems and pretty much everything is going wrong for me right now, but I’m not worthless. So I won’t stay and allow you make yourself feel better by making me feel worse. I can dig myself out of whatever I’m into without you. It might not be as easy and it definitely won’t come with any promise of sexual fun. But I don’t mind. I probably deserve the hard road anyway. So if you want me to shut up and go away, I’m happy to do that for you.”
And then she does shut up and go away.
I sit here thinking it over for several minutes before I come to the conclusion that I have just been word-slapped by a girl who never raised her voice or used profanity.
Chapter Twelve
After about half an hour I hear her upstairs in the kitchen. She doesn’t make any unnecessary noise, not like she’s banging pots and pans on purpose, but somehow her movements sound different. And I know that it’s because she’s still upset with me. Occasionally she talks to the baby, or the baby fusses and cries. But that’s all I hear from above. No TV or music. Which is understandable, because all the entertainment things are hidden behind panels. She’d have no idea where to even look for them.
I’m still sitting on the couch thinking about this when I see her shadow standing at the top of the basement stairs. Our stairs are wide and open, so she casts a shadow all the way down the steps. I wait for her to descend, but she stands still, like she’s listening.
“Dinner’s ready,” she finally says in a normal and even tone. Like she knows I’m waiting for her to say something and she doesn’t need to raise her voice in order for me to hear.
Or maybe she’s hoping I don’t hear her and I just stay down here and let her eat in peace. I don’t answer her and she waits there for a few seconds before going back to the kitchen.
I force myself to get up and climb the stairs, because f**k her. This is my f**king house. She catches my eye as I come up but I turn right into the hallway instead of walking directly into the kitchen. I clean up a little in the bathroom, then go into my bedroom and stand there and take it in. Modern, again. A low slat bed makes for an easy fall if the baby actually did roll off. It’s not quite futon height, but not much taller either. The bedding is dark blue, as are the walls. There’s a desk, a couple dressers, and some nightstands on either side of the bed. I have nothing on my walls. Nothing. I was very into emptiness as a teen. Minimalism. And this room is large, so all this furniture is not even close to being enough to fill it up. The floors are dark hardwood like the living room, but there’s a navy blue room-sized rug that covers almost the entire bare space.
Normally my room is spotless. I’m not a freak about neatness, but I like my things orderly.
Right now my room looks like a completely disheveled person lives here. And her name is Ashleigh. All her baby crap is everywhere, her bag of used clothes strewn about the floor, and a few of my things are thrown in there for good measure. I go to my closet and pull down a faded blue t-shirt that says What happens on the mountain stays on the mountain and a pair of faded jeans. They are a few years old and all these clothes smell a little dusty, but they are clean enough for me at the moment. Better than a crunchy tux. I don’t bother with socks, just make my way to the kitchen.
Ashleigh’s sitting on the living room floor, spooning something into the baby’s mouth and making noises that might trick her into thinking that crap on the spoon is delicious. I check the dinner—it’s chicken and rice again. But what did I expect? That’s all I bought.
“Come sit at the table,” I say as I load up my plate and grab a beer.
“I’m feeding the baby some cereal,” she calls back.
“I’m not sure how that matters. Come sit at the table.”
“It matters because she’s not big enough to sit in a chair and I don’t want her carrier on the table.”
Round one to Ashleigh. I guess that makes sense. I take my plate and drink to the coffee table and sit on the couch next to her. Her plate of food is on the coffee table as well, but it’s not been touched. “Tired of chicken and rice already?” I take a bit of mine and then point to her plate with my fork.
She ignores me and just continues to offer the baby some of that goop she’s calling food.
“Want to watch TV?” I ask.
“There is no TV.”
I knew that would get an answer. I get up and open a drawer on the far side of the living room built-ins and remove the remote, then sit back down and mess with a few buttons. The wall panel in front of us slides up and the flat-screen turns on.
“Well, that’s ostentatious,” she says dryly.
I point the remote at her. “Love that word, and the TV panel is a bit flashy, but still cool.” I hand the remote over to her. “I’ll put on hockey, so if you like hockey, I’m happy to man the remote. If not, you better choose.”
She finally looks over at me, confused. “Since when does a man give up control of the remote?”
I study her for a moment, wondering how old she really is. I pegged her at twenty back at the hotel, but she acts more mature than that. She’s small, so that makes her look young, and she’s stranded with pretty much nothing in the way of resources, so that makes her appear vulnerable. But she’s got a worldliness about her. Like she’s seen things. Like she’s seen things that change people overnight. She doesn’t seem to be worried about her predicament with me. She’s not acting afraid of me or upset at being stuck here with a stranger, instead of on her way to wherever it was she was headed. She’s pretty much made herself at home. “I hate TV,” I finally reply. “I only watch hockey and an occasional stock report. The Market’s closed and the Aves aren’t playing tonight, so I really don’t give a f**k what I watch.”
And then she does shut up and go away.
I sit here thinking it over for several minutes before I come to the conclusion that I have just been word-slapped by a girl who never raised her voice or used profanity.
Chapter Twelve
After about half an hour I hear her upstairs in the kitchen. She doesn’t make any unnecessary noise, not like she’s banging pots and pans on purpose, but somehow her movements sound different. And I know that it’s because she’s still upset with me. Occasionally she talks to the baby, or the baby fusses and cries. But that’s all I hear from above. No TV or music. Which is understandable, because all the entertainment things are hidden behind panels. She’d have no idea where to even look for them.
I’m still sitting on the couch thinking about this when I see her shadow standing at the top of the basement stairs. Our stairs are wide and open, so she casts a shadow all the way down the steps. I wait for her to descend, but she stands still, like she’s listening.
“Dinner’s ready,” she finally says in a normal and even tone. Like she knows I’m waiting for her to say something and she doesn’t need to raise her voice in order for me to hear.
Or maybe she’s hoping I don’t hear her and I just stay down here and let her eat in peace. I don’t answer her and she waits there for a few seconds before going back to the kitchen.
I force myself to get up and climb the stairs, because f**k her. This is my f**king house. She catches my eye as I come up but I turn right into the hallway instead of walking directly into the kitchen. I clean up a little in the bathroom, then go into my bedroom and stand there and take it in. Modern, again. A low slat bed makes for an easy fall if the baby actually did roll off. It’s not quite futon height, but not much taller either. The bedding is dark blue, as are the walls. There’s a desk, a couple dressers, and some nightstands on either side of the bed. I have nothing on my walls. Nothing. I was very into emptiness as a teen. Minimalism. And this room is large, so all this furniture is not even close to being enough to fill it up. The floors are dark hardwood like the living room, but there’s a navy blue room-sized rug that covers almost the entire bare space.
Normally my room is spotless. I’m not a freak about neatness, but I like my things orderly.
Right now my room looks like a completely disheveled person lives here. And her name is Ashleigh. All her baby crap is everywhere, her bag of used clothes strewn about the floor, and a few of my things are thrown in there for good measure. I go to my closet and pull down a faded blue t-shirt that says What happens on the mountain stays on the mountain and a pair of faded jeans. They are a few years old and all these clothes smell a little dusty, but they are clean enough for me at the moment. Better than a crunchy tux. I don’t bother with socks, just make my way to the kitchen.
Ashleigh’s sitting on the living room floor, spooning something into the baby’s mouth and making noises that might trick her into thinking that crap on the spoon is delicious. I check the dinner—it’s chicken and rice again. But what did I expect? That’s all I bought.
“Come sit at the table,” I say as I load up my plate and grab a beer.
“I’m feeding the baby some cereal,” she calls back.
“I’m not sure how that matters. Come sit at the table.”
“It matters because she’s not big enough to sit in a chair and I don’t want her carrier on the table.”
Round one to Ashleigh. I guess that makes sense. I take my plate and drink to the coffee table and sit on the couch next to her. Her plate of food is on the coffee table as well, but it’s not been touched. “Tired of chicken and rice already?” I take a bit of mine and then point to her plate with my fork.
She ignores me and just continues to offer the baby some of that goop she’s calling food.
“Want to watch TV?” I ask.
“There is no TV.”
I knew that would get an answer. I get up and open a drawer on the far side of the living room built-ins and remove the remote, then sit back down and mess with a few buttons. The wall panel in front of us slides up and the flat-screen turns on.
“Well, that’s ostentatious,” she says dryly.
I point the remote at her. “Love that word, and the TV panel is a bit flashy, but still cool.” I hand the remote over to her. “I’ll put on hockey, so if you like hockey, I’m happy to man the remote. If not, you better choose.”
She finally looks over at me, confused. “Since when does a man give up control of the remote?”
I study her for a moment, wondering how old she really is. I pegged her at twenty back at the hotel, but she acts more mature than that. She’s small, so that makes her look young, and she’s stranded with pretty much nothing in the way of resources, so that makes her appear vulnerable. But she’s got a worldliness about her. Like she’s seen things. Like she’s seen things that change people overnight. She doesn’t seem to be worried about her predicament with me. She’s not acting afraid of me or upset at being stuck here with a stranger, instead of on her way to wherever it was she was headed. She’s pretty much made herself at home. “I hate TV,” I finally reply. “I only watch hockey and an occasional stock report. The Market’s closed and the Aves aren’t playing tonight, so I really don’t give a f**k what I watch.”
