“Oh,” he looked down, then back up at Reed, reaching for his hand to shake it. “Well, thanks, Reed. Awful nice of ya. You’ll have to give me your father’s number, I want to make sure I thank him and find out how to pick the car up and what I owe him.”
“No problem, Mr. Lennox. Really, never any trouble. And you probably should just say thanks to my dad and leave it at that. He… well, he pretty much never accepts money when he helps a friend. He’ll be offended, sir,” Reed said, smiling.
“Oh, well…” my dad shook his head some more and then nodded, finally accepting it. This was hard for my dad, I knew. “Well, then how about we feed you some supper. That’ll sure make me feel a whole lot better. And my wife, Susan, makes an amazing roast. She’s had one going in the pot all day.”
Reed looked at me for approval, but I was more panic stricken. I didn’t really want him to see the inside of my house. Truth be told, Tatum’s name calling of Trailer Trash was still with me a little. But, since I wasn’t objecting either, Reed just shook my dad’s hand again and said, “Thanks, I’d love to stay, sir.”
“Please, just call me Rich,” my dad said, putting his arm over Reed’s shoulder and guiding him inside.
We came inside through the backdoor, and thankfully my mom’s roast had filled the house with an amazing smell. It made my house feel even more homey, and I was hoping it might just distract Reed from our scratched cabinets, old countertops, worn carpet and scuffed walls.
I dropped my purse and bag on the floor by the kitchen counter and guided Reed to the main living room. Our house was very open with the dining room and living space up front with giant windows that looked out over the handmade porch. The kitchen was set off to the back side and had a cute door with a country-style window on it that led to my dad’s ‘tinkering’ space.
My parents’ room is at the end of the hall and then my room is to the right and Mike’s old room is on the left. Mike always liked having his window face the front because he could sneak out easily, his foot landing right on the porch. My window was over one of the only spaces without decking underneath, so the drop was a good eight feet below since our house was lifted up so high. I did have a huge walk-in closet, though, and my own entrance to the spare bathroom. For a girl, it was pretty perfect.
I gave Reed the fast version of the tour, pointing to the other rooms in the house as we strolled the short hallway. He admired the family photos hung on the walls as we walked.
“Hey, is this you?” he said, pointing to a family portrait that was about 10 years old. I was in a red velvet dress and my hair was in two pigtails on either side of my head. My bangs were short and cut in a perfect straight line, following my eyebrows. My socks were pulled up to my knees and my ankles were crossed showing off my shiny black saddle shoes. I have a vivid memory of the outfit, but not much else.
“That’s me. I was pretty stylish at six,” I joked, hoping he wouldn’t take in too many more embarrassing childhood pictures of me.
“You were cute,” he said, moving on down the hall. “It’s nice that you have these pictures. I don’t really have any of these. My parents divorced when I was in kindergarten and I really bounced back and forth until about fourth grade when my parents decided it was best that I stay with my mom. You know, for ‘consistency in my young life,’” Reed said, rolling his eyes.
Sometimes I felt bad that he came from a split home. While he might have the fancy driveway and the rich parents, at least mine were under the same roof. And my parents didn’t miss anything in our lives, either. My mom had boxes in the attic filled with silly art awards, pictures, ribbons from field day, clay pots from grade school and more. I got the feeling that Reed didn’t have a box anywhere.
“Hey, so this is your room then, right?” he said, a devilish grin as he leaned my door open.
“Uh, yes it is…and we don’t need to go in there,” I said, grabbing for the handle in an effort to stop him. Too late.
He flipped my light on and walked to the center of my room. I leaned against the wall by the door and my dresser. My room was pretty neat. I wasn’t your typical messy teenage girl, but I was still self-conscience about everything being on display for his judgment.
“So this is where you are when we text at night sometimes, huh?” he said looking around. “This is where you pick out music and all the ‘magic happens.’” He was smiling like he was getting to see some special secret. Admittedly, I liked how it was making me feel. He turned to open my closet and walked in to flip through my things. He thumbed through the hangers taking note of the two very different sides of my closet. One half was filled with T-shirts and jeans, the other with cute dresses that I rarely wore.