I awoke in a cold, dark room. In my drowsiness, I pulled at the blanket underneath me, trying to cover myself with it. I stopped immediately when my nose dug into the sheets and I could smell them. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but it was foreign. This wasn’t my bed.
I pushed myself up onto my knees and stared at the room around me. I couldn’t see a thing. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I remembered how I got here in the first place. Oh god. I had to have given my dad the worst first impression possible. A whiny, overemotional wreck. The last thing I wanted to do was to show my face in front of him again, but I knew I just couldn’t stand being in this room any longer. I tried to remember where the door was. Lifting myself up, I ran my hands along the wall until I felt a doorknob. Taking a deep breath, I twisted the handle slowly.
There was still a light on in the house somewhere, so I followed it back towards the dining room, where I saw my dad sitting at the table, his back towards me, reading a newspaper. I walked cautiously towards him, slowly edging myself into his line of vision until he could see me.
He noticed me standing there after a few moments, and paused to remove his glasses and set the paper down before he looking back up at me.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he said.
I shifted my feet.
“Here, you can have a seat,” he gestured at the chair across from his, “If you want to.”
“Alright,” I said, and walked over. He stood up from his chair.
“I was just about to make some coffee,” he said.
“At night?”
“Well,” he said, striding over to the kitchen counter, “Yeah.”
“Oh, okay.” I said, nodding, not sure what else to say.
“Or I could make some hot chocolate,” he added pointedly towards me.
“I’m not a kid,” I said firmly, “I can drink coffee.”
“Who says you have to be a kid to drink hot chocolate?” he asked as he pulled two packages of Nestle out of the cupboard.
“It’s just…” I started, and then had a second thought, “Who drinks hot chocolate in the summer?”
“Well,” he said, pouring water into a kettle, “I do.”
“Oh… okay.”
“You like marshmallows, don’t you?” he asked me, getting a bag of them out of the cupboard.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Alright,” he smiled.
We were both silent for the next couple of minutes. I closed my eyes as I listened to the sound of water simmering on the stove, and the soft hiss of a waterfall of cocoa powder escaping it‘s packet and falling into an empty mug. I knew it was nearly ready when I heard the tink tink tink of a spoon hitting the sides of the glass as it stirred.
“I don’t think I need to say ‘careful, they’re hot’,” he said as he brought the drinks - each topped with three marshmallows - over to the table.
“Nope,” I said.
He handed me mine and then sat back down in his seat across from me.
“Cheers,” he said, bringing the cup to his lips and picking up the newspaper again.
The drink was too hot for me still, so I nibbled at the marshmallows instead. Suddenly, I realized I hadn’t used a restroom all day.
“Uh, I think I need to go to the bathroom,” I excused myself.
“Come on, the cocoa can’t be that bad…”
“No! It‘s not. I just… gotta go.”
“I‘m joking,” he said, “bathroom‘s over-”
“I remember.”
I stood up from the table and turned down the right hallway. The bathroom was adjacent the bedroom I tore into earlier. I opened the wooden door to reveal a stunningly clean, white room. Bronze handles decorated the pearly white tub, sink, and cupboards. Rose-colored towels were folded nicely on top of a wicker basket that contained extra soaps and washes. I was astonished that a bathroom could look so well-furnished, and even more surprised that a grown man would dry himself with a pink towel.
There was definitely a different air in this bathroom than the one I was used to at home, well, at my old home, I corrected myself. I was used to the lilac-scented soaps my Mom used, and the familiar scent left by her hibiscus shampoo (that would linger in the air for hours after use). But I felt confident I could get used to these minor changes.
I finished in the bathroom, and exited the room to sit back down with my father.
“Nice towels,” I commented.
“What‘s wrong with them?” he asked, picking up on the humor in my voice.
“They’re a lovely shade of pink.”
“They are a lovely shade of pink,” he replied, glancing back down at his newspaper. I was temped to giggle, but then I stopped myself. He had used such a neutral tone of voice, I couldn’t be sure if he was joking with me or not. Instead, I brought my hot cocoa up to my lips, which was now pleasantly warm. I took a long sip, feeling the rich sensation of chocolate sliding over my tongue.
“What’s your favorite color?” I asked him. I don’t know why, but I did. He didn’t seem even mildly surprised at the question.
“I like green,” he said, reaching for his mug, “it’s earthy. Quiet.”
I nodded my approval, gulping down hot chocolate. The rims of these mugs were wider than ours, so I ended up dribbling hot cocoa down the corners of my mouth. I wiped it off with the back of my hand. He seemed not to notice, or at least he didn’t say anything.
“What’s yours?” he asked me, eyes never leaving his newspaper.
“Purple,” I answered immediately. He smirked.
“That would‘ve been my guess.”
I wasn’t wearing anything purple, and none of my suitcases were colored, so I titled my head, perplexed.
“What makes you say that?”
His mouth opened, but then snapped it shut, seeming to catch himself at something. After a moment he answered, “Intuition.”
“Oh,” I said.
I downed the rest of my drink and smacked my lips.
“Good?” he asked.
“Delish,” I replied.
He downed his glass as well, licking his lips, seeming to savor the flavor. “Nope, not bad at all.” Setting his cup down on the table lightly, he looked up at me and said, “So what do you want to do?”
I glanced out the large picture window. It was dark outside, and the air looked still and silent. I imagined it was past eight o’clock. As I stared out at the calm night around me, I began to feel instantly drowsy, and had to suppress a yawn. Thinking back on the events of the day, I realized this was probably the longest day in my life. No wonder I’m tired.
“Can I go to my room?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Sure. Come on.”
We both stood up and he took my glass, carrying both cups over to the sink and dumping them in.
“Right this way,” he said, walking towards the left hallway.
“Er, wasn’t it over here?” I asked, pointing down the right hallway.
“Uh, well…” he mumbled, scratching his head, “That’s my room.”
My cheeks grew slightly red. “Oh,” I said. So the bed I had thrown myself on earlier was his bed. Uck.
“Yours is just over here,” he said, continuing down the left hall.
He stopped in front of the first door. It was made out of wood, with a smooth bronze handle just like all the others. He clasped the knob and pushed the door open, stepping aside so that I would be the first to enter. I took a step inside and he found the light switch and flipped it on.
White walls, small, clean. The utter bareness of the room reminded me suddenly of how my old room looked after I stripped it of all my flair. It was a strange feeling to think that in just twenty-four hours I had turned my life completely inside out. A new family, a new house; I wasn’t even enrolled in my old school anymore. Everything about my life had changed. Well, except for me.
“It’s not much,” he stated.
It wasn’t. But there really wasn’t anything wrong with it. There was a mahogany dresser in the corner, and a cozy-looking twin bed pushed up against the opposite end of the room. There was a plain dark-colored carpet that covered every inch of the room. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any windows, but I figured I could just put up some posters and problem solved.
“It’s great,” I said.
“You’re a real trooper,” he chuckled. I could detect a hint of embarrassment in his voice, and shook my head at it.
“Really. Of course it’s a little bare,” I said, “but I’d rather decorate it myself. Like, if you had some hideous lamp in here or something, that would’ve been awkward.”
“If you say so,” he said, protruding a small laugh.
“I love how clean it is,” I continued to compliment, “This level of clean would impress even Mom.”
Silence sliced through the air like a knife at the brief mention of her name. It was so unexpected that I went to cover my mouth as if I had just said a swear.
“I’m sorry-” I started.
“No, don’t,” he cut in, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He spoke calmly, giving me a comforting smile. “Your mom and I are good friends. Do you think she would’ve dumped you off at my place if we weren’t?”
“No.”
“There you go,” he said, as if that answered the question. He continued to smile at me warmly, but there was an unmistakable chill in the air that continued to linger.
“I’m gonna start unpacking my things, then,” I said, moving towards the suitcases he stacked up against the far wall of my room, “and then I’ll probably turn in.”
“Alright, then. I assume you can handle it on your own, so I’ll probably turn in myself.”
“Alright,” I said.
“Goodnight then,” he smiled. *smiles when he’s hiding something*
“’Night.”
