I feel like I’m creeping.
Heading to the fridge, I pull open the door to peer at the deliciousness inside. She has way more food than I do, and I’m delighted to find leftovers on the shelf; along with those I pull out a plate of pizza that’s been covered with plastic wrap.
There are only three slices, so I put the entire thing into the microwave and hit the start button, pillaging one cabinet after the next to locate a glass for water. After I’m done warming up the food, I carry my plate and make toward the quaint living room off the kitchen where the television is. I futz around with the remote control, completely unable to figure out how to turn the darn thing on.
How hard can this be?
I hit the power button then hit it again, and the only thing that happens is the little red light on the television going on and off.
Well.
This isn’t exactly the relaxing evening away from my own place that I hoped for.
It’s dark now, but instead of turning on the light, I pick up myself and the plate—I’ve managed to inhale all the pieces of pizza in the short amount of time I’ve been screwing around with the TV—and take the plate to the kitchen, rinsing it off quickly before putting it into the dishwasher next to the sink.
Hmmm.
Should I go or should I stay? The latter seems useless if I’m just going to sit in the dark waiting awkwardly for my friends to return.
Roman told me to make myself at home, but that doesn’t mean I should actually make myself at home. Part of him was just being polite; the other half…actually that half was probably just being polite, too.
Ultimately, I decide I’m going to have a look around—Eliza didn’t give me a full tour when I was here over the weekend, mostly because Roman interrupted us then broke his award and I then exited with his box in tow.
My hand slides along the smooth wooden railing leading up to the second story where the bedrooms are, and I take the steps one by one as if in a horror movie with certain peril (i.e. bludgeoning death) waiting for me at the top of the stairs.
Lucky for me, there is a light switch at the top.
I flip it on.
The first bedroom I peek into is a small one with a desk and a couch in it, the only indication that it’s actually a spare bedroom the closet. It’s outdated with thick drapes and a gold lamp, a damask wallpaper still stuck to the walls.
I’m over to the next one, which winds up being the primary suite—at least I think it must be because the bed is huge. What’s giving me pause is the comforter, a Spider-Man quilt more suited for a young person, not a grown-up.
I know for a fact both Jack and Eliza adore comics and film and Marvel, so this does seem fitting. A giant flat-screen television is on the opposite wall, and I poke around to find the large adjacent bathroom.
There’s a big bathtub, a shower, double sinks, and a walk-in closet.
Lucky!
A bath would be so amazing right now.
I haven’t taken one in ages, and maybe it would relieve some of this tension in my shoulders. I would never actually do it, but I totally want to.
Can you imagine if I climbed into the tub, made myself at home, and then Eliza and Jack came home and I was up here bathing in a sea of bubbles?
They don’t even know I’m here. How awkward would that be? Plus, it would probably be a dramatic scene when they discover me, unannounced, lounging in their bathroom naked.
I flip off the light and exit their bedroom, retracing my steps and heading back down the hallway to check out Roman’s room. I push his door open farther before entering, a little desk lamp glowing on his bedside table.
He has managed to make it his own in a short amount of time, the shelving lining the walls already filled with awards and accolades, even a few medals draping from them. I walk over to them so I can inspect each and every one, my brows rising with interest as my eyes scan the engravings.
All of them are academic, which I already kind of assumed was the case.
On his bed is a basic comforter, but it looks really nice—expensive, even. At the foot of the bed is a trunk. Everything is neat and orderly, unlike my bedroom at home with its unorganized chaos.
I make my way over to the window so I can peer out into the backyard, down at the child’s playset the previous owners of the house left behind. It’s old and rusty and one of the chains for the swings has broken, limply falling to the ground in a heap.