Sugar Rush (Friend-Zoned 3)

Mrs. Crandle opens the door, dressed in a robe with her thick coke-bottle glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. Confusion crosses her face. “Yes, dear?”

Taking the whiteboard marker, I quickly write, ‘Am I still invited to tea?’

I hold up the whiteboard and her face morphs into stunned disbelief. A surprised smile tilts her lips. “Of course! Come on in. I’ll get the water boiling.” She disappears down the hall. For a little woman, she’s quick. I let myself in and close the door behind me. When I turn, it takes me a moment to wrap my head around what I’m seeing. My feet are glued to the spot. I’m so shocked my mouth gapes.

Three large black and white photographs hang side-by-side on the living room wall. The first is a portrait of a young woman in her twenties, sporting pin-up curls, a lithe body in a revealing but tasteful leotard, and she wears a smile so pretty I have to smile in return.

The second image is a group shot with approximately thirty people in it. I’m quickly drawn to the third image. The man in the photograph doesn’t smile. Looking to be in his thirties, he scowls into the camera, looking fierce and angry. He wears a crew cut, and the muscles he flexes are bulging ridiculously. He is a tank.

“Don’t let his expression fool you. He was an absolute teddy bear,” Mrs. Crandle utters from behind me. I almost jump out of my skin. My heart racing, with a squeak, I lift a hand to my heaving chest. She laughs softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

A sheepish expression crosses my face. I write, ‘That’s okay. I scare easily.’ After another peek at the photographs, I write, ‘Your husband?’

She looks up at the photo and nods. “Yes. That’s my Chester.” She mutters, “He wasn’t just my husband though.” She looks up at me, wistfully. “He was my whole world. I would’ve followed him anywhere.” She shakes her head and chuckles. “In fact, I did.”

Wiping away my previous writing, I pen with a disbelieving smile, ‘You were carnies?’

Without answering, she reaches over to gently take my arm. “Come sit, dear. Tea will be ready in just a moment.” As we reach the sofa, she shakes her head in confusion. “I’m sorry, I must have forgotten your name.”

I shake my head. ‘I don’t think you heard me when I told you. My name is Helena.’

She reads quickly and smiles. “My, what a pretty name.” Her little feet lead her away, and she calls out, “Tea should be done by now.”

Cups rattle, cutlery clinks and finally, Mrs. Crandle returns with a teapot and teacups on a

serving tray with cookies. I have to admit, the tea smells lovely, and the cookies look divine. My stomach rumbles.

Down, girl.

As I reach forward to pour, Mrs. Crandle intervenes. “I may be a dinosaur, but I can still pour tea, Helena.” She ends on a wink, and I thank God I didn’t make this spontaneous visit awkward.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and check the display.

Nat: Dinner’s almost ready.

Crap.

Mrs. Crandle pauses her pouring when she spots my phone. Her face falls. “Leaving so soon?”

I quickly reply to the text.

Me: I’m running late. Save a plate for me. x

Then I switch off my phone and put it back into my pocket. ‘Sorry about that. Not leaving. I would love some tea, please.’

Happiness replaces her expression. She passes me a teacup and the sugar, as well as the cookies. “I’m so glad for the company. I don’t have much of an excuse to entertain these days.”

I sip at my tea while looking around her living room. That’s when I hear it.

Meow

My brow furrows as I look down at my feet. I gasp. “Oh my God!”

I reach down to pick up the little grey kitten and hold it up high. “Hi there, sweet thing!”

Mrs. Crandle chuckles. “Oh dear, how did he get out? He’s a little escape artist, that one. And he shouldn’t be away from his mama right now, but he always finds a way.”

Holding the little guy on my lap, I write, ‘He’s adorable! I love him!’