One Hot December

“Goddamn, you take long showers,” Flash said. Ian stared into the master bedroom where Flash Redding sat in a leather armchair. He didn’t see all of her because the back of the chair faced the bathroom door. It hadn’t before he’d gotten into the shower but she must have turned it around while he was in the bathroom. He saw her legs dangling over the chair arm and her beat-up red Pumas dangling off her feet. Of course she wore Pumas. Nike owned one half of Portland and Adidas owned the other half. Even her sneakers were subversive.

“Flash, what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“You invited me over.”

“Yesterday. I invited you over yesterday. And you came over yesterday. And then you left. That wasn’t an open invitation to come into my house anytime you wanted.”

“Should I leave?”

“I don’t know. Tell me why you’re here, and I’ll tell you if you should leave or not.”

“Are you decent?”

“I have jeans on.”

“Bummer.”

“You were trying to catch me naked?” he asked as he walked over and tossed his towel in the laundry hamper. She wore burgundy skinny jeans and a white sleeveless undershirt, which she called a “wifebeater” no matter how many times he told her she shouldn’t use that term. Her brown bomber jacket hung off the bedpost knob.

“No, but I wouldn’t have complained if you were.”

“You know this is creepy, right? You coming into my house while I’m in the shower?” He hated how much he liked seeing her making herself at home in his place. Especially since she was technically breaking and entering.

“Is it?”

“Let’s do a little role reversal here. You’re in the shower—”

She started to take her shirt off.

“Not actually in the shower,” he said.

“Fine. Go on.” She lowered her arms.

“You’re in the shower at your place and you walk out of the shower and I’m in your living room. How does that make you feel?” Ian asked.

“I don’t know,” Flash said. “Why are you in my living room in this scenario?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. If you’re in my living room to rob me, I’d be pissed. If you were in my living room to surprise me with red velvet cupcakes, I’d be happy. If you were in my living room because you’re running from killer ninjas, then I would be surprised because I’m not entirely sure ninjas exist, and if they do, I highly doubt you’d get mixed up in anything that would make ninjas want to kill you. But I wouldn’t be mad. I’d be impressed you got away from them. And then I would go join up with them because I’ve always wanted to be a ninja,” Flash said.

“Flash.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you in my house?”

“I have a gift for you.”

If she’d said she was in his house to assassinate him because she herself was a ninja and had been given orders to kill him, he would have been less surprised than he was at that moment when Flash Redding, a woman he was dead certain loathed him, said she had a gift for him.

“It’s not a throwing star, is it?”

“No, but I could make one if you want one. I’ve never made one before, though. That’s a lie. I have made them. I’ve made lots of them.”

“Flash.”

“What?”

“You’re behaving very strangely.”

“How am I behaving?”

“You’re being...adorable,” he said. “And kind of nice. It’s freaking me out.”

“Imagine how I feel.”

He pulled a plain black T-shirt out of his clean laundry basket and pulled it on. This was not a conversation he should be having half-dressed. He needed to be fully dressed and probably a bulletproof vest wouldn’t hurt, either.

“What are you doing here, Veronica?” he asked, hoping if he used her real name he’d get the real person to talk.

“You wanted to be friends with me and I said no. I changed my mind. I have some friends who feel comfortable coming over to my place and making themselves at home. I thought it was what close friends did. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. It’s twenty-two degrees out and you didn’t answer the door when I knocked even though I know you’re here because I saw your car in the garage window. I came in instead of freezing to death in my truck. I heard you in the shower so I waited outside not facing the shower in case you walk around in the buff like I do.”

“Okay,” he said. “That’s a semireasonable statement. I have some friends who’d do the same thing. So...we’re friends now?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Probably not, but I wanted to give you something, anyway, as an apology for my bad behavior the past few months. You know, the thing with the truck nuts and what not. So here.” She picked up a box that she’d set on the floor by the leather chair and thrust it into his hands. Then she picked up her jacket and started to leave the room.

“Wait. Where are you going?”

“I gave you the thing,” she said.

“You aren’t going to stay and watch me open it?”

“Is that something you’re into?” she asked.

“I...guess? I think so? Plus if it’s a bomb I want to make sure you get hit, too.”

“Good idea. But it’s not a bomb.”

“What is it?”

“Open it,” she said.

“Fine. I’m opening it.” He sat down in the chair and ripped the brown paper off the box and opened the lid. There was something wrapped in white tissue paper inside. Too big to be a throwing star. Too small to be a bomb. Unless it was a very small bomb.