Rm w/a Vu(33)

“I’m pretty stealthy,” I quip playfully before realizing his girlfriend might misconstrue it for shameless flirting and think I’m a hussy.

Callie turns on her chair, and her blue eyes are crystal clear and shining with happiness. “Hi,” she greets, hopping off the stool. “You must be Greyston’s new tenant. Juliette, right?”

I nod, my face warming a little. “I am. You’re Callie?”

“Ah,” she says, glancing back over her shoulder at Greyston. “So, he’s spoken of me.”

“Highly,” I reply, even though he’s only just mentioned her. I figure it’s probably best that she thinks he speaks of his perfect relationship whenever he can…actually, I wonder why he doesn’t.

I try not to dwell on it and shake Callie’s hand. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“Same here.”

I notice that Greyston has gone back to busily stirring the meal he’s preparing. “I actually didn’t mean to interrupt the two of you; I just wanted to grab something to tide me over until dinner.” I move toward the fridge and open it up, looking for some fruit or something.

I bend over and start pushing things aside in my search for food. A clang of metal, followed by Greyston’s whispered curse and Callie’s delicate giggle allude to something happening. Glancing up, I see him looking down into the deep pot, his brow furrowed with frustration. With a sigh, he opens the drawer next to him and grabs a spaghetti fork, dunking it into the deep pot and fishing out a long, sauce-covered spoon.

Callie laughs again, drawing my focus to her. I assume I’ve missed some silent communication between the two of them, but when I see her flipping through the pages of a magazine, still snickering, I realize she must have read a funny article or something. My stomach rumbles again, so I resume my search for food, opening the fruit drawer to find some strawberries. Being allergic, I decide I don’t feel like getting a raging case of hives and close the fridge.

“There’s…uh…some protein bars in the cupboard here,” Greyston offers, his voice rough as he opens the door next to his head. “Up on the middle shelf.”

“Thanks,” I say, standing on the tips of my toes and stretching for the slender box.

Another clang of metal is heard, but when I look to my left, I see that Greyston still has hold of his spoon. His face looks a little flushed, though; maybe he’s coming down with something.

“How was work?” Greyston asks, his voice a little more steady now as I close the cupboard.

“Busy. I’m glad I didn’t have to work the evening rush,” I admit. “Anyway, I’ll leave you guys to talk. I can imagine being away as much as Greyston is you like to be together as much as possible.”

Both of them turn to look at me, eyes wide like I was in the process of sprouting a second head. “What?”

“Uh, nothing,” Greyston stammers. I don’t know when he became so nervous, but, it’s a nice change of pace; I can’t constantly be the one tripping over my own words.

Callie closes her magazine. “No need to go anywhere. We’re not that desperate to be alone with each other,” she jokes…or is she joking? It’s kind of hard to tell.

“I’ve got homework,” I tell them.

Smiling, Callie rolls her beautiful green eyes. “Greyston here tells me you’re, like, some kind of genius or something. Plus, it’s Saturday night; don’t you have a party or something to go to?”

I clear my throat. “I’m not really the party-going type,” I admit.

“Well, how am I supposed to live vicariously through you, then?” Her mock-pout makes me laugh.

“Trust me; my life is nothing to be coveted.”

Patting the stool next to her, Callie invites me over with a sideways nod of her head. “Come on, join us. Greyston’s kind of a bore.”

“You’re one to talk,” Greyston retorts.

Their relationship confuses me; shouldn’t they be a little more snuggly and a little less like brother and sister?

I need to take my mind off of that, so I decide to learn a little more about the woman in Greyston’s life. “So,” I begin, “how long have you and Greyston known each other?”

Looking contemplative, Callie looks at Greyston. “Gee, what’s it been? Six years?”

“Yeah, about six years. Sometimes I wonder how we’ve survived all this time.”

What an odd thing to say.

“Keep making wise-ass comments like that, and I’ll be sure to remedy it,” she teases.

Something’s amiss here, but I’m not quite sure what. Is it possible that after so many years together, the romance fizzles and you become a pair of bantering old hens?