Jimbo trudges toward the kitchen with my father in tow, still bearing my box of textbooks. He’s probably going to throw them in the kitchen sink and turn on the faucet. Honestly, after what I just witnessed, I wouldn’t blame him.
“So, this is the living room!” Shannon extends her arms like a game-show hostess. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but the couches are really comfortable. Jimbo’s brother bought us the big screen TV as a housewarming gift, and he pays for a sweet cable package.”
Thankfully, Mom doesn’t comment on the fact that the couches look like they were rescued from a curb on trash day. She doesn’t even mention that nothing in here matches. Instead, she raises an eyebrow. “Jimbo?”
“James,” I supply. “It’s a bandie nickname.”
“Ah.” Mom is familiar with those.
My nickname in high school was Sofa. Everyone thought it was just so funny and clever.
“And that’s the kitchen.” Shannon gestures in the direction of the animated, one-sided conversation in my father’s voice. “But we won’t interrupt the guys. Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll show you our room.”
The house has three stories, so we follow up a narrow staircase, bypassing the second level for the third.
“Well, at least you’re on the top floor. That’s … safe.” I just know my mom struggled to leave off the -er from that word. “Are there smoke detectors and carbon monoxide detectors? A fire escape?”
“Yes, to the detectors; no, to the fire escape. An old house like this probably couldn’t be retrofitted with one.”
My mom sniffs. In all fairness, the memory of last year’s house fire is still fresh in everyone’s minds. Two students died because the dilapidated building burned so fast, and they couldn’t get out.
The stairwell empties into an equally narrow hallway. The door open directly in front of us reveals a bathroom that has a toilet, small basin sink, a plastic shower curtain pulled across the bathtub, no storage, and plenty of what looks like mold. If I’m lucky, it’s just age stains because this bathroom hasn’t been renovated since the 1980s. The tile is all faded shades of yellow and pink.
Shannon smiles awkwardly. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I just cleaned it, and we don’t have to share a bathroom with everyone else in the house. Each level has its own bathroom, and there’s even a half-bath for guests on the main floor. We keep all of our shower supplies in our bedrooms, so no one gets confused about whose shampoo is whose.”
“Well, I suppose it’s no different than having shared bathrooms in the dormitories,” Mom concedes.
“Yep!” Shannon beams. “And we’re not sharing with thirty other people. Only me, Soph, Jimbo, Tim, Nate, and Jake are up here!”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Mom’s expression darkens. “Exactly how many men live in this house?”
Shannon winces. “Uh, seven.”
“And how many women?” Mom presses.
“Also seven.” Shannon smiles because at least it’s an even ratio.
Fourteen people? They have fourteen people stuffed into this house?
“Why aren’t all the women on the same floor and all the men on a separate floor?” Mom asks.
“Oh, because seniors get dibs on the best rooms. The underclassmen live on the second floor and main floor.”
Mom strangely nods like this is a perfectly rational explanation that she’s on board with. “Well, at least it’s only for a week.”
There’s the reason.
“And this is our room.” Shannon veers one door to the left of the bathroom. She definitely picked the short straw. Her bedroom is small. As in her twin bed takes up half of an entire wall.
It’s easy to see she really did have to rearrange things to make room for a pallet of blankets on the floor for me. There’s no way a second bed of any size would fit in here. Her dresser is squeezed onto the other half of the wall her bed sits against, and her desk is right beside the closet. I’ll be sleeping under a window with my feet probably smacking against her bookshelf all night.
“It’s only for a week,” Mom reminds everyone. “Thank you for letting her stay with you, Shannon. I’m sure this is as much an inconvenience for you as it is for all of us.”
“Aww.” She waves her arm like it’s nothing, expertly sidestepping the fact that my mom admitted this life disaster for me is an inconvenience for her. “That’s what BFFs are for. She’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed.”
Shannon’s room might be cramped, but it definitely has more style than the rest of the house combined. A nice contrast of modern yet feminine teal and black.
I point to the pile of blankets and pillows in every color of the rainbow on the floor, obviously set up for me. “Where did those come from?”
“We didn’t know what you’d be able to bring with you, so Jimbo rounded them up. Everyone in the house who had extras chipped in.”
Mom wrinkles her nose in disgust. I share that sentiment.
I pull my pillow from Mom’s grasp and throw it on the pile. At least my face won’t be in contact with random stuff.
My duffel bags and box of books are still downstairs, so back down we go.
When we make it to the kitchen, Jimbo looks ready to tear his hair out. One hand is literally tangled in his thick black locks, and every so often, his fingers make a slight pulling motion. His head is resting in his palm with his elbow on the table. He isn’t even bothering to mask his boredom anymore. If he didn’t simultaneously look so irritated, I would think he was sleeping with his eyes open.
“I’m telling you, that was the best offense the Miners have ever or will ever see. The Holy Trinity of State football. Those were the days.” Dad sighs this sort of wistful sound he only makes when he’s talking football. He’s leaning back in one of a group of dilapidated-looking chairs around the secondhand table, his feet propped on the surface, a beer in hand. He couldn’t look more at home even if he had a COLLEGE sweatshirt on.
“Mrs. Reston, I’m sorry to inform you, I think your marriage is in trouble. Bill, here, might just leave you for my brother.” Jimbo’s voice is monotone.
Seeing him so miserable usually brings me great joy. Apparently, I only enjoy it when I’m the source.
Mom gives him a nervous laugh. Not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know if he’s joking, or she knows he’s not.
Dad doesn’t pick up on the awkward tension. He lets loose a belly laugh. “If he gets a Super Bowl ring, I just might!”
Jimbo actually drops his head to the table with a dull thud. Like it fell off his neck.
“Dad, stop. You’re embarrassing me.”
“You’re embarrassing me, and I’m not even your daughter,” Shannon adds.
“Oh, come on now.” Dad guffaws. “We’re just two dudes having a conversation about football.”
The fact that the word dudes just tripped out of my father’s mouth is gross. Gross and unnecessary. I’m getting the horrible feeling he plans on staying a while to relive his glory days with Jimbo. Mom doesn’t look all that pleased about this likely scenario either.