Seeing Shadows (22 page)

I help up my hand. "Sarah, no suppositions," I warned. "That's the last thing I need."

"Okay," she sighed. She then looked fierce. "It's not fair. Why did he have to be in your vision? Aren't you allowed to grab a damn piece of happiness? It's just so fucking unfair."

Apparently I was bringing out the cursing in everyone. "It's okay, Sarah. I'm okay with it. And I'm happy with my life. My best friend and I are in our senior year. I have a great group of friends. I'm looking forward to graduation and everything that comes after it. There are so many good things in my life. Let's not focus on the bad."

Sarah grimaced. "That makes me feel worse. You being positive. You should be able to scream and throw a temper tantrum if you want. You deserve that right. But you never do. You just persevere in silence." She looked at me with an expression I had never seen on her face. "But you'll tell me if it becomes too much, right? You'll ask for my help if you can't handle it anymore?"

I understood the question she was asking. "Don't worry, Sarah" I reassured her. "I would never make a rash decision. Life is worth living, no matter what obstacles I have to face."

Sarah looked relieved. "Good. Now turn on the TV. The Bachelor is on."

**********

I went through the motions of going to class and working at Colette's the next few days, numb but grateful that the vision hadn't reoccurred. I forced myself not to stare at every blonde that crossed my path, searching their face to see if it was the one I had seen in my vision.

I was acutely aware of Simon's absence during this time. We had gone over to Grant and Marcus' place for pizza on Tuesday, but Simon had been absent. Grant had mentioned that Simon had a group meeting for one of his classes and I had just nodded my head, not wanting further explanation.

I had the distraction of preparing for the party on Saturday that would be a combination of Jenny's birthday and Halloween, with the celebration ending at the East End, where the Henchmen were playing a short set. Sarah debated making costumes mandatory for the party, but I revolted since I personally didn't want to wear one. Halloween seemed like an excuse for girls to dress in the least amount of clothes possible without having to worry about being branded a slut. It was as if the rules no longer applied on Halloween and people didn't look at you twice if you left the house in a bustier and short shorts that bared your cheeks. You were simply Superwoman.

On Thursday afternoon I was home alone while Sarah was in class. I was done with school for the day and feeling a little out of sorts when there was a knock at the door. I opened it, revealing Simon propping himself on the doorframe with an easy smile. I drank in the sight of him after being deprived for so many days. He was wearing his usual jeans with a grey t-shirt and his green coat. Simon's blue eyes looked clear and bright, like they had before our disastrous conversation Saturday night. My fingers itched to sweep back his dark hair brushing his forehead, and I clenched my fist to suppress the motion.

"Hi," I said cautiously, unsure of what the dynamics between us were going to be now.

"Hi," Simon parroted back to me, quirking his mouth. "Are you going to let me in?"

"Oh, sure," I said hastily, stepping back to let him in. I realized I had been standing there just gawking at him. He took off his coat and laid it on the recliner, taking a seat on the couch. I stood before him, stupidly not knowing what to do.

"Um," I said eloquently. "Did you need something?"

Simon looked up at me with an innocent grin. "I'm here to hang out with my friend."

"Okay," I replied slowly, not sure how to process his statement. I didn't understand what he was doing here, acting as if last Saturday had never happened.

"You said we would be friends, right?" Simon asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or are you already reneging on that?"

"No, no," I said quickly. "We're friends. I just-uh, didn't expect to see you today."

"You're done with your classes and you don't work today." This was a statement, not a question.

"How do you know?"

"I have my sources," Simon said, waggling his eyebrows. I laughed, relieved that it seemed like we had our easy camaraderie back. Maybe this friend thing could actually work. Simon seemed to have accepted it and moved past his prior interest.

"Okay. What do you want to do?"

"We could hang out here or go to a movie or something. But I'd prefer it if you came over to my place and put those kitchen gadgets to use." Simon looked at me endearingly and I couldn't find it in me to refuse. Besides, I had thought I would never see the inside of his apartment again, and it was a relief that Simon had reinserted himself back in my life.

"Sure, why not."

Simon jumped up and grabbed his coat. "Great! Let's go."

I slipped on my coat and we made our way to his apartment. We didn't talk on the short walk to his place. I didn't know what to say and Simon didn't feel the need to make conversation. I couldn't help giving him furtive sideway glances. It was hard for me to keep up with his mood shifts sometimes. Our conversation on Saturday had deeply unsettled me, but he seemed to be able to cast it off easily. I decided to take my cues from him and forget about what happened and simply accept him as a friend. If Simon could do that, so could I.

It was with newfound confidence that I stepped into his apartment. Simon took our coats and hung them in the front closet.

"So, what do you want to make today?" I asked, walking to his kitchen.

"Garbage cookies," Simon said immediately, with a grin.

"I doubt you'll have the ingredients for it," I replied. "Actually, I'm not sure what we can make with the stuff we bought last Saturday, since a lot of it might not be good anymore like the chicken."

Simon smirked and swept his hand to indicate the plastic bags on the counter. I looked inside and saw they were filled with flour, vanilla extract, chocolate chips, pretzels and a vast assortment of other baking goods.

I raised my eyebrow, surveying the groceries. "Are you planning on opening up a bakery?"

"Nah, I just picked up some stuff. I didn't know what to buy so I just looked up five different cookie recipes and just bought all the ingredients they listed. We had already gotten some of the stuff last week, like the milk and eggs."

"So I guess my coming over was a foregone conclusion," I retorted, but unable to suppress a smile.

Simon shrugged. "Let's just say I hoped."

I laughed and starting pulling out the equipment that I needed to make the cookies. Simon leaned on the counter watching me.

"So the first thing we need to do is preheat the oven to 350 degrees," I lectured in my best professorial tone. "You never want to put anything into a cold oven."

Simon gave me a wry smile. "I guess you're taking this teaching thing to heart. I feel like I should be taking notes or something."

I raised an eyebrow. "That would be a smart thing to do. That way you can make them anytime you want."

"But then I won't have an excuse to ask you to come over."

I gave him my best scathing look. "Exactly. This is a cooking lesson. The point is to learn how to make it yourself."

Simon tapped the side of his head with a finger, giving me a mischievous smile. "I'll keep it all right here, babe. I've got close to a photographic memory."

I rolled my eyes as I grabbed a carton of eggs and butter from the fridge, unwrapping two sticks of butter and placing them on a plate. "Your talents just don't stop, do they?"

Simon grinned suggestively. "You have no idea."

I burst out laughing. I could deal with this Simon. The funny lighthearted Simon who made jokes and was content to keep things easy.

"Okay, back to business." I stuck the plate of butter in the microwave. "You need to cream the butter, but the butter needs to be at room temperature to be able to do that. Since the butter's been in the fridge, you can just put it in the microwave at half-power for a minute and it'll be just right."

Simon brought his hands up to his face as if he were holding a camera and blinked his eyes, making a clicking noise like the shutter was going off. "Got it."

I snorted at his antics. I grabbed the brown sugar I had seen in one of the plastic bags and the white sugar we had bought last week from the cupboard. Since we had previously put the groceries away together, I knew where everything was. It was a little disconcerting to feel so comfortable in his kitchen, not having to ask where anything was. Disconcerting but pleasurable. I pushed away the thought of whether Samantha had any intimate knowledge of Simon's apartment. None of my business.

Simon leaned back on the counter, watching me measure out the sugars. "Are you wearing a costume on Saturday?"

"No way," I said, wrinkling my nose. "Not my thing. I don't need everyone looking at me. You?"

"I hadn't given it much thought," Simon replied. "Grant was trying to convince me and Marcus to go as ZZ Top, but I'm not sure I can wear a scratchy fake beard all night."

I grinned. "I could see that. You should totally do it."

Simon shrugged noncommittally. "We'll see."

The microwave beeped that it was done and I took the plate out. "Okay, next you dump the butter and both the sugars in a bowl and whip it until it's light and creamy." I grabbed the handheld mixer we had bought last week from the cupboard and creamed everything together. I looked up to catch Simon watching me instead of the bowl. "Pay attention," I said sternly, pointing to the mixture in the bowl.

Simon nodded with a thoughtful look. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Not wanting to know what he had been about to say, I filled the silence with my instruction. "Now we add two eggs, one at a time." I looked at him. "Can you crack eggs?"

"Luckily I'm a master egg cracker," Simon joked, reaching for the carton I had taken out earlier. He cracked one egg and waited while I whipped it into the mixture. "Is there a reason you never want to be the center of attention?"

I concentrated on making sure that the egg was well incorporated. It was hard getting used to the personal questions Simon threw out with no warning. "Not really," I replied, measuring my words carefully. "I'm just more comfortable not being in the spotlight." I looked up at him with a wry smile. "Not everyone can be a rock star." I didn't explain that my father's constant criticism growing up, combined with the visions that had almost debilitated me at one point, were enough for me to retract behind a wall that I only allowed a select few to breach. I wasn't sure if Simon was going to be one of them. "Okay, next egg."

Simon cracked another egg into the bowl. "Do you think it's because of not having a good relationship with your father and growing up without a mother?"

I sucked in my breath. Simon didn't seem to pull any punches in his questions. I wasn't used to people being so frank with me. People usually never mentioned my deceased mother because they didn't want to bring up an uncomfortable subject. That is, if they even knew me well enough to know my mother had passed away.

"Wow, that's some question," I turned off the electric mixer and looked up at him. "Isn't it a little insulting to ask me if I'm messed up because my mother is dead? And I never said my father and I didn't have a good relationship."

Simon shrugged apologetically. "I didn't mean to offend you. It just seemed as though you alluded to it at brunch the other day. And I don't think you're messed up. I'm just trying to understand you better."

"Simon," I said slowly, as if I were speaking to a child. "I'm pretty easy to understand. I have no deep dark secrets or skeletons in the closet." If he only knew. "I'm pretty straightforward so I'd appreciate it if you stopped asking me all these probing questions. You'd think you were a psych major instead of a music major."