I'm lucky. I have a good relationship with my father. We have more of a "guy friends" relationship than "father-son" type. Thus, even though I've been living on my own for years, at age 33 I still drop by my dad's house to hang out and watch sports (today, the big college football game between Be White U and Utah -- the one called the Holy War) and shoot the breeze. Normally the chatter is pretty meaningless. But every now and again...
"So what's happening, Pop?"
"You remember my friend Jimmy?"
"Yeah. He used to bring his son and his daughter over, and they'd hang out with me. I was the same grade as his son and two ahead of his daughter. They moved back East when I was about 15."
"His daughter... shall we say, displayed poor judgment in her choice of husband. She was in the hospital for a month after her husband smashed her face in and repeatedly punched and kicked her all over her body during an argument. While she was in hospital, Jimmy went over and put a bullet into her husband's no-reflex zone. Half the town is hailing Jimmy as a hero and the other half wants him torn limb from limb. Anyway, Helen has decided she needs a fresh start. She's flying in tomorrow. Can you put her up at your place?"
"I can understand why she wants out. What a crazy situation. Her dad finally snaps and terminates her abusive asshole of a husband. So she flies across the country to get away from it. Sure, I can take her in for a bit."
Pop gave me Helen's contact information and a picture of her taken six months ago, so I could recognize her. He then texted her a freshly taken picture of me, so she could recognize me. After all, it had been 18 years since we last saw each other in person.
The next day, I met Helen at the airport. She had one suitcase and one backpack. We didn't start talking until after we got her stuff in my car and headed out on the road home.
"Thanks, Ken."
"You're welcome, Helen. Do you want to talk about what happened with Vito, or should I avoid that subject?"
"The less said about it, the better. I'm not exactly shedding tears that he's dead."
"Understood. Are you looking forward to being back where you grew up?"
"A bit, yeah. I wonder how much things have changed?"
"It's now $3 for a scoop of ice cream at the parlor. When you left it was $1."
"You goofball. I figured prices would be higher, I meant if there are things that are no longer there."
"The Chinese restaurant is now a Mexican place, the donut shop is now a Krispy Kreme, and the middle school got moved a few blocks east."
"So old Randall sold out to Krispy Kreme?"
"Yep."
When we got to my place, I helped Helen get settled in the guest bedroom. The hall bathroom would be hers: the master bedroom had an attached bathroom, and that would be mine.
"Thanks again, Ken. I promise not to be a burden for too long, I just need to get back on my feet and get my own place."
"Having you here is NOT a burden! You can stay as long as you like."
"Vito said I was useless, ugly and a burden."
I thought we weren't going to discuss him. But since she brought the subject up...
"You are not a burden, you are not useless, and you are beautiful."
Helen launched herself into me like a bomb fired out of a mortar. I instinctively caught her and held her. She burst into tears. I quietly stood there, arms around her, and let her cry. I don't know how long we were entangled, but after her sobs had turned to sniffles and then stopped entirely, she disengaged herself and looked up into my eyes.
"Thanks, Ken. I needed that."
Night had fallen by now. She'd had a long flight and looked jet-lagged. So what she said next came as no surprise.
"I'm going to bed."
"Good night, Helen. Sleep in as late as you want. I work from 8 to 5, so seeing as tomorrow is Monday, I'll probably have left the house by the time you're awake."
"Good night, Ken."
When I got home that evening, Helen was sitting on the couch, reading. A delightful aroma was emanating from the kitchen.
"Wow, that smells good."
"Thanks, Ken. Help yourself. I already ate."
I did help myself. It was some sort of stir-fry. And it tasted as good as it smelled.
"I didn't know you were this good of a chef."
Helen blushed. "Just a little something I whipped up."
I consumed my portion, then put the bowl in the sink. I returned and settled on the couch next to Helen. Since she was reading, I didn't disturb her. I just sat quietly.
Eventually, she put down her book. She nestled against me and placed her head on my shoulder.
"Vito never once said a nice word about my cooking after we married."
I stayed silent, but I put my arm around Helen. She gave me a smile.
"I think I'll like being here."
"I hope so, Helen. I'm not special, and I have flaws, but I'll do my best to make your stay a happy one."
We quietly cuddled on the couch for the rest of the evening. And again on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday evenings.
"I'm glad you're not trying to pressure me into doing anything, Ken."
"I didn't even consider it a possibility. You're very pretty and, quite frankly, can do a lot better than a lower-middle-class workingman like me."
She blushed again.
"You think I'm pretty?"
"Yes. Beautiful, even."
She gave me a genuine smile. Then we resumed being quiet and snuggling on the sofa.
Friday evening, Helen asked if she could watch a movie. So we watched But I'm A Cheerleader together. "I feel comforted when I watch it," Helen explained. "I used to watch it as a teenager."
That night, as I was sleeping, I suddenly felt a body next to me in the bed. "I had a nightmare," Helen whimpered. "Can I sleep next to you?"
Still three-quarters asleep, I mumbled, "of course" and passed right back out.