"Mystery. Solved. Boom!"
Kae chuckled. "Nice to see you too, Angie."
I smiled at his face on the screen of my phone. "Remember the guy at H and M that was really weird with his answers?"
He nodded. "Mm-hmm."
"I know for sure that he's a volunteer. But more than that, he's blind!"
His eyes went wide, and I could have sworn I saw the light flash on above his head. "Ah, so that's why his answers were always so weird. Well, that's cool." His eyebrows pulled together and his lips pursed. "'That's cool.' Is that the appropriate response when you learn someone can't see?"
I bent over, laughing. "I suppose so? But yeah. The mystery has been solved."
"Good. Any other mysteries to solve at H and M, Nancy Drew?" He grinned at me, eyes twinkling.
"Har har. Not yet. Maybe that's what I'll do with my copious amount of free time: solve nonexistent mysteries."
"Careful. That sarcasm could cut someone."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't keep the smile off my face. "Okay, enough with me. What about you? Any developments with Dolly?" I waggled my eyebrows.
My eyes fooled me into seeing my brother's cheeks turn pink, and he shook his head at me. "We went out for coffee yesterday, but that's it."
"Is she an out-of-towner like you?"
"No, she was born and raised here."
I tilted my head. "What's she studying?"
"She's gonna be a veterinarian."
"Honorable profession."
Kae scratched absently at his nose. "Yeah, she loves animals. In fact, she wants to take me horseback riding with her one of these days."
I let out an abrupt laugh, snorting. "You? Horseback riding? I would pay to see that."
He glared at me. "I'll make sure we record the experience just for you."
"Thank you."
"Also, can I just say? Those scrubs are, um, one of a kind, Ang." He arched a brow at me, as though asking me why on Earth I would buy such fashion atrocities.
I sat up straight, holding my arms out to show off the cartoon teddy bears licking lollipops. "Don't they just scream my name? Like, are they not the epitome of everything I am and stand for?"
"They look like something a little kid drew."
"My statement stands."
He released a loud laugh, his head falling back. "Are you wearing rainbow socks with them?"
In a sorry attempt at yoga, I held my foot up for Kae to see. "Sadly, no. Just frog socks."
"Oh god."
"You're just jealous of my sock collection." I crossed my arms over my chest and held my head high.
"Mm, they would totally land me points with the ladies." He ran his fingers through his hair.
"If they don't support your sock choices, they aren't worth it."
"Why do our conversations always end up like this?"
I grinned at him. "Because I'm the weirdest person you know?"
"That must be it." He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back. From this angle, I could see part of his apartment. The kitchen counter behind him had a pile of dirty dishes on it. I had to assume that was his roommate, Jeremy's fault—Kae never let messes linger.
We spoke about the little things and the things in between. I told him about Sam's disappointment that he had taken a lover, but he just rolled his eyes and said she had been dating someone for a year now—he could have someone of his own. To which I responded that it was weird that they pretended they were in a relationship with each other.
"Hey, aren't photophobia and increased confusion symptoms of bacterial meningitis?" Kae squinted as he looked at the ceiling light, and I could hear him swallow.
Groaning, I slammed my head on my desk. "Yes, they are, Kae," I answered, voice muffled. I lifted my head. "Why? Do you think you have bacterial meningitis?"
He rubbed his head. "Maybe. I don't know. I can't handle bright lights and sometimes I feel dazed."
I shot him a bored look. "Do you go into the kitchen and forget why you're there, so you just kinda stand there confused?"
"Yeah."
"Do you spend hours watching shows in the dark so when you go into the bright hallway afterwards, the light hurts your eyes and you feel like dying?"
"Yes, that's it exactly!"
"Kae, that's called being a human. You don't have bacterial meningitis." I feigned a yawn.
He pouted at me. "But what if I do?"
I played with my hair, twisting it between my fingers. "Then go to a doctor. But remember that time you swore you had norovirus and the doctor said you just needed to use the bathroom?"
He pointed his finger at the screen. "It could have been norovirus. It was wintertime and Jeremy had been throwing up that morning."
"Jeremy was hungover."
Kae opened his mouth but shut it.
"If you're seriously worried about it, go see the doctor. He's your best friend at this point anyway, right?" My lips tilted into a teasing smirk.
Glaring at me, he said, "We aren't on a first-name basis, if that's what you're alluding to, Ang."
I held my hands up in surrender.
"Alright, I should go," Kae announced, rubbing the nape of his neck. "There's a pile of dishes I need to wash and some editing I want to finish up tonight."
"Shouldn't Jeremy clean them? Especially since I'm pretty sure they're his."
"You convince him to clean them then." He rolled his eyes. "Alright, I'm off. Bye, Ang."
"Bye, Kae." And I hung up.
__________ __________
As I snapped the cap against my skin, I declared, "I think this hairnet looks good on me, don't you?"
The lunch ladies shook their heads and rolled their eyes at me, but they smiled. By my third day with them, the ladies picked up on my sense of humor and tendency to play around.
"You can start that trend after you clean the dishes." One of them, Josie, tossed a pair of yellow gloves at me with a lopsided smile that showed off her gold tooth.
The kitchen of the cafeteria consisted of a bunch of women, aged twenty-four to seventy-eight, and while cleaning and cooking, they sang classic songs by Nat King Cole, Elvis Presley, and Patti Page. The younger workers memorized the lyrics, and together, they turned the cafeteria into a sort of Oldies radio.
When they launched into a song I didn't know, I would attempt to harmonize—and I'd sound a lot like a broken trumpet. However, the lunch ladies would sway and sing louder, off-key and off-beat, until everyone collapsed into laughter.
After singing "Come On-a My House" by Rosemary Clooney, we applauded and the kitchen became a center for gossip rather than a radio. I hummed to myself at one of the large basin sinks, scrubbing at the leftover food on the plates, bowls, and silverware.
The hum of gossip became a roar, and I turned to see the only male in the kitchen. He had short, spiked brown hair with golden highlights and deep brown eyes. A five o' clock shadow brought an element of sharpness to his features, and it accentuated his broad, white smile. His youthful features suggested that he was maybe around my brother's age.
His eyes locked onto mine. "Well, what do we have here? Did you ladies finally take my advice and hire a cute blonde?"
The worker closest to him delivered a playful slap to his arm and chuckled. "She's not here for your benefit. She's for ours."
"Be nice and introduce yourself." Another worker shoved him toward me, and I had to smile.
The ladies returned to their idle gossip as he approached me, but they kept turned toward us, as though to watch from the corners of their eyes.
"Salutations, milady." He dropped into a swooping bow. "I am Justin Zilch. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
I laughed at his unexpectedly accurate British accent. "Yours as well. I'm Angela Duff-Valentin." I held my hand out. But I still wore the glove dripping in foodstuffs, so I pulled my hand back with an uneasy chuckle.
"Angela. What brings you to our humble kitchen?"
"I'm a new volunteer here, so I don't have an ID yet."
He cut me off with a nod and an, "Ahh, so you have to work here for free food."
"Exactly. I, uh, didn't know the kitchen employed men." I indicated the crowd of women behind him.
Justin grinned, and it had an air of practiced flirtatiousness. "Oh, we try to work here. But they just kick us out. But I — yes, I, Justin Zilch — managed to break into the kitchen culture and make myself one of them."
He made wide, arching gestures—dramatic, like a performance. The expressions flitting across his face in rapid succession mesmerized me, like an actor on a stage.
"But alas, it seems I was gone for far-too-long, as they have replaced me with you." He slid closer to me, and I blushed despite myself.
"Well, once I have my ID, your old spot will return to you."
"A pity, really. I would have enjoyed working alongside a beauty such as yourself." He mimed smoking a cigar as he leaned against the sink, one ankle crossed over the other. "Tell me, Angela: under what department are you volunteering?"
I took a tiny step backward. "They placed me with the speech-language pathology department."
His eyes closed and he nodded slowly. "Indeed, an honorable place to be."
"I – I'm sorry, I have to ask." I quirked a brow. "Are you normally like this?"
Justin glanced down at his pose and righted himself, chuckling. "Yes, actually. Although, it's often worse after a performance."
I gestured for him to elaborate.
"Oh, I'm a part of the theater here. We recently finished a play. Peter and the Starcatcher adapted by Rick Elice. Ever heard of it?"
I shook my head.
He twirled his hand. "It's sort of like a prequel to Peter Pan. Anyway, I played Lord Leonard Aster. A beautiful production. Such a shame we meet after its closing night. I would have invited you to gaze upon me on the stage."
"Wow, that's amazing!" I clapped my hands and hopped. "I've never met an actor before."
Justin flashed me a broad, prideful smile. "The next step is Broadway."
"I hope you make it."
A hand clasped down on Justin's shoulder. "Alright, Zilch, that's enough of your womanizing. Let's get back to work everyone!"
He waved to me and disappeared among the group of ladies. I smiled as I worked. Despite his flair for the overdramatic, Justin had a kindness about him. And he was cute. With him in the kitchen now, the radio would get louder and more chaotic.