Moose and Goose

Chapter Seventy-eight

Jerome walks alongside Judith down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on his shoes. Her arms are folded around her chest for warmth as the autumn breeze surrounds her.

"Hey, thanks again for coming to get me. I know I said it already last night, but," she stops speaking when he talks over her.

"Don't worry about it, Judy," he mumbles. "Honestly, this is the last time I'm helping you with anything, so save your thanks for the next guy."

"What'd I do now?" He scoffs and shakes his head as she stares at him, waiting for an answer. After a few seconds, she sprints in front of him, and he quickly stops walking to avoid crashing into her. Sternly, she asks again, "Jerome, what'd I do?"

He stares at her with his almond-shaped eyes smaller, glaring through the worry and confusion in hers. She watches his mouth twist, and she furrows her eyebrows.

"I've been trying to get you to take a chance with me for so long its got my friends peeved. Finally, after this cat and mouse chase, you asked me on a date, and I said yes." Jerome leaves his mouth open, and Judith sees his jaw shifting as he struggles to speak calmly. He takes a breath, straightens his posture, and returns his attention to her, forcing a stoic expression. "You chose him, and I'm done waiting in line like some dumbass without options."

He strolls past her while looking forward, and she cranes her neck to follow him. She stands where he left her, her heartbeat and incoherent thoughts the only noise she notices.

I chose him? I didn't choose – I'm not with – fuck!

She swears under her breath then runs behind him. They reach her yard, and she walks alongside him up her steps. As he lifts his fist to knock, she shifts her weight onto her right foot and hugs her frame.

"I didn't choose him," she grumbles without hesitation, and after knocking three times, he returns his arm to his side.

"Whatever, Judith." She turns her head to him then back to the door as it opens. Stevie's in his pajamas with a red mug of hot chocolate in hand — a snowman on the front surrounded by snowflakes — and bags under his eyes.

"Stevie, are you okay," Judith asks, knitting her brows as she scans him from his hair to his loafers. "You look sick."

"I just have a cold, but Momma thinks I have chickenpox or measles. I forgot which one she said," he answers in a low, raspy voice as if he'd been yelling for a while. "Why're you here? Shouldn't you be at school or something?"

"I would ask you the same thing, but," she stops midway to throw her hand up, emphasizing his poor health when she motions up and down.

Sheryl steps off the stairs with her black cat-eye glasses hanging off the tip of her nose. Her hair's pulled back in a bun, making her appear younger. When she sees Stevie, she rushes to him with mittens on her hands and her right arm hooked across her nose and mouth.

"Stevie Zion Jefferson, get away from the door before you infect someone else," she whisper yells. Though she's muffled, they understand her. He releases the knob while rolling his eyes, and Jerome takes a step back, lifting his collar over her face. "And get in bed! I told you your doctor said you have to rest."

"Momma, I don't have chickenpox. It's just a cold," he whines, and she stands over him as he turns to her. Judith and Jerome bounce their eyes between the two. "All of my friends are probably at the movies or something, and here I am, wasting my break with Vera, who's actually sick. This is probably her fault."

"Stop it," Sheryl chastises. "I'm not about to get into whose fault it is with you, and I'm not those kids' parent, so what they do is their business. And it's not chickenpox. For the fifth time, it's smallpox, and you're not spreading it any further than this house."