Final Room

05 | kirby reed

CHAPTER FIVE | KIRBY REED

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          It quickly becomes clear to both Xavier and me that I most likely cannot be trusted around loud noises in the middle of the night.

          We move the floor lamps somewhere we're not bound to trip on them ("I got them as a Secret Santa gift last year," he confesses. "They're horrid, but I don't have the heart to get rid of them."), but I don't try to get him to switch his whole life around just for my sake. If he owns that bar, then he makes his own schedules based on what's comfortable for him, not for me, and I don't want to pull his world out of its axis even further.

          The therapist he mentioned to Mom is the cousin of the husband of one of the other bartenders. It's someone he's never met, so there won't be a conflict of interest preventing this from being a positive, fulfilling therapeutic relationship, but all I know about her is her name and appearance thanks to a quick Google and LinkedIn-on-anonymous-mode search. I know she's (Doctor) Heidi J. Albott and I know she has big, round, kind eyes, complete with an ambiguous hair color, much like me and Xavier.

         I don't know her success rate. Searching for former patients of this woman I've never met doesn't seem appropriate and I know I'd make an accidental mention to it in case I ever decide to pursue that path, so I stay put with her phone number and email on my phone.

         I don't sleep much, either.

          Most nights, I average around two or three hours of restless sleep and stay in my room most of the time, leaving to walk Sidney around the block, use the bathroom, shower, and grab some food when I absolutely have to. Xavier doesn't try to convince me to come out and doesn't ask me to keep the door open, like Dad used to. It was more of an issue whenever Zach was around, but I don't get to sneak him into the house anymore.

          That amount of free time helps me finish the essay, knowing damn well I don't sound nearly as honest as I should, but it's the most effort my sleep-deprived brain can muster, so it will have to do. I submit my application three days before the deadline, receiving a promise in return about how it will only take one or two business days to hear back from them, and refuse to look at my email inbox any longer.

          In the meantime, Xavier and I try to fall into a routine that's comfortable for the two of us, without much sacrifice from either party. I'm left to my own devices most of the time, but he insists I help him cook, especially with how much we depend on leftovers, as he refuses to survive on takeout.

          Cooking has always been his thing. The kitchen is his sacred place and I remember growing up and wishing I had the smallest bit of his talent, but I can't cook a gourmet dish to save my life. I don't ask questions about why he owns a bar instead of a restaurant, as I've never heard him mention a thing about enjoying making drinks, but it must be yet another thing I don't know about him.

          To his credit, he does try to involve me in his life.

          I'm a complete disaster in the kitchen, but he's amused by the fact, adding it's 'refreshing' that I'm so bad at this and don't pretend otherwise, as opposed to all his employees who consistently try to gain an advantage over each other as they try to impress him. I've never been particularly good at faking my talent for any given craft and I'm way past the point of bending and breaking to impress other people, so his so-called compliment doesn't land.

          Not that I tell him that.

          I force myself to smile, trying my best to ignore the way the light from above glistens on the blade of the knife he's holding. I think he catches me staring and sets it down, excusing himself to go make a phone call, and I don't make a move to follow him or attempt to eavesdrop. If he's calling Mom and Dad, I don't want to hear what he has to say about my behavior.