About a Girl

chapter twelve

When Lily finally woke up the next morning, it was from a ray of sunlight shining directly into her left eye. She groaned and rolled over, peeking at the black alarm clock on her bedside table. After staring at it for several minutes, her sleep-clouded brain struggling to comprehend the numbers and hands and their relation to time, she realized it was half past ten. A few seconds later, she remembered that it was Christmas morning. She pulled herself upright and out of her bed. She wrapped a blanket around her body before climbing the stairs into the kitchen.

She was greeted by Mrs. Cobain and her husband sitting at the table drinking tea out of festive mugs and Kurt standing by the stove cooking what smelled like pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She stopped and looked around at the unfamiliar sight. Never in her life had she had a Christmas morning like this.

Mrs. Cobain noticed her first, looking up from her knitting and smiling at the girl. “Good morning, Lily! Merry Christmas!” she said.

Lily smiled back. “Merry Christmas.” she mumbled, still half asleep. She shuffled over to Kurt and leaned over his arm, nearly shoving her face in the pancakes. “That smells soooo good.”

Kurt laughed and elbowed her away from the hot stove. “Don’t burn your fucking face off,” he said. “It’ll be done in a minute.”

Lily grumbled and shuffled over the coffee pot. She filled a mug and sat down at the table, blowing on her hot coffee before sipping it. She wanted food, and the tantalizing smell filling the kitchen wasn’t helping. But as Kurt promised, the kitchen table was soon filled with eggs, bacon, and best of all, pancakes. Everyone filled their plates and ate until they were full, sipping coffee and tea from their mugs and talking about things they were grateful for, hopes for the coming year, and laughing about the past year. Sitting at the table with them, Lily felt at home. Comfortable and happy. She devoured the pancakes and eggs with delight, but avoided the bacon which she had never liked.

Kurt frowned at this. “You still don’t like bacon?” he asked incredulously.

Lily shook her head. “Nope.” Kurt stared at her in disbelief. She laughed. “You know what else?” she said, reaching for the syrup. “I like when the syrup gets on my eggs.” She poured the sweet, golden liquid over her pancakes, drizzling it over her eggs as well and cackling at the look of utter horror on Kurt’s face.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, you know that?” he asked, but he was smiling and laughing along with her.

Mrs. Cobain scolded her son, but Lily brushed it off. “It’s ok,” she said, filling her fork with sticky, syrupy eggs. “I am weird and crazy and I am O K with that.” She punctuated her statement by shoving her fork in her mouth and glaring at Kurt jokingly. He glared back and stuck out his tongue.

When the food was gone and the dishes were washed, Mrs. Cobain and her husband said goodbye to the kids and left for a walk. Kurt and Lily got dressed, put their suitcases in the car, and got on the road to Seattle.

As Kurt drove, Lily played music and smoked. They talked and laughed and Kurt kept his hand on Lily’s thigh the whole time. Every time they turned, Kurt’s hand would absentmindedly squeeze her tighter, as if he didn’t want her to move with the car.
They got to Seattle pretty quickly – mostly because Kurt liked to speed on the highways and empty roads. They arrived at Kurt’s apartment and hauled their bags inside. After fumbling with his keys for a minute, Kurt unlocked the door and pushed it open.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said.

Lily looked around. The apartment was small, but it was nice. It was clean despite the piles of books, records, CDs, and notebooks littered around. The living room was the first thing she saw; there was a TV and boombox on one wall, a couch covered in blankets and a few chairs in the middle, and a bookshelf behind that. Off to the left of the living room was the kitchen which was just big enough for a fridge, the stove, a little bit of counter space, and a small table with three mis-matched chairs. Down the hall to the right of the kitchen was the bathroom and Kurt’s bedroom. The bed was a mess, covered in blankets and loose pieces of paper with half-written songs scribbled on them, and it looked as though only one side of it had been slept on. His walls were plastered with posters and pictures from all the places he’d gone on tour, and the floor had clothes, shoes, and other random things strewn about. Shoved against one wall was his record player, his guitar leaning against it. Kurt leaned in the doorway while Lily looked around his room.