expired

Chapter 2, Part 2

I tapped my foot impatiently and a little nervously as I waited at Clay's doorstep. There was some clanking and crashing before I head the door unlock and the handle turn, revealing a man in his late forties. His hair was thinned beyond repair, and there were deep crow's feet stretched from the corners of his eyes to his ears, accumulated from years of laughter. I took a look at his clock, which was faster than I'd seen in a long while. I made a mental note of that, continuing to study it for a while until he broke the awkward silence. It turned out I had a bad habit of staring.

"You must be Eva!" He said, opening the door wider and welcoming me inside. "Dan Walker," Dan stuck out his hand to me, which I shook. His fingers were small and frail, as if the smallest touch would shatter them, but his handshake was firm. "Of course, I haven't a clue where Clay is, let me go grab him." Dan began to walk off, before turning around to say, "Go ahead, take a seat! Make yourself at home."

With that, I turned to the left and settled into an overstuffed chair in the living room. Across from me was a dark oak coffee table, which was mismatched with the cherry colored side tables next to the khaki-brown couches. It looked like someone tried to go with a color scheme of browns, but failed miserably. On the TV was some home and garden show, a genre I believed to be reserved for middle aged men who occasionally dragged their sons down the rabbit hole with them.

"Eva?" I heard Clay's voice behind me, sounding surprised.

"In the flesh," I said.

"Oh," he said, looking a little confused but quickly shook it off. "Well, I'm glad you're here!" Clay smiled, radiant. "Do you want something to drink?"

"I'm too young to drink," I said flatly. Clay drew back, his face turning pink before I cracked a smile and he laughed along, still jittery.

"Good answer," Dan called from up the stairs.

"Dad," Clay groaned in a special way that only embarrassed teenage boys could. "Anyways, water?" He asked, leading me into the kitchen.

"Sure." I fell in step behind him.

Clay's house was a cute little dwelling in the older half of our neighborhood, a block away from the tree, making him five blocks closer to it than I was. I looked around the kitchen in which, similarly to the den, there was a clear attempt to decorate, but it fell just a little short of looking put together. Freshly painted baby blue cabinets didn't pair well with the granite, which was shades of browns and reds. Copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling above the oven, which was cute but dysfunctional. Clay reached up to the top cabinet, pulling out two paper glasses, one green and the other blue. He stood impatiently next to the fridge and waited for the thin stream of water to fill them.

"I know, I know," Clay said, breaking the silence.

"What?"

He sighed. "I see you looking around. Dad tried, he really did. But," Clay laughed to himself, shaking his head. "Not all turns out as planned."

"It's not..." I paused for a moment too long, and before I could finish my sentence, we cracked up. "Okay, maybe it is."

"You don't say?" Clay walked around the bar and took a seat at the island, while I opted to rest standing on the other side. For quite some time we just stayed like that, drinking from our colored Dixie cups, watching each other.

After what seemed like a silence beyond awkward, Clay spoke up. "Well, as you can see," he said sarcastically. "My roaring popularity in this town has attracted many guests this evening."

"I see," I looked around slowly. "You really know how to party."

"Thanks, I spent a long time planning," Clay faked bashfulness, batting his eyelashes. "Anyways," he continued. "Thanks for coming though, for real. I haven't really met anyone else."