Dead Boys Don't Love

I followed her from the living room to the kitchen.

"This isn't happening," she repeated to herself. "This isn't happening."

I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame, watching her pick up the phone. She pressed three numbers in then slammed it back down on the receiver, shaking her head. She went over to the kitchen table and sat down, putting her head in her hands.

"Who ya callin'? The Ghost Busters?"

I heard her laugh and she picked her head up, twining her fingers together. I motioned to the wooden bench opposite her and she nodded. I lowered myself down, throwing one leg up and letting my arm run along the back.

"You never told me your name," I said, looking around the small kitchen.

"Olivia," she said quietly, avoiding looking at me.

"Well, Olivia,” I said, lifting my pointer finger. "You forgot your bags."

She watched, eyes wide, as the brown grocery bags she had been carrying before floated into the kitchen, landing softly on the floor. I smiled at her.

"H-how, how did you do that?" she whispered, looking from the bags to me.

I looked at my finger, flexing it a little. "Honestly, I have no idea. I just wanted the bags to come and they..." I shrugged. "Came." I lowered my arm back down.

She grinned at me. "Can you put them away, too?"

"No. But I'm sure I can help."

The cabinet doors flew wide open and Olivia jumped, pressing her hand over her chest. She stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her red skirt. "Conor," she said, titling her head with another smile. "I believe we're going to have a beautiful friendship."

I stayed seated as Olivia began to put things away. She was quietly talking about some of the ingredients – how to make certain Mexican specialties with this, how to properly season with that. Honestly, I wasn't sure if it was more for my benefit or hers that she didn't let things fall silent.

She did shut up when she turned around to find her box of tampons floating in the air, though.