How to Ditch Your Baggage

Stalker Shay talks entirely too much.

Have I said this already? I feel like it bears repeating. He talks so much that after a few hours of working outside we’ve barely gotten anywhere. Except, you know, now I know things.

Things I Know About Stalker Shay That I Wish I Didn’t
1. Born August 5th, 1993
2. Had two older sisters
3. Graduated Northeastern Summa Cum Laude in Engineering
4. Has a peanut allergy
5. Loves to watch A Walk to Remember and cries every time
6. Adamantly denies being gay despite #5
7. Enjoys cooking and cleaning
8. Can play piano
9. Is a glass half full kind of guy
10. Still sticking to this ‘I swear I’m straight’ line

I probably could’ve guessed like half that shit.

I tell him this.

He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, lifting the sledgehammer behind his head and bringing it down on the beam. I should be holding the post steady, but I don’t trust him enough to be in front of any equipment he’s wielding.

He says, “I feel like there are worse things; being predictable’s not so bad. There’s safety in the predictable.”

I balk. “There’s a lot of feelings I have when I’m around you, safe isn’t one of them.”

He looks up at that, has that same shit-eating grin I’ve come to know and hate. “All I heard was you have a lot of feelings for me.”

My face contorts in shock and rage. I sputter. “That is not what I said!”

“S’what I heard.” He lifts the hammer again, slams it down on the post. I try (unsuccessfully) not to stare at him, but I’m pretty amazed by his strength. Of course now that I’m looking I can’t help but notice that he’s also got really nice arms.

Arms! I’m noticing his arms! Abort!

After his third strike, he gives the beam a shake, staring at it thoughtfully, before he sets the sledgehammer against it. He wipes his hands on his pants, turning to look at me. I quickly turn my gaze to the hole I was digging with posthole digger (that’s literally the name of this device, not something I made up) (because I’d obviously exercise some more creativity).

“Should we take a break? Don’t know bout you but I’m starving,” he says.

I glare at him. Of course I’m starving. I basically base-line hungry, and this is enough physical exertion to put me into ‘hibernated for five years but only ate for two’ mode. I don’t tell this to Stalker Shay because I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing we’re feeling the same thing.

I set off back towards the house without warning, get a good few feet ahead that Stalker Shay has to jog to catch up to me. I move five paces to the side so I’ve got a good perimeter of space. He grins at me like he expected I’d do as much.

“I would ask you what you’d like to eat, but I take it you’re still sticking to that whole ‘we eat separately, we aren’t the Brady bunch’ bit.”

“You mean did I suffer some huge character epiphany in the last five hours that’s made me completely change my mind on a decision I literally made five hours ago?”

“I’m not asking,” Stalker Shay says quickly. “That was me not asking. Because I clearly do not think of you as too lazy to cook for yourself or fickle enough to change your mind in such a short amount of time.”

“Okay, so among other things you’re also a seriously bad judge of character. Of course I’m lazy and fickle. I’ll have what you’re having. You can bring it to me in the living room.”

We’re at the back door of the house, and he stops short, but I keep going, walking into the kitchen. He calls, “I’m not sure what was accomplished right now but I feel like I’ve accomplished something.”

“You haven’t!” I call back as I exit the kitchen and go to the bathroom to wash up. All of my exposed skin is covered in dirt, my clothes are even dirtier, and my hair (head?) is sweating. My hair doesn’t sweat, I realize. My head is sweating so my hair is sweaty, I guess. Either way, it’s pretty gross.

I don’t bother rectifying this mess because the grosser the better. Stalker Shay will see that I’m a nasty sweaty specimen of human and want nothing to do with me. Unless he’s into that. I really hope he’s not into that.

When I return to the living room, Stalker Shay is standing there. I stop where I am, raising an eyebrow. He flushes. “Uhm, where did you get all the frozen food from?” He points behind him with his thumb.

“A freezer?” I say with a purposely-dumb tone.

He stammers, “No, yeah, I got that. But, you know, everywhere lost power so?”

“It’s called insurance, man. You think the big stores wouldn’t have back up generators to save their asses? They kicked in when the power went out. So I’ve been maintaining a few nearby.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s where you get all your meat from?” I nod slowly because now he’s getting it. “So you don’t actually kill any of your farm animals?” I shake my head. “Huh. That’s actually pretty smart.”

“Wow, my intelligence validated by none of other than Stalker Shay. Honored.” I walk over to the couch and lie down on my side, reaching for the remote. “So, like, you gonna’ go cook something or?”

I don’t have to look to know he’s blushing. “Uh yeah, right. Gotcha.”

When Stalker Shay returns, he’s toting two plates of pigs in a blanket, and crinkly fries. He’s got two water bottles sandwiched under his armpit. I sit up, and slide the coffee table towards me. He sets a plate down in front of me and then moves to the armchair.

I’m actually kinda shocked he didn’t even attempt to sit next to me, and think maybe he’s actually listening to me. Maybe I’m getting through to him. “Here,” he says before tossing me the water bottle. I don’t make an attempt to catch it, watch it fly in front of my face, and hit the floor before sliding under the armchair across from him.

“You were supposed to catch that,” he says, getting up to pick up the bottle.

“That was ridiculously rude of you to throw a water bottle at my face, Stalker Shay. You nearly took my eye out.”

He ignores me, setting down the bottle on the coffee table before returning to his chair. He says, “I see we are not dropping the nickname.”

I fight a grin, shoving two of the mini hot dogs into my mouth. I say with my mouth full, “It stays.”

“It’s kinda endearing, I think,” he responds as he starts eating.

I gawk at him, feeling my face heat up. “It’s definitely certainly not endearing.”

“I should probably give you a nickname too, huh?” I pick up the remote and turn the volume up very loudly to drown out the sound of the most annoying voice ever. He says over the TV, practically screaming, “I like Stone. I think it’s suiting.”

I glare at the TV screen. Despite myself, I hit mute and say, “How is that suiting?”

“Well, you’ve got a hard exterior like a stone,” he explains. “It’s semi-suiting, anyway. I think you’re actually soft on the inside.”

“You don’t know me,” I snap.

“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty difficult to do.”

I roll my eyes. “Do you always try this hard with people? Is this like a pre-apocalypse trait of yours?”

“I don’t know, do you always push people away? Is that a pre-apocalypse trait of yours?”

“Huh,” I say thoughtfully. “It’s the chicken and the egg all over again.”

“What?” he asks eyebrows furrowing over his vibrant blue eyes. I’m not impressed because what are blue eyes but a dime a dozen.

“It’s like, am I aloof because you’re so persistent, or are you so persistent because I’m aloof?”

“So are you saying if I reign it in on the persistence, you’ll reign it back on the aloofness?”

“No, not at all,” I say not missing a beat. “But you should still, you know, reign it in.”

“I don’t feel like I’m being any more than what I usually am,” he says defensively.

“Okay, so maybe you’re always this extra.”

“I’m extra? Really? Coming from you?”

“Exactly. Takes one to know one.”

Stalker Shay laughs at this. “Fair point, fair point.”

I’ve cleared my plate, and push it forward on the coffee table before settling back on the couch. I rub my belly contentedly. “Okay, I’m done talking about this. You keep on persisting; I’ll keep on setting up roadblocks. Now I need to take a nap.” I curl up on my side, shutting my eyes.

For a minute, I actually think he’s going to be complicit in my plan to spend at least the next half hour sleeping. But then he breaks the silence with, “Can I ask you something?”

“Can it wait?”

“I guess, theoretically, it can.”

“Okay, cool, ask me tomorrow. We’ve reached our quota for talking today. I’m going to nap now.”

“You know when people say theoretically, that usually means not really.”

“Stalker Shay, I’m sleeping now.”

“Okay, got it. Noted. It’s nap time.”

My eyes shoot open and land right on him. He’s leaned back in the chair and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He looks about as comfortable as he’s going to get. “Whoa,” I say quickly. “This isn’t like a communal nap time. We,” I point between us, “aren’t napping. I’m napping. You can go off and do something else.”

“I’m tired, too. I was up earlier than you.”

“I can’t nap if you’re napping cause then it’s like we’re both—.” I bite my tongue.

He says, “It’s like we’re both sleeping together?”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“I kind of think it was.”

“I was going to say then it’s like we’re both participating in a post-lunch respite simultaneously.”

“Oh, that’s what you were going to say huh?” I nod adamantly. “I don’t know where I got sleeping together from then.”

“You’ve obviously got a very dirty mind. You should work on that. Somewhere else. Somewhere else not here where I’m trying to nap.”

“Sshh, Stone, it’s nap time. I’m sleeping now.”

“You’re so annoying it actually physically hurts me.”

He’s got his eyes closed like he’s pretending to actually be asleep but he smiles upward into the air at nothing in particular. I resist all urges to bunch him in the throat, and turn over so I’m facing the inside of the couch.

Facts About Life
328. Simultaneously napping /= sleeping together