Snapshot

by Kay Cove

“Then if it’s working, may I use your shower? I’ll be really quick. I don’t know what Charlie was drinking, but I smell awful.” Now that she mentions it, the smell of her sweet citrus perfume has been doused out. “Sure. You want me to throw your clothes in the washer?” She twists her lips. “Won’t that take a while?” “I think my machine has a rapid wash setting. Why? Am I keeping you from something?” “It’s your party. Don’t you need to get back down there?” She glances over my shoulder. I find her eyes again. “You brought me beer.” I wink at her. “Stay. Hang out. We can turn on the TV.” She tries to hold in her laugh, but it breaks through her lips. “Are you inviting me to Netflix and chill?” “What is that?” “You don’t know what a pitch jar is or what ‘Netflix and chill’ means? Are you a million years old?” I lift my shoulders. “I had a…let’s call it sheltered childhood.” Lennox’s teenage years were probably filled with public school and house parties. I went to private school and graduated early. And when I drank as a teenager, it wasn’t because I was sneaking around. It was because I was spending a lot of time in Germany, where it was legal to do so. I didn’t have the urge to rebel. I liked school. I liked traveling. Grandma and Grandpa filled my life with all the extravagant adventures money could buy. Looking back, they were probably trying to keep me distracted. Between never knowing my dad and losing my mom at seven, I could’ve turned into a troubled, brooding teenage...