Walking The Line | ✓

Chapter Seven

I looked at the two dozens of pumpking empanadas cooling on the counter and then at the message on my phone.

It had been a week since my parents had called me to say they'd be visiting for thanksgiving and I'd spent the morning away shopping, cleaning and doing laundry. I'd been so absorbed that I forgot to check my phone. It wasn't until I took a break that I noticed I had a new message and a few missed calls.

Now I sat at the breakfast bar drinking freshly squeezed orange juice and thinking what to do with all that food. I loved pumpkin empanadas but I didn't think my stomach would take it kindly if I ate a dozen of them.

Definitely not the smartest choice.

Luckily I hadn't started on the turkey yet, having decided earlier to leave the task for my mother. Now they weren't going to come and I had a turkey in my fridge I didn't know what to do with.

Save it for next week they'd said.

My mother had been truly sorry for not being able to come, my father on the other hand was mostly disappointed he'd have to wait another week before he saw the German. Of course I wouldn't expect any less from him, he was still grumpy about my reluctance to update him on Kühl's move in.

I had called my brother to see if by any chance I could lure him to take a last minute flight from Texas but he'd already made plans with his friends and he wasn't about to drop everything for a few empanadas. His words: 'Van I love you, but I'm not that easily bought anymore. If you want me there you'll have to upgrade your game.'

So here I was on thanksgiving feeling like an antisocial bitch. I could even hear the unmistakable sound of chatter coming from the apartment next to mine. Even Kühl had friends over at his apartment. The frigging stone cold, unwelcoming, stand-offish German pretzel had people coming over. That thought alone was depressing.

The thought of spending the day alone watching Netflix and stuffing my face in pumpking empanadas while all my neighbours enjoyed the company of friends and family was a mood killer. Although Lady Witherspoon had no family whatsoever.

Wait...

Lady Witherspoon.

That thought spurred me into action. Suddenly I knew exactly what to do.

***

That's how twenty minutes later I found myself standing in front of said Lady's door waiting for her to let me in.

There was a shuffle of feet and seconds later the door opened a crack and her head peeked around the latch, "Miss Castillo?" She asked confused.

"Happy thanksgiving!" I said with what I was sure was a wide smile on my face moving the wrapped plate into her line of sight. "I cooked some treats."

Her eyes went from the plate to me and then the door closed, her white mop of hair disappearing behind it. I opened my mouth to say something that would make me look like a fool for sure. I mean, why wouldn't she want to hang out with me? I was pretty cool. But then I heard the sound of the latch being removed and I sighed, glad I hadn't spoken.

The door opened wide again and there she was standing in front of me still in her pale pink pajamas and silk slippers, her hair a disheveled mop atop her head.

"Oh, you shouldn't have bothered dear." She said while at the same time extending her arm and taking the plate from me.

I smirked. Yeah, I knew she had a soft spot for my cooking but she tried hard not to show it. The few times I brought mexican food to her she left nothing but crumbs.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" I apologised taking in her attire.

She waved my concerns away, "Nonsense. Come in."