Oh How She Hates Rats
Karen hated rats. Hated them with the kind of irrational disgust that made her stomach churn just thinking about them. And moving to California gave her hope that she would never have to face her fear ever again.
And now, there was one in her apartment.
She had tried everything—stomping, yelling, throwing a book at the fridge where it had disappeared behind—but the little bastard wouldn’t budge.
So, she did something she’d never done before. She called Frank for help.
“Yeah?” His voice was rough, and low, like he’d been in the middle of something.
Karen exhaled. “I have a rat in my apartment.”
Without hesitation, he replied, “I’m on my way.”
—
Frank let himself in, his presence filling up the room in an instant, looking like he’d just walked off a construction site in his worn jeans and dark t-shirt, ready for whatever chaos she’d thrown at him.
And the first thing he saw? Karen, standing on one of her dining chairs, gripping a broom like she was about to go into battle.
Frank stopped short. Blinking. “Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t start,” she warned, pointing the broom at him.
Frank pressed his lips together like he was physically holding back a laugh. “You got a gun in your purse, you go toe-to-toe with mobsters, but a rat sends you runnin’?”
Karen huffed. “It’s different.”
He smirked, shaking his head. “Alright, where’d you see it?”
“The kitchen. Behind the fridge.”
Frank didn’t even blink. He set his keys on the counter, immediately heading toward the kitchen, his steps purposeful. “Alright. You want it dead or alive?”
“Dead,” Karen said, feeling a little less in control without her broom as protection.
Frank crouched down beside the fridge, his movements smooth and practiced.
It was over in seconds. A grunt from Frank, a loud thud, and the problem was solved. He dumped the rat in a plastic bag and tied it off.
“Done,” he said, washing his hands at the sink.
Karen let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, then glanced over at him. “Thanks. You didn’t have to come over.”
Frank dried his hands on a towel and shrugged. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t show up for a rat situation?”
She smiled for a moment. He called them friends. He had never done that before. She knows it wasn't a big deal in the scheme of things. They had been through enough together to be considered friends, but it felt nice to hear.
Then she scoffed, but there was a warmth in her chest that surprised her. “Guess I owe you one.”
“Guess you do,” he said, smirking. “Now, what’s for dinner?”
Karen blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He leaned against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable in her kitchen. “You called me over for a rat. Could’ve called your super, could’ve called a neighbor—but you called me.”
Karen opened her mouth, then closed it. Damn it. He wasn’t wrong.
She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “I didn’t say anything about food.”
Frank gave her a knowing look. “You didn’t have to. I’m here, and I’m hungry.”
Karen rolled her eyes, but the laughter she had to swallow made her voice come out softer than she expected. “Fine. Takeout. I’ll order something.”
“Thai. No tomatoes.”
She blinked. “How do you know I—”
“I just know.”
She didn’t argue. “Alright. Fine. Thai it is.”
—
Twenty minutes later, they were seated on the couch, eating straight from their containers. Karen could barely keep from laughing as Frank dug into his noodles like they were a five-star meal.
“So, no tomatoes, huh?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Frank stopped mid-bite to shoot her an incredulous look. “Don’t even start. You have no idea what you’re missing.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve tried them. I’m good.”
“No,” he said, chewing with a kind of determined passion. “You haven’t had them right. Fresh garden tomatoes, sliced up with some salt and olive oil—nothing better.”
She made a face, just imagining the texture. “That sounds like a nightmare.”
Frank just shook his head, clearly resigned. “Your loss.”
They ate in companionable silence for a while, the sounds of the city filtering in through the window. The light from the lamps gave the apartment a soft, intimate glow, and it felt easy.
Then Karen spoke up, her voice quieter than usual. “Do you ever think about… getting a dog?”
Frank looked at her, surprised. “A dog?”
“Yeah. You know, a dog. Something to keep you company. It’s low maintenance, right? Just a little mutt, following you around.”
Frank’s lips twitched, as though he were considering it. “I’ve thought about it, sure.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, eyes going distant for a moment. “But, uh, life’s been... unpredictable. Not sure I’m the best match for a dog.”
“Why not?”
He looked at her, his gaze a little more intense. “It’s not the dog, Karen. It’s the life I’m offering it.”
Karen studied him, sensing there was more behind his words. She leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean?”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”
She wasn’t about to let it go that easily. “It matters. If you want a dog, you should get one.”
Frank paused, eyes meeting hers. There was a beat of silence before he answered, his voice softer than usual. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.”
Karen gave a small, knowing smile. “I’m always right.”
Frank chuckled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, it lingered in a way that made her heart skip a beat.
At one point, they both reached for the last dumpling at the same time. Their fingers brushed. Neither of them pulled away.
The air in the room shifted, subtle but undeniable. The comfortable rhythm they had was still there, but something else was slowly building.
Karen cleared her throat first. “Well, that was awkward.”
Frank met her eyes with a faint smirk. “Yeah, but you’ll live.”
They both laughed, but it didn’t erase the tension that hung in the air, quiet and persistent.
For now, they both pretended it didn’t exist.
But it was there.