Chapter 4
I sat on the edge of the apartment building roof, feet dangling off as I swung them back and forth. There was a duffle bag beside me.
Normally I would’ve been on the top of my parent’s apartment building, but Candace and her husband wanted a date night (probably going to have kid #5 soon) and when they got back she told me to just sleep on the couch.
My plan was that Matt would realize I was on the roof, came tell me to get the fuck down, and I was going to force water and these stupidly overpriced organic apples (no pesticides or whatever, since he’s sensitive) down his throat.
I sat for exactly twenty minutes and thirty-six seconds, shivering in my oversized Old Navy hoodie, when I heard the sounds of Matt landing on the roof.
“Hey,” I said, looking over my shoulder. If I was a criminal I’d shit myself at the sight of him.
“What are you doing up here?” He dropped the whole gargling-glass voice thing he did. Good, since he sounded stupid doing it.
“Sit,” I patted the space beside me, opposite of the duffel bag.
He didn’t move right away, probably considering back flipping his way off the roof or whatever. Eventually, he made his way over, though he didn’t sit beside me. “What are you doing, Edith?”
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I reached into the duffel bag, pulling out one of four water bottles. I held it up. He took it from me. “Drink.”
“He climbed onto your sister's roof to get me to drink water?”
“And eat,” I agreed. “Now, drink.”
He sighed, though he still opened the cap on the water bottle and practically drained it in one go. I knew he wasn’t drinking water.
While he did that, I pulled out a second water bottle and one of those expensive apples.
“Eat,” I said, handing him the apple, next. “I got them for too fucking much, Matthew. Too fucking much. Organic apple bullshit. They’re apples. Apples should be organic.”
Matt titled his head, “You got me organic apples?”
“Yes, because Foggy said you liked organic stuff. Figured there was probably a reason. Probably the same reason you can do all of that ninja stuff while blind.”
Matt didn’t answer me. Probably because he was like Batman or whatever and considered his mask persona a different person. I don’t know. He needed therapy.
“Take the rest of the duffel bag,” I nudged it with you elbow, “There’s more water and apples. Not all the apples, eating that much fruit will hurt your poor tummy.”
“Okay,” Matt practically grunted, “Don’t keep going onto roofs.”
“Should bring a fiddle, become the fiddler on the roof.”
A long pause of silence.
“Okay.” That one was just Matt being confused.
“It’s a musical about Jewish people in Russia pre-WWI.” Then I remembered that he wouldn’t get the joke, since I wasn’t born Jewish this time around. “Never mind.”