The Me You See (7 page)

“I think you look like a Stefia,” I said. “Far too pretty
to have a normal name.”

She blushed.

“In fact,” I continued, “I think Stefia is a name that just
screams someone destined for great things.”

“I was told it is a cross between Stephanie which means
crown and Sophia which means wisdom.”

“Interesting cross of names,” I pondered. “Why the
combination?”

“Because my father wanted his first born daughter to be
named Stephanie and my mother was rooting for Sophia.”

“Ah,” I said. “I guess I would I tend to side with your
mother.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly.

“Oh?” I said, wondering why the abrupt dismissal.

 “She’s not here. I mean, my mom.”

“Gone for the afternoon?”

“No. Gone forever.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, taken aback. “I didn’t realize your
mother had died.”

“She didn’t. She left.”

She bent to pick up a bright red leaf on the ground,
twirled it around by the stem, and then let it fall back to where she’d picked
it up from.

“Where did she go?”

“No one knows,” she said. “Anyway, it doesn’t really
matter. We all move on, right? Thanks for coming across the street to help, but
I guess I didn’t need it.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yeah. And thanks for the cookies. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

We stood there for a moment. I wondered what else I could
say so I didn’t have to leave.

“Are you sure everything is okay?” I asked.

“Why do you ask?” she responded, without turning around.

“You just look upset,” I said, slowly following behind her.

“I’m okay.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” I tried one more time, “but you
really look like you’re upset about something. And I hate to leave someone if I
can help them.”

She turned around to face me.

“I actually think the cookies are about the best thing you
could have done. Russian teacakes are my favorite.”

“I know they are traditionally a Christmas cookie, but I
eat them year round.”

“I haven’t had them in a long time. My mom always made them
for me the Sunday before Christmas. That was our Christmas cookie baking day.”

I didn’t say anything.

“So, thanks. I really appreciate it. It was…great timing.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. I’ll tell my dad you stopped over.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t be a stranger,” she said. “Okay, Niles?”

I smiled the warmest smile possible and walked back to my
house.

Be a stranger, Stefia? I wouldn’t have dreamt of it.

**

A loud rap on my front door a week later sent the dog
barking and my two cats hiding. I moved the curtain in the living room to peek
out and see who was standing on the front step.

Stefia.

I kicked at the dog to shush him and he retreated to his
bed near the stairwell. I tucked in my shirt, took a deep breath, and opened
the door.

“Stefia!” I said, “What a nice surprise!”

“Hi, Niles. I just came over to return this platter you
brought the cookies over on. Thanks, again.”

I took the tray from her and grinned graciously. I caught
her sneak a glance past me into the house

“Oh gosh,” I said. “Don’t mind the mess. It’s just been
crazy with the moving and…”

“Don’t worry about it, Niles,” she said. “You’re in the
middle of trying to fix up the house you just moved into. Besides, I would
think you were a little weird if you kept everything totally spotless. Then
you’d be like my mom. And that’s not how real people live.”

That girl. She was something else.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked. “I’ve just made some
pumpkin bread.”

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, presumably to
check the time. As if on cue, Magpie the dog, crept off his dog bed and snuck
around the corner to us.

“Aww, you’ve got a dog!” Stefia said, her voice rising into
a squeal. She put her phone back in her pocket and bent down to Magpie. He got
excited, jumped, and licked at her face.

“Magpie, down!” I said, embarrassed that he was jumping all
over her.

“It’s okay, I love dogs. I wish I had one. What kind of dog
is she?”

“She is a he,” I corrected, “and he’s a beagle.”

“I love his ears!” she said, running her hand down the
length of his long flaps. “How old is he?”

“Five,” I answered. “But he thinks he’s still a puppy.”

Magpie stopped licking Stefia and ran to get his toy—a
ratty old stuffed bunny— and dropped it by where she is knelt on the ground.

“You brought me a toy?” she said to Magpie. “You want me
throw this, huh? Do you, boy?”

With Stefia and Magpie lost in a game of fetch, I went to
the kitchen and sliced some of the warm pumpkin bread. I placed it, along with
a stick of butter and a knife, on the same orange tray she had returned. It
smelled absolutely delicious, even without its usual cream cheese icing. I left
the kitchen carrying the tray and set it on the dining room table near the game
of fetch.

“I brought out the pumpkin bread, just in case you wanted
to try some,” I said.

“Oh, okay,” she said, as Magpie brought the bunny to her.
He didn’t drop it in her lap, though. He wanted to play tug.

“Give it up, Magpie!” she said to him, giggling and pulling
at the bunny latched in his teeth. But Magpie didn’t release his clenched jaw.
Instead he tore away, bunny still intact, victory his, and went to his dog bed
to chew the bunny’s ear.

“I guess he was done,” I said. “He’s kind of the boss of
the bunny.”

Stefia smiled, stood, and came to the dining room table.

“The bread looks delicious,” she complimented.

“Thanks. Have a seat. I mean…if you want.”

She sat, folded her hands in front of her, and looked about
the room.

“You seem to be quite the wizard in the kitchen,” she said.

“Why do you say that?” I said, and offered her a slice of
bread with half a slab of butter.

“Well,” she said, taking the bread, “every time I’ve seen
you, you’ve got delicious food.”

“We’ve only seen each other twice,” I reminded her. “It
could be a coincidence.”

“Not likely,” she said, and shoved part of the bread in her
mouth.

I took a bite of the bread, too, and was pleased that it
tasted so good. The texture was soft and the flavor melted onto my tongue. It
was rich and full and practically perfect.

“Mmmm. This is really good, Niles,” she said. “You
are
a wizard in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Do you bake at all?”

“Nope. My middle sister, Naomi, is kind of the kitchen
queen now that mom is gone.”

She chewed the rest of her slice of bread in silence; I
suppose that she was thinking on her middle sister or her mother or maybe even
how to make pumpkin bread. Then I caught her looking at the pictures I had
framed all around the antique buffet opposite my dining room table.

“Those are pictures from when I used to live in Virginia,”
I said.

“How long did you live there?”

“Most of my life,” I said.

“What brought you here?”

“I surely don’t know,” I said with a chuckle. When she
looked at me cockeyed, I said, “Who moves to Minnesota by choice?”

“What’s wrong with Minnesota?”

“One word: Winter.”

Stefia laughed.

“I’ve never lived anywhere else,” she said. “Minnesota
winter is normal to me.”

“You’re one tough cookie. Do you want another piece of
bread?”

“Can I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay,” she said, and reached across the table for another
slice. “I think this is the best pumpkin bread I’ve ever tasted.”

“Thanks.”

“But seriously,” she said, swallowing. “Why Minnesota?
There’s forty-eight other states besides here and Virginia. Why choose
somewhere whose only claim to fame is the longest winter ever?”

“Actually, that would be Alaska, I think,” I said, and
reached for a second piece of bread myself. “And to be honest, most of what I
heard of Minnesota before moving here was about the greatness of the Mall of
America, and that you have a pretty amazing theater circuit.”

She swallowed the bread that was in her mouth and choked a
bit. She cleared her throat and coughed to help it go down.

“Are you okay?” I asked, rising. “Do you need some water?”

She nodded and I brought her a full glass from the kitchen.
She drank the whole thing and then smiled uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I just swallowed wrong.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded.

“What were we talking about?” she asked. “Oh, yes.
Minnesota stuff. I’ve never been to the Mall of America.”

 “Really? It’s right here in your state and you’ve never
been?”

“Nope. Way too big. I heard if you spent just ten minutes
in every store or attraction at the mall, you’d be there for four days. And
that’s without even sleeping.”

“You’re not a shopper?”

“Nope. I know, weird for an almost 14 year old girl.”

I practically choked on my bread. Was she kidding me?

“You’re only thirteen?” I said.

“Yeah.” She pushed the rest of the bread into her mouth and
licked her fingers. “Well, I’ll be fourteen in a couple weeks.”

“Oh,” I said, swallowing hard. I had to look away from her.
I had looked at pictures, the butter knife, the yarn coming off the edge of the
rug the dining room table was sitting on. I looked for anything to distract me
from the fact she was at least five years younger than what I’d originally
pegged her as.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You thought I was older?”

“I did,” I confessed.

“I get that a lot,” she said, looking at the pictures
again. “I had someone ask me where I was starting classes this year. I think
they thought I was in college. I laughed and told them I was just starting high
school.”

“Could have fooled me,” I said, my head spinning in any
direction it could to change the subject.

“It’s an honest mistake, Niles. Don’t worry about it. I
hear it a lot.”

I had to change the subject.

“I don’t think it’s weird that you’re not a shopper,” I
said. “In fact, it’s kind of refreshing.”

“I suppose you haven’t had time to go to the mall yet…”

“Nope. I’ve only been here, what, three weeks? I’m still
stuck wondering how to make it through one of your winters.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said and giggled. “It will make you
tough.”

“Yeah, toughen me up, that’s what I need,” I said. “Anyhow.
I chose Minnesota for a few reasons, but a big one was a friend of mine who
actually doesn’t live too far away. James Harper. We went to college together.”

“James Harper? Never heard of him.”

“Really? I thought everyone knew everyone in a small town.”

“Is this a small town?”

“I think it is.”

“Nah, a small town is Fletcher. They’ve only got a
population of like, sixty people. That’s a small town.”

“That’s not a small town…that’s a family reunion.”

Stefia giggled and shoved the last of her second piece of
bread in her mouth.

“That seriously is the best bread I’ve ever tasted,” she
said. “Did you go to college for kitchen wizardry?”

“Nope, I just like to bake. I went to college for stage
wizardry.”

“Huh?”

“Theater. But not really the acting part. More the backstage
stuff. Lights, set design, things like that. My friend that I mentioned, James
Harper, he was there for acting.”

“Was he good?”

“He liked what he did, and I think that was the important
thing.”

“So he wasn’t good?”

“He had passion.”

“Oh.”

“That’s kind of why I moved here, though. James is trying
to start up this little community theater, kind of between here and St. Cloud?
I’d been through some junk out in Virginia, life changes and all, and he tossed
it out in the air that I should move here and help him start it up.”

“I see.”

“I think he kind of meant it as a joke at first. One of
those jokes where you toss it out as an idea, not thinking anyone will actually
bite, but then they do, and you’re glad they did?”