Visitation

Morning came like spilt milk, suddenly and overpoweringly white into Andrew’s bedroom window. He shifted under the blankets, rubbing his head and eyes with the backs of his palms, feeling the wine from the night before still pounding in his head.
Stretching he thought of all the reasons he should procrastinate waking up, but could not find one good enough to keep him there. He stepped gingerly out of the warmth of his bed and on to the startlingly cold floor. Thrusting the blanket from him he shot awake as the cold of the room hit him, smack in the face awakening him completely.
He was on his way to the bathroom, rubbing his arms to keep warm, teeth beginning to chatter when he heard the sound of a car door slam. He stopped, dead still, wondering who it could be and then creeping on fast barefoot tip toes he slid to the side window and peeked out.
A muffled figure was emerging from a small red car that he had never seen before, its face covered by a blue and white scarf and head secured with a matching colored hat. The figure turned toward the side window its sunglasses reflected in the vicinity of where he stood and he swore under his breath and let the curtain fall back. For a moment he wasn’t sure what to do, rubbing his hands through his hair and pacing uncertainly back and forth before grabbing a shirt and jeans from the floor and ducking into the bathroom.
The front door bell rang, a small sound calling down the hall to him, and he emerged, hopping one footed into his jeans and down towards his visitor. His dark hair hung back from where he had doused it with his wet finger combing hands and his shirt was on backwards, but he was unaware of this in his haste.
At the front door, a brown rather shabby excuse for a door, he attempted to peer through the peep hole, but the doorbell rang, a little louder and with a sense of urgency in its quick tone. His hand was already responding, turning the lock and handle before he became aware of it and when he did it was too late.
“Yes?” He peered out, but the sun sprang at his eyes, causing them to water and momentarily blinding him.
“Hi.” It was a female’s voice. One he knew all to well. One that the last time he had heard it it had been raised in anger that had reached to the roof before bouncing back at him in words of accusation.
“Hi.” He opened the door completely. “Come on in.” There was a pause before she entered the house, blocking out the sun for a moment with her silhouette and then passing him.
It took him a moment to recover from his surprise at her presence, but as soon as he did he began racing about, shoving dirty clothes under the couch with his foot and carrying dirty dishes that had been heaped on his coffee table into the kitchen.
“Want some coffee?” He called over his shoulder, at her still, arm crossed figure.
“Um, sure.” Her voice wavered down the hall at him.
He emerged from the kitchen a moment later, a smile on his face. “I don’t have any coffee. Wanna go out?”
She shook her head, her hat and scarf still on, but muffling her face a little less, her sunglasses in one of her gloved hands. He froze and stared, unsure where to go and what to say.
She shifted her feet and glanced around, her dark blue eyes quick and sharp. “How are you?”
“Good. Fine. And you. What brings you here?” The words rushed from him, in gasps, trying to keep her here in the moment and with him.
She looked at him, at his shirt, the tag hanging out of the rounded back below his neck. For a moment a smile played across her face before her eyes crashed into his, becoming serious and regretful.
“I just came for the rest of my stuff.” She lowered her eyes to the floor.
“Things?” He stared at her, feeling his face go immobile with disguised nonchalance.
“My clothes. My winter clothes. I think they’re in the back of the closet.” Her eyes met his, briefly before fleeing to the couch, the filthy carpet, anywhere but at him.
“Are you sure they’re still here?” He could hear his voice crack, and he despised himself. “Yes.” She gestured towards the back bedroom, one arm still crossed across her chest, the other weaving itself back into it as soon as the gesture was completed.
“You should’ve called.” He said, passing her, his lips curled.
“I did.” For a moment anger slid into her voice, but when he glanced back at her, her eyes were large and sad, watching him.
He returned a moment later with a rather dilapidated cardboard box, the top sagging in on itself. “Here.” He held it out to her and she reached for it, but he pulled it back. “Can’t you stay? Just for awhile. Can’t we at least talk or go out for coffee?”
She shifted, glancing up at him, her arms crossed once again, her hands squeezing her arms. “I have to go.”Defeated he held the box out towards her, but she didn’t reach for it.