We were not friends, but we were friendly.
That was why I did not feel uneasy when he knocked on my door last Friday afternoon.
I had just finished packing an overnight bag.
My mother lived about an hour away, and I planned to spend the weekend at her house.
She had been complaining that I never stayed long enough anymore.
When I opened the door, Mark stood on the porch with both hands in his jacket pockets.
"Hey, Riley," he said. "Sorry to bother you."
"No problem. What's going on?"
He glanced toward the side of my house, then gave me a small, embarrassed smile.
"I wanted to ask you something. It might sound a little strange."
That should have made me cautious.
Instead, I laughed.
"Now I have to hear it."
He shifted his weight.
"My brother's birthday is this weekend. I wanted to host something small for him, but my backyard is too cramped."
