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Oliver was watching a random program on TV – some reality show he didn’t even bother learning the title – when there was a knock on the door.
With one last eye roll, he turned it off and opened the door to a delivery guy waiting in the hall.
“Oliver Hampton?”
“That’s me, yes.”
“I’ve got a delivery for you,” the man said, and sure enough, Oliver could see he was holding a small box. “If you could sign here, please,” the guy continued, handing him a pen and pointing at the line where his signature should go.
Oliver signed the paper and handed back the pen.
“Here’s your box. Thank you, and have a good day.”
“You too,” he answered, before going back to his apartment.
He wondered where it came from and who sent it. He hadn’t ordered anything recently.
He sat back down on his couch and frowned at the box. There was no return address. Weird.
Shaking it slightly, he guessed it was a one piece thing. It wasn’t particularly light either.
Should he open the box?
Well, if it was a bomb, he’d be doomed either way.
Bringing the box to the kitchen island, he used a small serrated knife to open it.
Inside was a weirdly shaped object wrapped in bubble wrap.
He picked it up carefully and started peeling the wrap away. Once it was completely free, he placed it down on the counter-top and admired it for a full two minutes.
Feeling pretty unamused by the whole thing, he picked up his phone and dialed the number of whom he was almost sure to be the culprit.
As soon as it stopped ringing, he talked into the receiver.
“What is this?”
“How did you know?”
He didn’t say anything in response. He heard a sigh from the other side.
“Yeah, I guess it was pretty obvious it was me. Do you like it?”
“I don’t have any particular feelings about it, no. Please enlighten me: why is there a statue of a naked woman in my kitchen right now?”
“You’re supposed to put it in the living room. You know, where the other sculpture used to be; that hideous thing that met its end at my hands two weeks ago. I’m still not sorry it happened, but I wanted to make it up to you. So I got you another one,” Connor explained.
“Of a naked woman.”
“Yes. At least it makes sense. And it’s really well done. Did you notice that detail near her–”
“Yes, and I wish I hadn’t.”
Connor laughed down the line.
“So will you put it back on that corner of your bookshelf?”
Oliver exhaled deeply.
“I might just do it. You did break the other one. I need something to fill that space. And I’m not one to refuse a gift. My mom taught me better than that.”
“Your mother is a great person.”
“Shut up, you don’t even know her. You just want me to put this,” he said, grabbing the small sculpture, “back in my shelf so you can laugh at it every time you stop by.”
“Better than cringing and looking over my shoulder every time I’m there. That thing looked like it wanted to kill me in my sleep.”
“Like you so eloquently said before, that handmade figure barely resembled any living thing. There’s no way it looked like it was doing anything.”
“I didn’t want to take any chances. I would love to see your mom’s face when she sees it on your shelf. Do you think she’ll ask questions?”
Oliver could tell Connor was enjoying it all a bit too much.
“If she does, I’m blaming the lunatic that smashed the last one to pieces.”
“If she’s as great as I think she is, she’ll thank me for it.”
“Well, then you should be here when she does,” Oliver added in a moment of boldness.
“I just might,” came the surprising answer from the other end.
Three weeks later, when Oliver’s mother came to visit, Connor was there to laugh when she complimented the new object and commented that she’d “never really understood why he insisted on keeping that black hole of a thing before”.