by K. S. Thomas
“How about some breakfast?” I ask, bending down to scoop her up. “Maybe a banana?”
“Boohs-berries,” she counters, looking especially grumpy this morning.
“I’ll see if we have blueberries,” I promise, making a mental note to check Greer’s fridge if I don’t find any here. It’s a leave no stone unturned kind of morning. Kind of year, if I’m being honest.
“Where’s Chase?” Abbas mutters from behind me. I’m still mid-search of their refrigerator when I turn around to face him.
“Went across the hall for coffee.”
Abbas grunts in response, but he’s slowly starting to look more awake as he meanders through the kitchen and keeps going for the front door.
“Oh, hey,” I call out as his hand reaches for the handle, “think you could see if they have any blue berries while you’re over there?”
Abbas stops trying to leave and instead retraces his steps back into the kitchen, making a sharp left at the counters and passing the center island to meet me at the fridge. “Chase hides the more expensive items.” He grins, opening the deli drawer and pulling out several packets of cheese and lunch meat before he retrieves a solid yellow container I assumed contained butter. “Here. He just picked these up at the farmer’s market yesterday. Washed and everything.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” I take the Tupperware and pop off the lid before I hold it out to Monroe who greedily goes for the berries with both hands, picking up one with each thumb and pointer finger. Normally, I’d set her down to eat, but this place isn’t exactly toddler friendly. At all. “And not just with the berries.” I showed up here with zero warning, at one in the morning with a screaming child. Sure, Chase is my brother, but Abbas didn’t have to let us stay.
“No worries, bro. You’re family, right?” He starts for the door again. “But just so I can mentally prepare...how long do you plan on staying? Like, do we need to babyproof this place?”
I laugh. “Absolutely not. We’re just passing through. Promise.” If all goes as planned, I’ll be back on a plane and headed home by Friday. And Monroe, she’ll be home too. Her real home. With her real father.
CHAPTER TWO
GREER
“Someone better pour me a cup of coffee,” Abbas announces with a grand entrance of swinging doors and a robe flying like a cape behind him. He must have run from his place to ours to make it do that.
“Here.” I hand him an empty mug and point at the coffee maker which is percolating for the second time today already. “Should have just enough in it to satisfy your current needs. Pour away.”
Abbas takes a brief dramatic pause, accepting the lack of servitude to be found here in our kitchen, then marches on with the same amount of flair he flew in here with.
“There’s a baby in my kitchen,” he mutters as he fills his cup. “I really thought that would garner me more sympathy from you people.”
Chase shrugs. “It’s my kitchen, too.”
“Greer fixed you a cup,” Mal points out.
Abbas gasps in mock disgust.
“Calm down,” Chase says, rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t because of the baby.”
“It was kind of because of the baby,” I contradict him for entertainment’s sake.
“Because you wanted to know about it. And my brother.” Chase flashes his eyes at me. “Not because you were offering me any sort of baby condolences. Even though you woke her. And you clearly haven’t been around when she’s tired.”
Abbas pretends to collapse against the cupboards. “May Allah show mercy and let that baby be fond of naps. I can’t take another night like the last one.”
“You two are ridiculous,” Mal says dryly, shaking her head as the pity flows from her gaze, taking turns landing on both of them with each swing left to right.
“Fine.” Abbas stands, looking perfectly normal. As if there was no tantrum meets desperate prayer to be seen here ten seconds ago. “Just tell me you have the rest of my almond milk stashed in your fridge.”
Mal’s gaze drops until it sticks on the trashcan and the empty carton sitting right on top. “I would. But I’m not the sort of friend who would lie to you.”
The sour look on Abbas’s face when he reaches for the half and half instead will stay with me and make me chuckle for a long time to come. “You don’t even drink the shit.”
“But I enjoy it oh so much in my bedtime oatmeal.” She grins. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. We pay into the grocery fund. If you don’t have a backup handy, that’s on Chase.”
This seems to remind him of something. “Oh, before I forget, you need more blueberries.”
Chase instantly stares daggers at Mal. “You found my stash.”
“I did not.” She pulls herself taller. “But you had a stash? And no one told me? You know I love fresh fruit in my oatmeal. And blueberries are brain food! We all know I could use more of that before my big interview tomorrow!”
“The baby’s eating them for breakfast,” Abbas cuts in before things get any crazier. “And you’re a freaking genius, Mal. Your brain is fine even without blueberries.”
He’s not wrong. As much as she dumbs it down for the rest of us most of the time, it’s hard to forget she’s a brain on legs when you’ve been a student alongside her. Which I was. Though not in the same classes. Or even at the same college. Still, we were roommates. I saw the girl study. Heard about the classes she took. The papers she wrote. The endless high scores she reaped on every test and exam ever placed before her.
“He’s right. You’re going to nail that interview. And then you’re going to have to move out.” I make a sad face.
“What? Why?”
“Because,” I say like it’s obvious, “I can’t be a struggling actress living with the woman in charge of a lab developing top secret medical shit destined to reform organ transplanting as we know it. My self-esteem will not survive. I’ll need a self-esteem transplant. And I don’t think you and your fellow nerds know how to do those yet.”
“I’m not moving out.” Of course not.
“Hey, speaking of people who are moving,” I transition not at all as smoothly as I’d like to pretend, “How long before your hot brother moves along to somewhere else?”
“About thirty seconds,” Lachlan says, from the doorway. And the door I didn’t hear open. “Just came for a cup of coffee since it didn’t seem like anyone was going to bring me one.” He’s wearing pants now. And a shirt. I’m somewhat disgusted with how little it does to impair his levels of hotness. Of course, he’s also holding the most adorable little girl I’ve ever seen. And I can’t even really see her. She’s got her face tucked into the nape of his neck and her auburn curls hang in a wild mess around her head. Maybe it’s the way she’s clinging to him, with such love and trust, that’s got me so smitten with the sight of them.
I almost sigh, melting into the counter behind me. Then, I remember what I said. What he responded. And that he heard me.
“I was talking to Abbas,” I blurt. “About his hot brother. Who happens to be in town, too.”
I can feel every set of eyes move in my direction and land on me. Even the tiny set on Lachlan’s daughter. Which is a hazel brown and has lashes for days. Definitely the most adorable little girl ever.
“I have seven sisters,” Abbas says slowly. “I know Nus is a little on the masculine side, but I still don’t count her as a brother. Plus, she’s in New Jersey. Where she lives. With no plans of moving.”
“Wow.” Mal. I’d like to think she’s responding to the sight of the gorgeous man now standing at our coffee maker, thus adding herself to the pool of humiliation I’m currently soaking in, but I can tell from her tone the ‘wow’ is directed at me. And my poor attempt at covering up my awkwardness. With more awkwardness.
With no way left to save myself, I abort the conversation entirely and move on as though nothing happened. “I hear this little angel likes blueberries.”
Her face lights
up. “Boohs-berries.” She grins and I notice her lips are tinted purple from her breakfast.
“I tried to save you some,” he says to Chase, “but she was too fast for me.”
Chase makes a face and sighs. “It’s fine. I’m used to girls stealing all my food.”
“We pay into the grocery fund,” Mal reiterates her former point. “It’s not stealing when you pay for it.”
“So, you two pay him to do the grocery shopping?” Lachlan asks, apparently trying to summarize what he’s learning, “but then he keeps all the groceries over in his kitchen?”
“No,” I answer, before I can think it through and stop myself. “We keep our food here.”
“So, then you are stealing.” He reaches for the half and half smirking.
“I prefer to think of it as sharing,” I inform him.
“Which we also do,” Mal adds. “Or would. If we didn’t eat so much and so fast.” She pats her belly. Which is inexplicably flat given how much that girl likes to snack.
Somehow, this conversation isn’t going any better than the last. The only improvement I can see, is that I’m no longer the only one putting my foot in my mouth. This time, Mallory is definitely in the pool of embarrassment with me.
“Anyway,” I try one more time. “What’s this beauty’s name? And how long do we get to enjoy her for?”
Lachlan’s brow hooks briefly, like he’s contemplating whether or not I have any business asking those questions. I do. He’s standing in my kitchen now. I can ask whatever I damn well please. And I can do it as loudly as I want while I’m at it.
“This is Monroe,” he bounces her ever so slightly, making her giggle. “And we’re only in town for a few days. Probably won’t even be here by next weekend.”
“Probably?” Abbas’s forehead wrinkles as both his eyebrows make a hike for his hairline.
“Definitely.” Lachlan’s eyes move from us to his daughter before he faces the room again. I’m almost certain there was a flash of sadness in them when they landed on her, but it’s gone now. Whatever it was. “Plus, we have other people to see while we’re here, so we won’t even be around much during the days.”
“Oh.” As soon as I say it, I wish I’d done a better job of hiding my disappointment. “I mean, that’s too bad for Chase. Since he hardly gets to see you.”
Chase frowns, but he lets it slide. “Yes. That is too bad for me.” He reaches past me to put his empty mug into the sink. “Also, if we’re going to make it to Mom’s in time for brunch, I need to get in the shower.” He tickles Monroe’s belly as he goes by her, does a backwards wave at the rest of us and then he’s walking out, door swinging shut behind him.
“And then there were five,” Mal says into her mug before she slurps what’s left in there.
“Four.” Abbas salutes us with his cup and starts making tracks toward the door as well. “I’m going back to bed. If I’m going to have the apartment to myself today, I’m not going to waste it.”
“Carnival Row marathon?” I ask.
“Hell yeah.” And then the door closes, and he’s gone too.
“Why does he need the place to himself to watch tv?” Lachlan asks. It’s a fair question.
“He has this insane surround sound system set up in his bedroom. Can’t use it without blasting the entire apartment with whatever he’s watching,” I explain.
“Oh.” He nods, but I get the sense he’s resisting the urge to shake his head even as he’s bending down to reach his mouth to his cup again.
“That reminds me,” Mal says, adding her cup to the growing pile in the sink, “I’m going...somewhere.” She waves at Monroe before she spins on the ball of her foot and makes a beeline for her bedroom to finish getting ready.
I catch Lachlan do a double take when she walks away. Apparently, it’s the first he’s noticing she’s not wearing pants. I have to appreciate how quickly he looks in the other direction once he grasps what he’s seeing.
“Sound system reaches our apartment too,” I mumble, explaining her sudden plans to head for an undetermined destination.
“Got it.” He nods. “What about you? You plan to escape as well?”
Small talk. Generally, I’m not a fan. But in his case, I’ll make an exception if for no other reason than I’m not ready to stop talking to him. “I do not.” Probably a little too small even for small talk. “I have an audition in two days and I still have to rehearse my monologue,” I explain. “I’ll just wear headphones. It’s what I usually do when I’m stuck in the building on an Abbas binge watching day.”
“You’re an actress,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or thinks it’s foolish. His expression isn’t really saying either, but those tend to be the main reactions my profession pulls in from people. They either think it’s awesome I’m pursuing my dreams or naïve to think I’d ever make it in an industry that has a one in a million-success rate. “What’s the audition?”
Genuine curiosity. Unexpected.
“It’s an original play. A retelling of Cinderella, a kind of Cinderella with a twist, told from the Stepmother’s perspective. I’m auditioning for the part of Cinderella. I think it would be cool to play her viewed from that angle.”
He still seems unusually invested. “What’s the twist?”
“You’re familiar with the standard version?”
He glances down at the toddler in his arms, and I notice she’s wearing a nightgown covered in sparkles and tiaras.
I laugh quietly. “Right. Of course, you are.” A girl after my own heart. I might not look it to most, but I’m a sucker for fairy tales filled with princes and princesses. “So, in this version told from the stepmother’s perspective, she obviously doesn’t see herself as the villain. Cinderella is.”
“Ah.” He sounds almost intrigued. “So, you’re not auditioning to be the hero, you want to play the bad guy.”
“Actually, Cinderella isn’t the hero in the traditional tale either. She’s the victim,” I point out.
He tips his head back and forth. “I think that’s a matter of perspective, too.”
I crinkle my brow. “I don’t see how. Sure, she’s her own hero in the sense that she keeps believing in the impossible and remains kind and open-hearted despite the many reasons not to. But, in the end, if it weren’t for the fairy Godmother –“
“Who wouldn’t exist if not for her unwavering belief in the impossible.”
“And the prince –“
“Who wasn’t being seen or heard by those closest to him and was only viewed as his title and what it could offer by those who weren’t, and therefor was in desperate need of genuine kindness and an open heart.”
I stop talking and stare at him. My mouth twists and my nose twitches while my face waits for my next order to speak. “Fine,” I surrender, “maybe it is all about perspective.”
“Everything always is.” His mouth quirks briefly before it disappears in his mug, but I can still see the smirk sparkling in his blue eyes.
LACHLAN
MONROE SQUIRMS IN MY arm, suddenly tired of being held and eager for a little freedom to move. Greer notices before I can decide how to best handle my daughter’s desire to run around and my protective but controlling instincts not to let her in unknown terrain.
“You can let her down,” Greer offers. “I promise there’s nothing here she can break or hurt herself on.”
My eyes narrow while I carefully consider the words I want to say to best voice my concerns and not sound like a total jackass. “You know this how?”
“Because I nanny to pay the bills that acting doesn’t cover.” She leans away from the counter, arm outstretched to gesture at the adjacent living room. “Trust me, this place is probably safer than your own. Nora had the entire apartment professionally baby proofed before she let me bring any of the kids over.”
“Nora?” I’m only asking because I’m curious. She had me convinced at professional baby proofers. I’m setting Monroe free as we speak.
>
“My boss.” She bugs her eyes out at me. “The mom.”
“Right.” Somehow, I’m struggling to wrap my brain around this nanny thing. Not that I’m generally surprised to hear she needs to supplement her income. Given her chosen career path, it’s not unusual to be strapped for cash while waiting for the next big gig to fill in the gaps again. I know. My own brother was determined to make a go of it on Broadway. Teaching music was supposed to be temporary. Now he’s head of the department at some fancy private school and hasn’t even been to an audition in years.
Still. Nanny? Greer? Between the vibrant floral design of her full sleeve tattoo running up her left arm and disappearing under the short sleeve of her shirt where it likely continues over her shoulder to meet with more ink, the half-shaved, half-braided styling of her otherwise long black and teal hair, and the septum piercing, she certainly doesn’t remind of any nanny we’ve had back home. And Monroe’s gone through her fair share.
“I take it by the judgy look on your face right now, you wouldn’t hire me,” she muses. Thankfully, not at all as offended as she ought to be.
“Sorry. I’m just...surprised.” It’s not much of a save.
“Uh-huh,” she says dryly, dark brown eyes laughing at me.
Then, before I can try to amend my reaction and come up with something that makes me sound like less of a snob, Mallory comes out of her room again. This time, fully clothed and slinging a giant purse over her shoulder as she moves through. “I’m out. Text me when the binge is over.”
Greer gives her a thumbs-up and grins.
Mallory has one foot out the door when she turns back. “Oh, and I found Cheese in my bed again.”