by Cassia Leo
“Okay, Mom, give me the knife,” I say, approaching her slowly.
She looks at me like I’m crazy, then she looks at the knife in her hand as if she’s seeing it for the first time. She shakes her head as she drops it onto the cutting board and turns to face me.
She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Her hands slide into the front pockets of her black apron, then they come out again as she tries to think of something to say. Finally, she grabs the counter for support.
“I’ve been working on that book for a very long time. And it’s embarrassing that I haven’t stopped. I should have deleted the damn file years ago.”
“I know how you feel, Mom.”
“No, you don’t understand.” She lets out a deep sigh and looks me in the eye. “I’ve been working on it since the day I met your father. I… Please don’t tell him.”
“He doesn’t know?”
She scrunches up her face in disgust. “God no. The man is clueless. He wouldn’t recognize a book about him unless it was leather-bound and published by the Harvard Law Review.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You mean to tell me you were married to the man for, what, twenty years and he never asked what your book was about?”
“Oh, he asked plenty of times. I lied.”
“Why?”
She stares at the floor for a moment before she looks up at me. “I don’t know. And now that I think of it, that had to be some kind of sign. You told Houston right away, but I could never bring myself to tell your father. I guess I figured if I wasn’t going to get it published, it didn’t matter.”
My face falls as I look around the kitchen and notice all the produce, the water boiling on the stove, the bottle of red wine aerating on the counter. “Mom, are you… still in love with him?”
She looks at me with utter horror in her eyes. “What? No! No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not.”
“But…” I wave my hand at all the trappings of a romantic dinner. “What’s all this?”
Her shoulders slump. “It’s for you. Your father wanted us to have dinner so he could talk to you about seeing a therapist. He wanted to take us to dinner, but I knew you wouldn’t go for that. So I offered to cook.”
“So this is an intervention?”
She shrugs and casts me a sheepish grin. “Please don’t tell him about the book,” she pleads.
“I won’t,” I mutter, taking a seat in a dining chair as the gravity of the situation begins to hit me.
“And do us both a favor and feign gratitude when he offers to pay for your therapy.”
I open my mouth to protest, but my mother’s severe expression stops me. “Fine.”
“It will be good for you, Rory.”
I look up at her and my smug smile returns. “I’ll go to therapy if you show me your book.”
Three days later
“What is the point of having a dishwasher if you still wash the dishes before placing them inside?”
My mom casts me a look of utter exasperation. “Rory, the role of clichéd young adult does not suit you well. Just rinse the glass and be done with it.”
“Oh, so now I’m playing a role? Just another character in your book, am I?”
She lets out a harsh sigh as she reaches for the glass in my hand, but I yank my arm back.
“I can rinse the damn glass,” I say, turning to the sink and flipping on the water to full blast.
A bit of water bounces off the glass as I rinse it, splashing both my mother and me in the face. I chuckle softly as she smacks the faucet handle down to turn the water off.
“Stop acting like a child.”
I place the glass in the dishwasher then cross my arms over my chest. “Well, that’s what I’ve been reduced to, isn’t it? Your dependent child? No job. Living with my mom. No boyfriend. I just need a cat to complete this English-major cliché. Is there anything about self-fulfilling prophecies in your book?”
She shakes her head as she turns on her heel. She’s not in the mood for the same argument we’ve been having for the past three days since I agreed to accept my father’s financial assistance with seeking a therapist.
“I’m not allowing you to bait me into this argument again,” she replies tersely as I follow her out of the kitchen. “I will show you the book after you’ve completed your therapy.”
She enters the living room, where she grabs her iPad off the coffee table and proceeds to curl up on the sofa as if the argument is over.
“Are you kidding me?” My laughter sounds a bit hysterical. “I could be in therapy for years for all the shit I’ve been through.”
“Watch your language, Rory.”
“You didn’t seem to mind my language when you were reading my book!”
She shoots me a look that could slice me in half. “I was editing your book. There’s a difference.”
“So I need to offer to edit your book in order for you to show it to me? Is that it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh, because you couldn’t possibly learn anything from me, could you?”
Her glare softens. “That’s not what I meant.”
The knock at the door saves me from further response. “Bye, Skippy!” I shout toward the bedroom as I snatch my purse off the stand next to the front door and exit the apartment without saying good-bye to my mother. This pettiness is not like me.
Houston and Kenny are standing in the carpeted hallway, their faces positively beaming with sunlight when juxtaposed against the gun-metal gray color on the walls. My shoulder bumps Houston’s chest as I exit the apartment in a hurry. He looks down at me, his smile melting into a puzzled expression.
“You dyed your hair auburn?” The sexy easygoing smile he flashes me is infuriating.
“Yes. Can we go now?”
“What’s the rush?” he asks with a chuckle.
I turn to Kenny, as if he’s the one who asked the question. “My mom and I had a fight. We can’t go in there right now.”
Kenny’s bright blue eyes dim as his shoulders slump. “But I wanted to see my Peppermint Patty.”
I roll my eyes as I set off toward the elevator. “Please don’t call her that. It’s already weird enough that she read the sex scenes in my book. Now my best friend has an affectionate nickname for her?” I punch the elevator button then glance at Houston long enough to catch the skeptical look on his face. “She infiltrated my life and now she’s refusing to afford me a shred of honesty in return.”
Houston and Kenny are silent as we enter the elevator, and also as we descend to Parking Level One. The silence continues as we approach Houston’s SUV in guest parking, nothing but the sound of my heels clicking against the pavement and echoing off the concrete walls. Houston deactivates his car alarm, then, out of habit or chivalry, he arrives at the passenger door before me, ready to open it for me.
“Don’t do that,” I say before he can reach the door handle.
He cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not allowed to open your door?”
“No. I’m perfectly capable of opening car doors on my own, believe it or not.”
He rolls his eyes and sets off to the driver’s side. I sigh as I reach for the handle, but Kenny beats me to it.
He giggles as he opens the door for me. “No rules that say I can’t open your door, m’lady.”
My mouth curves into a reluctant smile. “Thank you.”
“Not so fast. My services aren’t free. I require payment in the form of awkwardly long hugs.” He holds out his arms to me. “Aurora, it’s the first time I’ve seen you in three weeks.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his shoulder as he envelops me in a warm hug. “Three weeks is a long time?” I ask.
He gasps. “With everything that’s happened, it’s practically a lifetime.”
I let him go, making sure not to look at him as I climb into the car. “I don’t want to talk about the past three weeks.”
I slam the door
shut and pretend not to notice the icicles forming inside the car during our silent ride to Killer Burger. I know Kenny and Houston are not intentionally being cold. They’re probably just trying not to upset me, but somehow the silence feels even worse than the cause of the silence.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter as Houston turns left onto Stark Street. “I didn’t mean to be short with either of you. I’m just frustrated.”
Houston takes his eyes off the road to flash me an easy smile. “You’re not the only one.”
I shake my head as I turn in my seat to look at Kenny. “Can you forgive me?”
He tilts his head as he pretends to ponder my request. “I guess there’s still room in my heart for the girl with the dirtiest mind I’ve ever known.”
Houston laughs. “You don’t know the half of it.”
I gasp as I smack his arm. “Did my mom show you my book?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy as he rubs his arm. “Are you forgetting that I was there?”
Kenny bites his lip, trying not to smile when he says, “Fifty Shades of Houston.”
I grab the water bottle in Houston’s cup holder and throw it at Kenny, who dodges it quite deftly. “That’s not funny.”
“Not even a little bit?” Kenny says, and I shoot him a piercing glare. “Okay, it’s terrible that the book is gone, but you have to admit that it will be a lot more fun creating new sex scenes, right?”
Houston doesn’t look at me as he turns right on Third, but I can see the confusion register on his face. He doesn’t know I haven’t told Kenny about our “friends with no benefits” arrangement. I guess a part of me has been hoping that Houston would change his mind and save me the trouble of having to explain. I guess I was wrong.
“Did I say something wrong?” Kenny asks tentatively.
“No,” I reply with a sigh. “We’re just… not together right now. But…” I look to Houston for help, but he’s busy checking the cross-traffic on Alder. “We don’t want to make a big deal about. It’s just something we’re trying.”
“Speak for yourself,” Houston finally responds. “I, for one, want to throw a party in honor of the bluest balls this side of the Willamette.”
“It was your idea!” I shriek.
Kenny gasps. “Houston! After everything we did? How could you?”
Houston shakes his head as he turns into the lot on Second Avenue. “On second thought, I think Rory’s right. Let’s not make a big deal about this.”
I lean my back against the inside of the passenger door and smile. “Fine, but there’s one thing we need to get straight. Are we allowed to see other people?”
Houston slams on the brakes so hard my seat belt goes taut and cuts into my neck.
He narrows his eyes at me as his mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Did you really just ask me if you could see other people?”
“I was kidding,” I reply, my heart racing as I try to sit back to release some of the tension on my seat belt.
He finishes pulling into the parking space. “Kenny, can you wait outside for us?”
“Yes, sir,” Kenny mutters as he slides out of the SUV and shuts the door softly behind him.
Houston glares at me and I stare right back at him. “Don’t bullshit me, Rory. Were you kidding?”
My gaze falls to his heaving chest and I swallow hard as I try to think of a good response. “I… No, but… I mean, obviously I don’t want to see other people. I guess I was just trying to get a rise out of you.”
He draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Rory, look at me.” He waits until I look him in the eye before he continues. “We need to get this straight. I didn’t suggest taking a break so I could fuck other girls. And I swear to God, I don’t know what I’ll do if I see you with someone else. Please don’t put me in that position.”
“I would never do that.”
He nods as he slides the key out of the ignition. “Thank you. Now let’s go have a fucking burger.”
“A fucking burger?” I say, reaching for the door handle. “Is that the kind of burgers they serve in Fifty Shades of Houston?”
He shakes his head as he steps out of the car. “Be careful there, little lady, or I’ll be showing you fifty shades of no mercy tonight.”
I laugh as I slide out of the passenger seat and land on the asphalt. “I think you’ll be the one begging for mercy tonight.”
“Game on, baby.”
“Game on.”
Houston texts Troy as we walk through the parking lot and Troy instantly responds, telling us he’s seated in the bar area. When we enter Killer Burger, it’s packed, though I expected no less on a Friday night. The line queued up at the counter to order a burger is at least six deep.
“Maybe you should order for me, so I can go say hi to Troy,” I suggest to Houston, but he shakes his head. “Am I not allowed to leave your side?”
He grins at this question. “You go right ahead, Miss Independent Woman.”
“Thank you,” I reply with an exaggerated rolling of the eyes.
“Oh, you two are too adorable,” Kenny says, hooking his arm in mine. “I want a José Mendoza, well done.”
Houston turns to me, awaiting my order. “And you?”
I bite my lip as I ponder what kind of burger I want, savoring the way his gaze occasionally falls to my mouth. “I’ll also have a José Mendoza. And he should be…” I take a glance just below Houston’s belt then allow my eyes to rake over his chest on the way back to his face. “Very well done.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Kenny shaking his head. “Girl, you are begging for a pegging,” he mutters.
Houston laughs, his gaze still locked on mine. “Well done, indeed,” he replies with a nod, then he sets off to get in line to place the order.
Kenny and I trail off arm in arm toward the bar area, which is just to our left through an entryway with a large neon bar sign hanging above it. The moment we step through the entryway, I jump about fifty feet in the air when someone shouts my name. I look to our right and Troy is seated on a stool at a table in the corner. Next to him sits a lovely girl who looks about my age. Her platinum-blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses scream hipster, but at least she’s wearing a friendly smile.
I wave at him as Kenny and I make our way to the table. “Troy!” I say, slipping my arm out of Kenny’s to give Troy a hug. “You look great.”
He smiles. “Thanks. It must be all the gluten-free bacon I’ve been eating. Who’s this?” he asks, referring to Kenny, and something in his face tells me he thinks I brought a date with me.
I suppose there’s no harm in having a little fun with Houston’s friends.
“Troy, this is my fiancé, Kenny,” I reply, threading my arm through Kenny’s arm again and resting my head on his shoulder. “Kenny, this is Troy.”
Troy’s eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline as Kenny reaches out his hand to shake.
“Nice to meet you, Troy,” Kenny says, purposely making his voice deeper to play along with me.
Troy shakes Kenny’s hand quickly, then turns to the blonde. “Honey, this is Rory and… Kenny. Rory and Kenny, this is my fiancée, Georgia.”
“So nice to meet you, Georgia,” I say, maintaining a firm grip on Kenny’s arm as I stare up at him with googly eyes. “Isn’t he dreamy?”
Kenny shrugs modestly. “Oh, how I love this woman.” He looks down at me, narrowing his eyes in typical soap-opera fiery passion. “I just can’t get enough of her.”
Without warning, he wraps his arms around me and lowers me into a dip as he pretends to kiss me passionately. Our lips are about an inch apart, but Troy and Georgia can’t see from their vantage point. I press my lips together firmly to stifle my laughter as Kenny stares into my eyes and moves his head around to make it look like he’s kissing me.
“You can do better than that, Kenny.”
Houston’s voice startles us both and Kenny drops me like a sack of potatoes onto the sticky floor. I land prett
y hard on my ass and Houston and I burst into laughter.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Kenny says, offering his hand to help me up, but I’m laughing too hard to get a good grip.
Houston hands Kenny the tray of burgers then reaches down and scoops me up off the floor as if I weigh as much as a José Mendoza.
“Put me down,” I say, trying not to look him in the eye or I may kiss him.
“Unhand my fiancée!” Kenny demands, though he’s forgotten to drop his voice an octave and I’m pretty sure the jig is up.
Finally, I look up at Houston and he’s smiling like a kid on Christmas. “Put me down.” I repeat my demand, though with less force this time.
“Oh, you’re going down all right,” he says as he gently lowers my feet to the floor.
Once we’re all seated and situated with our burgers, I kindly explain to Troy and Georgia that Kenny is actually my friend.
“And the only man allowed to touch me,” I add, then I wink at Houston as I take a big bite of my burger.
“You’re a fast learner,” he remarks, then he takes an even bigger bite of his burger.
“Rory and I used to work together when she was a lowly grocery clerk,” Kenny says. “Now she’s a writer and she’s too fabulous for me.”
“Fabulously unemployed,” I reply.
“Are you looking for a job?” Georgia chimes in. “Our salon is looking for a shampoo girl, if you’re interested.”
I smile at her unexpected offer. “Thanks, but I’m going to talk to my old boss next week. Just taking a few days off to get… settled.”
“I already told you I can talk to Benji for you,” Houston says, tearing a sheet off the roll of paper towels in the center of the table. He hands it to me and points at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a little something right there.”
I snatch the paper towel out of his hand and wipe the burger sauce off my lips. “I’m fine. I don’t need you to talk to anyone for me.”
As the evening goes on, I learn that Georgia is a stylist at a hair salon in the Alphabet District. She and Troy met through a mutual friend, who also happened to be his ex-girlfriend. They dated for a little more than a year before he popped the question over Thanksgiving dinner last year.