The Luckiest

by Wendy Owens

  “No, it didn’t exactly come up. Besides, I’m sure he has a different girl in his bed every night.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know … isn’t that what musicians do?”

  “Oh Mac, I love you.” Monica is nearly giddy at my comment. “But you are such a prude sometimes.”

  “Shut up,” I huff.

  A silence settles between us. I stand and walk over to the bookcase Monica has been working on packing up. There’s a row of Jim Butcher books, which belonged to Travis. I pull one out and run my hand across the cover. He would always pre-order his copy so that he could get the book the day before it was officially released.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, just a little overwhelmed by all there is to do.”

  “You like him?” she questions.

  I furrow my brow; her question puzzles me. “Jim Butcher?”

  “No goof, the tattooed one. Did you say his name was Dean?”

  “Seriously?” I snap, shoving the book into the box before grabbing another handful of novels, placing them in the box as well. “I said like ten words to the guy.”

  “When you first described him to me you told me he was gorgeous. You’ve never used that word to describe someone before.”

  “That’s not true,” I argue, avoiding eye contact and keeping busy packing.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Well, I may have used that word, but just because I think a guy is attractive doesn’t mean I have any interest in dating them,” I inform her.

  “And why not?”

  “I’m married.” The instant the words leave my mouth the cold reality settles in over me once again. I revise my statement, “I was married.”

  She takes my arm and gestures toward the couch. My knees are buckling, but I follow her lead, taking a seat. She sits next to me, her hand resting on my leg. My eyes are growing wet, but I refuse to let the tears fall.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, leaning forward, forcing me to look into her eyes.

  “When does it go away?”

  “When does what go away?”

  “The pain?”

  “Honey, I don’t think it ever completely goes away.”

  “Well, you’re no help.” I try to laugh when I speak and lighten the mood.

  “I don’t want to lie to you. You were dealt a bad hand in life, but it’s been three years, sweetheart, so it’s more than all right for you to think someone’s hot.”

  “I know that!” I exclaim, hopping to my feet and crossing the room. I’m about to leave all of this here—my old life, the sadness, the loneliness—at least for a few months. To think about the pain like this, right before I leave, is too much.

  “Please don’t yell at me. You know I’m just trying to help.”

  I shake my head, grabbing more books and placing them in the now half-full box. “I’m sorry. It’s just—” I stop myself, unsure how to say what I’m feeling.

  “It’s just what?”

  “I thought after a while people were able to remember and talk about who they’ve lost. Laugh about the craziness that happened when they were here. It’s been three years, and I still want to cry every time I talk about them.”

  “You’ve been a living monument to them. There is nothing about your life that doesn’t reflect Travis and Katie.”

  “What else am I supposed to do?”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong. Everyone begins to let go in their own time.”

  “But what if I don’t want to let go?”

  The phone rings, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I freeze, looking around the room, trying to remember where I last set the device. It rings again. Monica hops to her feet and crosses the room; she retrieves my cell from the windowsill, rushing it over to my hand, just as the third ring sounds. I swipe my finger across the front and answer, “Hello?”

  “MacKenzie? This is Christian, I— uh, I work for Head Case.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Oh yeah, of course,” he quickly replies. “I was calling to let you know I’ll be picking you up for a supply run. Is two days enough time for you to get a list together of what you’ll need?”

  I really have no idea if it’s enough, but I also want to seem like I know what I’m talking about. “Yeah, sounds great.”

  “Perfect! I’ll call before I come to get you. Oh yeah, and just a heads up: all staff only gets two suitcases, so be sure to pack carefully.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I say, then hear the phone click. I hate when people don’t say goodbye; it always has come across as rude to me. I stare at the darkened phone face.

  “What was that?” Monica asks.

  I shake my head in disbelief, unsure what I just agreed to. “That was my new job. Apparently I only get to take two bags. What am I going to do with all of my stuff? With Travis and Katie’s—I can’t do this job, there’s no way I can sort it all out.” I’m having a panic attack, but there seems to be nothing I can do to stop it now. I’m too far gone down the rabbit hole. My heart is racing; I can hear it pounding in my ears.

  “Stop it! You’re not backing out now!” Monica exclaims.

  “I can’t,” I insist. “What am I going to do?”

  “Yes, you can,” she reaffirms. “We’ll get it all packed up and call Percy to see if we can store everything in her garage.”

  “I don’t know,” I reply apprehensively.

  “She loves you, Mac, and she’ll take care of it. No matter what you think of her, you know she will.”

  “It’s all my pictures, everything I have of them.”

  “It’ll be okay. We’ll put a picture in your bag, so you can look at it whenever you need to. I’m a phone call away if you freak out.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You’re just upset right now because it’s new, and new is scary. You can do this, I know you.” She now has a grip on my shoulders and is staring me directly in the eyes.

  “I can do this,” I repeat, though I’m not sure I believe myself, so I repeat the words again and again. “I can do this. I can do this.”

  “Yes, you can, now let’s finish packing. You’re starting to creep me out.” She laughs. I’m going to miss her laugh.

  I close my eyes and pop in the sample size of the German chocolate, releasing an orgasmic moan of delight as it melts on my tongue and spreads the sugary sensation throughout my mouth. Realizing once again I’m in public, I open my eyes and peer at the woman behind the sample table, and I wonder how long she’s been staring at me.

  “There you are,” Christian’s voice sounds off behind me. “Sorry I didn’t pick you up … busier day than I thought.”

  “Oh, no worries, it’s really—” I begin, but a girl runs up and interrupts me.

  “Really, Christian?” The girl shouts, rushing toward us. Her hair is bleached blond—well, all of it but her dark, one-inch roots. She has dangling star earrings and her cut off T-shirt and jean shorts makes me feel suddenly self-conscious about my own body. I check the corners of my mouth to ensure there is no trace of the chocolate bliss I just sampled. “You couldn’t even wait for me to get my shoes on?”

  “I told you not to take them off in my car.” I watch as he rolls his eyes as he responds.

  “You know my feet get sweaty if I leave my shoes on too long,” the girl reminds him, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

  “Enough already!” Christian snaps. This surprises me, as I never imagined him losing his temper, but I suppose I don’t really know him. “Kristen, this is MacKenzie. MacKenzie, Kristen.”

  “I told you, call me Storm,” she corrects him. He rolls his eyes again.

  “Whatever. MacKenzie, she’ll be helping you get everything you need,” he explains. “The crew is fed separately, understand?”

  “No, not really,” I answer.

  Storm looks me up and down. “Yeah, only the band gets the fancy food.”

  “Kristen, be qui
et,” Christian waves her off.

  “Storm, damn it!”

  “We tend to get carry out. The band needs to have their nutrition looked after, so that’s what you’re here for. Got it? Here,” he continues without me answering, handing me a binder. “Inside you’ll find any info about allergies, likes, dislikes.”

  I flip through the pages, reading the contents. “Really? Dean’s favorite food is mac-and-cheese? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Yup, and you need to find a way to make it gluten free for Pete,” Storm states, popping her gum obnoxiously.

  “Yeah, I know,” I say with a half-smile.

  She pushes her hands in my direction. “Well, excuse me.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by—” I start.

  “Just ignore her. She’s annoyed Pete can’t sit around and drink after shows with her.”

  “Why don’t you just shut up, Christian?” the girl taunts, and I wonder how young she actually is.

  “Anyway, read over everything and call my cell when you girls are done and ready to check out.”

  “Alex has a peanut allergy?” I exclaim, reading through the list. I huff, now extremely frustrated. “I could have used this information days ago.”

  “Sorry, take a few minutes and try to rework your plan. Storm will help you,” he emphasizes her self-proclaimed nickname, not shielding his annoyance. “I’ve got a bunch of calls to make. We had some cancellations, and I need to get ahold of the right people to get the spots filled. Any questions, just ask her.”

  Christian turns to walk away before I can say a word. “Oh…” He pauses, turning around. “And don’t worry, MacKenzie, you’re going to do great.”

  “Actually, my friends call me Mac,” I correct him, a huge smile now on my face.

  He grins in response, revealing those dimples I could go swimming in. “I like it. Does that mean we’re friends?”

  My cheeks go hot. Why am I blushing? Before I answer he winks and then turns, rushing out the entrance of the bulk grocery warehouse.

  “I think I’m going to vomit.” Storm sighs. “He can be such an asshole.”

  I choose to ignore her comment. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Storm.”

  “Yeah, you too.” She nods, no enthusiasm in her voice.

  “How about we head over to the furniture department so I can sit down and go through my notes?”

  She shrugs her shoulders in response. “I’m yours, whatever you need.”

  We make our way across the store, and I search out the most comfortable looking sofa before taking a seat. A sales associate catches sight of us in a matter of seconds. I frown when I see him rushing over to greet us. “Hello ladies, is there something I can help you with?”

  “Just looking,” I respond.

  “Okay, well you just let me know if you have any questions.” He smiles and skulks back over to the column he had been waiting at.

  Storm doesn’t sit; she’s standing over my shoulder, legs slightly open, swaying as she plays with her hair with one hand and twisting her gum around a finger with her other.

  Doubts assault my mind. What am I doing here? Am I really a chef? They’re going to figure me out. I’m a fraud. Allergies? I’m going to kill someone. I know I must push these thoughts aside. My home is packed away into boxes. I actually went through the misery of asking Percy if I could store them at her place. Even though I hated to admit it, she was really sweet about the entire thing. I’d asked about using the garage, and she’d insisted I use Dad’s office to store all of the boxes, so there was no risk of damaging anything. I’m still not willing to say I like her, but I definitely appreciate her.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to blur out the thoughts that are racing through my head.

  “Are you all right?” Storm’s voice sounds behind me.

  “Yeah, sorry, just a little overwhelmed,” I say, as I look up at her. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “I guess, but it’s kind of gross how many asses have been on this thing, ya know?” I laugh; I wouldn’t have gotten the germaphobe vibe from looking at her.

  “Sorry,” I offer.

  “Not your fault,” she adds before taking a seat next to me on the sofa. I can feel myself forcing my smile. Monica told me I sometimes scare people with my serious, sad eyes, and that my eyes can’t be sad if I’m smiling. The problem is, I only genuinely smile for a few seconds before it becomes forced, and then it has an altogether creepy look to it.

  I look back at the binder, reading through the allergies and dislikes first. Pulling out a pen, I begin to cross things off my list.

  “So you’re a cook?” Storm inquires.

  I don’t look away from my papers. “Yup, what do you do for the band?”

  “Whatever needs to be done.” Her reply is quick, and my mind begins to ponder if she means absolutely anything the band needs. “You know, like a female roadie.”

  “Oh!” I exclaim, chuckling.

  “Gross! Did you think I was some kind of slut or something?”

  “What? No!” I gasp, trying to ask shocked, hoping she won’t see through my act.

  “Good, because I’m only involved with Pete, plus Andrew is my brother.” It makes much more sense why she is here.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you were related to one of the guys. That must be nice for him to have family on tour with him.”

  “Nah, we hate each other,” she adds as if it were a completely normal statement.

  “I see, so you are dating Pete?” I ask, wanting desperately to change the subject.

  “I guess you could call it that. He’s not really into labeling things.” I want to shake her and tell her that is what men say to women who are simply a booty call, but I refrain. “So do you have a boyfriend?”

  The question is innocent, but one that packs a punch. “I was married actually.”

  “Was, huh?” she asks as if she has just discovered my life’s big secret. “Ended up being an asshole, right?”

  I swallow hard, staring down at the binder, studying the notes. “Actually, I’m a widow.”

  “Damn, seriously? That sucks.”

  “Sure does,” I agree with a tight-lipped smile. I want the subject to change. To anything but what we are currently talking about. “So what happened to the last cook?”

  “What?”

  “I assume I’m replacing someone?”

  “Oh, that guy? Jesus, he sucked. He quit to cook for some other act. I wouldn’t mention him to any of the guys, though; he just left with the other band after a gig, no notice, nothing. He was just gone.”

  “I see, thanks for the warning.”

  The more I look at things, I actually only need to make a few modifications and we should be good. Perhaps I might actually be equipped to handle this position after all. Dean’s favorite dish of mac-and-cheese can be made with quinoa pasta to keep it gluten free. Pete’s rice noodle pad thai request is going to be a toughie with Alex’s peanut allergy, but with a little research I know I can figure it out.

  I glance over my revised list one more time, then nod my head. “Ready for some shopping?”

  “Whatever,” she replies, standing. I wish Monica could meet the girl. She would think it a hoot that the girl is the very definition of angst.

  I take in a deep breath, nerves and excitement consuming me. My very first shopping trip of my first job as a personal chef.

  The car ride to my stepmother’s house from Monica’s is uneventful. When we dropped the last of the storage off to her house the night before, she had wanted me to spend the night. One last good bonding experience before my big adventure. That, of course, wasn’t something that sounded at all interesting, so I was thrilled when Monica chimed in, explaining I’d already committed to a night out with her. Though our night out consisted of pajamas in her living room with a gallon of ice cream and our favorite bad nineties movies, it felt like absolute perfection to me. Even though I hate to admit it, staying at Monica’s plac
e gave me a little more time with Buttons.

  I pull down the long blacktopped drive that is covered in whirly copters. It makes me think of my father and how he hated those things. He had always wanted to chop down the two massive maple trees in his front yard, but Percy would never let him.

  The oversized ranch home sits on three acres of well-manicured lawn. It had been a nice place to grow up—that had never been my problem. It just wasn’t my mother’s home, and therefore, I somehow felt like I’d be betraying her if I ever allowed it to be my home. At the end of the drive I see Percy waiting for me in front of the detached two-car garage. One of the doors is open, and she is waving me inside.

  I roll down my window, confused. “You want me to park in the garage?”

  “Yeah, the one on the right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m positive,” she says, smiling. My father’s car is in the other stall, so I know Percy is choosing to let me use the vacant spot, resulting in her parking in the driveway while I’m away. She makes it so damn hard to hate her.

  I pull in, directly next to my dad’s Corvette convertible. Stepping out, I shove the door closed behind me and make my way to the rear to retrieve my suitcases. I can feel Percy close behind me. “Where are the girls?” I ask, referring to my two half-sisters.

  “They’re still at school. They wanted to stay home and see you off today, but they’ve already missed so much with the funeral,” she explains.

  I nod; sometimes I forget I’m not the only one who lost Daddy. “What are you going to do with that?” I inquire, motioning over to the classic car, hidden under the tarp. I can’t believe it hasn’t crossed my mind until this moment.

  “I don’t know. He loved that thing,” Percy answers sadly.

  I remember when he bought it. It needed restoration. He’d gotten it soon after we found out Mom was sick. He used to take her out for rides, and even though it was in pretty rough shape, it always made her smile. He told me once that when he worked on it, he felt close to her. He made me promise it was our little secret; he never wanted to upset Percy. I know he loved both of them, but there’s something about that first true love.