Sometimes It Happens Here

by K. S. Thomas

  It’s as if the previous two minutes of my life never happened.

  “Rainbow plates.” I point at the second set of cabinets along the wall which houses my favorite dishes, all mix matched, in solid bright colors and oversized. “And mason jars.” I don’t know why I specified the glassware. Outside of my extensive mug collection, mason jars are the extent of my drinkware around here.

  “On it,” Kaleaha announces, but not before she swipes another piece of dough. “How long before the bread is done?”

  “Keep eating it, and there won’t be any left to bake,” I huff, kneading the remainder into a ball and placing it onto the pizza stone I use when I’m popping small batches into the oven. Makes for the best crust that way. I take the stone and turn around, ready to march for the oven, except the second I’m facing the opposite direction, I’m suddenly facing him. Bodhi James. Up close and personal. Like, inches from my face. We’re not even a pizza stone’s distance from each other because he’s leaning in, bending over the bread in my hands. And Goddamn it, he’s pretty.

  “Uh.” I stand completely still, mostly because I suddenly can’t feel my feet. Or my legs. Or much of anything outside of the racing heart in my chest. What is happening here right now?!

  “Sorry,” he mumbles, a tender curve in his oh-so-pretty mouth. “I was coming over to see you in action. Guess I just missed it.”

  I nod, brow crinkling in frustration. “I don’t know that kneading bread can be considered action. I mean, yes, it’s a physical act. And if you do it often enough in a row, it can definitely turn into a workout, but, still, it’s not the sort of action one might deem entertaining to watch,” I ramble. I sound about as smart as the pile of floppy dough on my tray.

  “Stop blocking her path from the oven, man,” Hannah snaps, tugging his arm and yanking him out of the way. “I’m hungry!”

  I catch him glaring at her but she just shrugs. “I’m sorry, dude. My sense of survival is stronger than your sex drive. I don’t know what to tell you.”

  My eyes widen and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I practically run across the kitchen to get to the oven. At least once I open it, I can blame my red face on something a little less humiliating.

  No one interferes with my efforts this time. The bread goes in the oven, the timer is set, and I even find the time to take several grounding breaths before I turn myself away from my favorite kitchen appliance and back toward the open room. And all the people in it.

  “I need serving spoons,” Kaleaha announces coming back in from the dining room. “And I already cleaned out your usual drawer.”

  “How many dishes did you guys order?” I ask, sidestepping Hannah who’s taken to leaning against my counter and casually eating grapes from my fruit bowl like I set them out as an appetizer or something. “Those aren’t washed, you know.”

  “You get all your produce from the market,” she says like it’s a non-issue, “it’s poison free and rain-washed.”

  “It’s also been touched by a few dozen fingers at the market. And it’s cold season. And kids touch their runny, snotty noses. Trust me. I have one. I’ve seen her do it.” I see her gag out of the corner of my eye as I pull out the drawer next to the sink and retrieve my secret stash of bamboo spoons. I only hide them because I have so many of them and Mama makes comments about my wooden spoon obsession.

  “You’re mean,” she wheezes, ripping a bundle from the bunch and making her way to the sink.

  “You had it coming.” I point a wooden spoon at her. Half a second later, Kaleaha snags it from my grip.

  “You two are ridiculous.” She nods at my mug, sitting abandoned on the counter, tea bag still floating around inside. “How long’s that been sitting there?”

  I wince. “Too long to still be drinkable.” It’s probably lukewarm by now. Not remotely salvageable.

  “Why don’t you just stick it in the microwave?” Tall Bodhi offers his unsolicited advice.

  “Listen, Tall Bodhi,” I start, already missing my wooden spoon, because disrespect of tea brings out the worst in me, “I’m going to need to know your name if we’re going to have a tea talk.”

  He laughs. “It’s Teran. And what’s a tea talk?”

  “Tea is an art, k? Every aspect of creating the perfect cup is special and ritualistic – it’s sacred!” I explain more passionately than I think he was expecting. Not Hannah though. I can see her behind him, back against the counter, settled in to watch the show, popping grapes into her mouth like they’re popcorn. “These sachets,” I say, lifting the sad, wasted and soaked pouch from my cold mug, “are handmade, each one filled with a custom blend of locally grown and harvested organic herbs, roots and flowers, then delicately tied up so that I can bring it home and enjoy a fresh masterpiece in a convenient, yet beautiful manner.” I pause to take a breath, “Now, does sticking it in the microwave sound like it’s freaking sacred to you?”

  He looks around, as if he’s got something to respond, but wants to make sure he’s got back up if he does. “You said it was meant to be convenient.”

  “Out!” I point toward the doorway leading to the dining room. “Out of my kitchen. Right now. I can’t look at you for at least the next three minutes.”

  Hannah rolls her eyes at him, playfully shoving his arm. “You couldn’t just concede to your tea drinking ignorance.” She laughs. “Come on, I’ll escort you to the dining room for safe keeping.”

  The two wander off. Right before they slip out of sight, I see Teran turn back and wink at his brother, big-ass grin from ear to ear.

  “What was that about?” I ask before I can stop myself. Damn curiosity and automated mouth always set to ‘need to know basis’, because I need to know at all times.

  “I was just about to ask the same thing,” Kaleaha pipes up, her arms up to her elbows in paper bags while she unpacks all the food they brought.

  “Teran has a thing for Hannah. He’s been making awkward attempts at flirting with her for years. I’m pretty sure he thinks she just reciprocated his efforts.” He chuckles, shaking his head with obvious pity. “I keep telling him it’s never going to happen, but he just can’t help himself.”

  “Why?” I don’t wait for anyone to point out how vague that question is before I clarify. “Why won’t it ever happen?”

  His eyes shift sideways, following the empty dark doorway Hannah just walked out of, then they come back to meet mine. And I’m instantly uncomfortably hot again. Those amber eyes are smoldering. “Trust me, the two are a mismatch in every way possible. And she knows it. Even if he doesn’t.”

  “Sometimes opposites are a good thing.” I don’t know why I’m arguing with him about this. Except maybe I like the idea of pushing the idea of romance onto Hannah after her little ambush earlier today. “Maybe he’s just the sort of match she needs to finally light a fire under her ass and make dating a priority. Afterall, the woman can’t just eat, sleep and breathe her damn job for the rest of her life.”

  Kaleaha snorts. “Look who’s talking.”

  “Um, excuse me,” I stab my finger at the air, about to make a point, “I’m a mom. I eat, sleep and breathe my kid. Not work. And that’s not just perfectly healthy, it’s entirely natural.”

  Naturally, Mama chooses this exact moment to walk in and join the conversation. “No, it’s not. You need a man. And I don’t mean in life, Lord knows you’re capable of handling just about anything that comes your way, but in your bed once or twice a week – now that would be natural and healthy.”

  “Oh, good God.” I have no choice but to divert my eyes to the floor. Probably permanently. At least until Bodhi leaves. My kitchen. My house. Possibly this town. “Mama, why are you in here? Did you need something? You know, other than to bestow upon me eternal shame and humiliation?”

  “Nope, no need for anything,” she says lightly, “just got lonely out there and thought I’d come in here and join the rest of you.” Then she adds, “Plus, the eternal shame and humiliation thing.�
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  “Dinah, have you met Bodhi?” Kaleaha chirps happily from her end of the counter, “Bodhi, this is Dinah Rossi, Lilan’s mama.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I can hear him say to her. I assume he’s reaching out to shake her hand. I don’t know for sure. I’m still not looking. Though, now I am having thoughts about touching his hand. And an odd jealous sensation regarding the fact we never shook hands when we met. In fact, there was no formal introduction at all. Which now seems weird. They all waltzed into my house and no one saw fit to introduce anyone. Everyone just acted like we all knew who we were. Which, we sort of did. Plus, does anyone ever not know Bodhi James? How often does he really ever have to introduce himself?

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Mama purrs, oozing of her southern charm. “Tell me, Bodhi, how is it you know these girls? Handsome, well-mannered young man like you, seems almost a shame you’d be mixed up with these here troublemakers.”

  He chuckles, and it’s smooth and deep and damn near makes me forget I have to stare at the floor for all eternity. “Hannah and I met at college. She’s been one of my best friends ever since.”

  “Hard to believe, right?” Kaleaha says and I slowly allow my eyes to meet with something other than the tiles at my feet. “It’s like she gave birth to a whole other life while she was away at school and never thought to combine the two when she came back.”

  “Until now.” Bodhi starts to move. I can hear his feet shuffle softly over the floor and it’s the first I realize someone made him take his shoes off. Or maybe he just concluded it was regular protocol in this house given the shoe mat and bench right inside the foyer. “Tell you the truth, it’s never been all that separated from my side. I’ve known about all of you since the day I met her. I keep having to remind myself that no one here knows anything about me, that we’re not really long-standing acquaintances.”

  And it happens. I can’t help it. I look straight at him. “She told you about us?”

  Bodhi

  I CAN TELL I’VE TOUCHED a nerve. Being talked about by others doesn’t bring up the most pleasant of feelings for her. I get that. Maybe more than most.

  “Not like she sat down and delivered full biographies on everyone in town, but sure, she talked about

  you all.” My gaze travels the kitchen, briefly meeting each of the women present, to let Lilan know she wasn’t singled out. “Back at school, I think she just missed everyone. Sharing her memories of all the fun you three had together, helped her while she wasn’t here to make more with you.”

  “We’ve certainly made up for the years she missed since she’s been back,” Kaleaha jokes. Sort of. I’ve heard the stories. I know the kind of crazy they’re capable of. Even if it’s harmless, it’s always mischievous.

  “What about after?” Lilan asks, still hung up on trying to determine what I’ve heard, how much I know. “All the years she’s been home and the two of you kept in touch, she still talked about us?”

  “Of course. You’re all a huge part of her life. We wouldn’t have much to talk about if none of your names were ever mentioned.” I laugh to try and ease her mind. When I notice the worry still lingering in her eyes, I add, “To be honest, it’s a little hard not to take offense to coming here and realizing she’s never mentioned my name to anyone even once.”

  “I don’t know that that’s completely true,” Kaleaha says thoughtfully. Then she takes several steps until she’s standing in the doorway leading off into the dining room and calls out, “Yo! Are Bodhi James and BJ the same damn person?”

  Less than a second passes before a resounding, “YES!” comes back.

  “I knew it.” Kaleaha grins smugly.

  Meanwhile, Lilan’s eyes look like they may pop straight from their sockets. Even her mother seems unexpectedly amused.

  “The famous BJ, standing right here in the center of my kitchen,” Lilan muses. “Wow.”

  “I’m sorry. I have an alter-ego more famous than myself?” I joke. Or, try to make a joke of what seems to be surprisingly and uncomfortably accurate.

  “Oh, yes,” Lilan confirms, “Bodhi James, I do believe the tables have turned.”

  “Why do I suddenly feel more uncomfortable than the time the gossip rags all reported some secret celebrity hook-up site had leaked pics of my junk to an unknown media source threatening to publish them worldwide?” It wasn’t true, but it didn’t stop my mother from calling and give me a three hour long talk about the importance of never taking picture of my private parts. Also didn’t stop my grandmother. Though her interests were more in my struggles to find a woman the good old-fashioned way and less about whether or not she’d be seeing pics of my dick on the internet. Apparently, she’d seen it plenty up until I was five and saw more value in wearing pants, and she thought it was unlikely that much had changed since.

  “Was that true?” Kaleaha gasps from my right. “I thought for sure that was just tabloid trash!”

  “It was!” I insist. Then I see Lilan’s shock and disgust and realize my response could have been taken two ways. “It was just tabloid trash. And definitely not true,” I clarify.

  “Oh.” Kaleaha’s legit disappointed. “Well, at least you just saved me hours of wasted internet searching.

  I scowl. “I’m not okay with knowing that.”

  “Knowing what?” Hannah re-enters the conversation with Teran practically glued to her side.

  “We’re all just getting acclimated with this new and interesting reality where we can match stories to people while also accepting that those people are matching stories to us.” Lilan makes a face. “There’s a bit of an awkward transition happening here, but I think we’ll get through it. Exchanging all the stories we have about you will likely help.”

  “Oh, I can totally see where that would ease the growing pains of our new social circle,” I concur, stupidly pleased at the thought of being on Team Lilan, like we’ve just established bonding grounds.

  Hannah’s less impressed with the concept. “Um. Yeah. Sure. Let’s explore that more later. In the meantime, is there bread yet?”

  “Yes,” a new, smaller and squeakier voice pops in. “I can smell it all the way upstairs.”

  I turn at the sound and find myself face to face with a smaller version of Lilan. “You must be Mona.”

  “And you’re that famous guy all the high school girls were talking about.”

  “Actually, in this kitchen,” Lilan cuts in, moving to her daughter’s side and draping one arm over her shoulders, “he’s just Hannah’s friend Bodhi who’s having dinner with us tonight.”

  Mona shrugs and moves on to other things. “Grandma can I still have soup even though everyone else is eating Giovanni’s?”

  If only everyone was this unimpressed with my state of fame.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LILAN

  I don’t remember the last time there was this much laughter around our table. Well, laughter maybe. But not this deep, male laughter that spreads through the room like a contagious wave of warmth. I forgot how much I missed the sound; how nice it is to feel this masculine energy interwoven with the feminine. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the two balanced as well as they are here tonight. Even Mama and Mona seem to relish the shift we’re experiencing from our usual three-woman meals around the small kitchen table.

  “Is there more fettucine alfredo?” Mona asks, clearing her plate of a second helping. Not to mention the soup she had first.

  “There is,” Bodhi answers, reaching for the bowl which wound up at his end of the table. “But you might have to fight me for it.”

  Mona eyes him for second, then brings both elbows to the table and brings her fingers together in a point, looking serious. “Name your terms.”

  Another wave of delighted snickering moves through. Except from Bodhi, who somehow manages to keep a straight face. “A word race. We take turns listing a food group in alphabetical order. You choose which foods.”

  “Deal.” Mona nods, th
en sits back, tapping her chin thoughtfully before declaring, “Fruits. I’ll start. Apple!”

  “Banana.” Bodhi is off to a smooth start.

  “Cherry.”

  He fumbles but recovers quickly. “Dragon fruit.”

  “Elderberry.”

  “Figs!’ Things are getting intense now.

  “Grapefruit.” Less intense for Mona, who’s smiling, probably because she can sense imminent victory.

  “Ham! No, shit! Honey Dew, I meant to say Honey Dew!” he insists, desperation rearing it’s pitiful face. It’s annoying that Bodhi can make even that look endearing.

  “Ham?” I ask, disregarding for the moment he just yelled ‘shit’ in front of my kid. He’s too new here to know what a big deal that’s not, and I’m prepared to let him suffer over it, at least a minute or two, as most respectable parents would. “You went with Ham?”

  “I panicked.” And it’s in admitting this, he realizes his four-letter faux pas. “Did I swear in front of your kid?”

  “You did,” she confirms, waving her fork at the bowl of fettucine she won, impatiently gesturing for someone to hand it her way. “But it’s okay. Everyone does it.”

  So much for presenting myself as a responsible parent. “Because we’re adults and we’ve put in the time required to use adult words,” I amend her statement, taking the bowl from Bodhi, who’s finally surrendering the remaining pasta to her, and delivering it to said winner. “Mona, however, does not. And that’s the part I think is most important.”

  “I’m allowed to say crap.” She shrugs, losing interest in the conversation now that she has her hands on her prize.

  “Anyway!” I clank my silverware loudly against my plate, ready to draw attention anywhere other than my parental rules around four letter words. “What’s everyone doing tomorrow?”

  “Sleeping in,” Kaleaha announces. “I’ve been awaiting all week to do that.”