by Kim Karr
Brooklyn takes a seat next to me at the counter. “That sucks. I hate the morning shift,” he says to Maggie.
Having moved on to the stove, Maggie turns around with a wooden spoon in her hand. “Stay for dinner. I’m making burritos.”
“Sure, sounds good,” Brooklyn answers.
When Maggie turns around I mouth, “Bean,” and offer him a bite of mac and cheese.
Taking my fork, he chews and swallows before getting up to stride over to the fridge. It’s then that I notice he is still in his lifeguard clothes. He knew we were going to turn him down. Grabbing two beers, he offers one to Maggie and takes the other for himself.
Gulping a mouthful of red wine, I start to think about how he’s been around a lot lately.
The pot on the stove bubbles and small pieces of bean seem to be launching like mini rockets. “Oh, shit, they’re exploding,” Maggie cries.
Brooklyn rushes over and turns the gas down. “The flame is too high,” he tells her.
Oh, boy, does she give him the evil eye.
Almost crying from laughter, I try to compose myself when she glares at me next.
As soon as Brooklyn sits down, I swivel my chair toward him and push my food his way. “Finish it,” I tell him. “I’m full.”
Honestly, I haven’t been eating much lately, and not because of Maggie’s cooking, either. I just have no appetite.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Brooklyn pushes it in front of me and covertly sneaks bites when Maggie isn’t looking.
“So,” I say. “No hot date tonight?”
“Just you two.” He grins.
“I’ve got a few friends who’d love to date you,” Maggie tells him, popping the burritos in the microwave.
Brooklyn tilts his bottle back and casually answers, “I’m cool.”
I guess that’s a nice of saying no freaking way am I letting you set me up with one of your homegrown, earth-loving, save-the-world friends.
They are nice.
All of a sudden, the microwave has a white haze coming from the inside. Like it’s possessed or something.
I point to it. “Ummm…Mags, should the microwave be smoking?”
She rushes over to it and opens the door, removing the plate with more-than-steaming-hot shells. “I guess they didn’t need to be warmed up for very long,” she says with a smile.
About twenty minutes later, my plate is empty, and the burritos are done. Maggie grabs the food and a stack of plates. “Let’s sit in the family room and eat.”
I hope Brooklyn can eat another meal.
Maggie and I take the couch. Brooklyn takes the chair.
Once we all have the exploded bean burritos with uncooked onions and overcooked shells on our plates, Maggie turns toward Brooklyn and points to him with her fork. “Now I know,” she says through a mouthful of food, “that you ate Makayla’s macaroni and cheese, so don’t lie to me when I ask you what’s up with you and the ladies lately. Why haven’t I seen you, or heard you for that matter, with any of those MTV wannabes?”
He winces after he takes a bite of his food and sets his plate down. Then, being one hundred percent serious, he answers her. “I’ve decided to try celibacy for a while.”
Maggie practically spits her food out. “Why would you do something as stupid as that?”
Recovering from choking on my wine, I elbow her. “Don’t say that.”
Brooklyn sighs. “I’m so tired of every girl going on about who I was. I’ll never be that guy again. Young and free, with tons of money. That guy grew up, and he’s me, but none of these girls around here seem to get that.”
“What about Sasha?” I ask.
After all, I owe her my career. I have to root for her.
He smiles at me. “We will never last. It’s the same old thing every time we get together. One of us always gets hurt. It’s time to put an end to that too. Believe it or not,” he says, grabbing for his notebook, “I’m ready to grow up and figure out who Brooklyn James is.”
Amen, I think.
Amen.
And then I shift my eyes toward the ceiling. I don’t ask the big guy up above for much, but right now I find myself praying that Cam finds himself, too.
Please, God, help me out, just this once.
28
The Letter B
Cam
Getting my shit together wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be.
Then again, I’d been working on the plan to buy Simon Warren for the past month. I hadn’t said anything to Makayla or Maggie in case the deal didn’t pan out. I didn’t want to raise their hopes about Katherine returning to California and then dash them. I had to do my research first. Keeping it quiet killed me, but letting them think I was still futzing around hadn’t seemed like a problem.
At the time.
In hindsight, it wasn’t the best plan. Makayla read all kinds of wrong things into it. I could have come clean that day in my kitchen, but she was right, I needed to figure my shit out.
Obviously, Makayla sensed my need to do something more and thought I was holding myself back, when really I was plunging forward. Looking into a company. Hoping to do something good, if my research proved it was the right move.
Turns out, the foundation of Simon Warren is solid. It has a huge customer base, it is bicoastal, and best of all it’s cheap. The owners are looking to get out while they are still above water.
It will be the first of many companies that I buy and put back together.
With some new branding and a possible play on their name, my projections say that in two years’ time Simon Warren will once again be turning a profit. Of course, it will require a lot of hard work and dedication. Good thing for me, Katherine has agreed to stay on and run retail operations. She’ll have to stay in New York for the short-term, but once the company is on its feet, she’ll be able to move back to California.
Yes, getting my shit together has kept me busy.
Before I left Laguna, I stopped by the lifeguard station and gave my notice. The captain let me go without any obligations and promised me a job should I decide to come back.
From New York, I managed to find the perfect California company to partner with Makayla. I contacted them, told them about her, and asked them to keep my name out of it if they decided to approach her. I wasn’t sure if she’d listen to them if she knew I’d been involved, even in this smallest of ways.
I also spoke with my father, and he told me that he and Vanessa were over. I told him I could never forgive what he did, but someday I might be able to forget it. Someday—but not any day soon.
As for Vanessa, I did call her and ask her to stop with the gifts, texts, and calls. To my surprise, she agreed to do so. Truth is, she doesn’t want to get back together with me, just as I never want to get back together with her. There is a reason she cheated—together we didn’t work. I think she was just looking to hold on to something that wasn’t there.
Putting my sister and mother in the same room proved very difficult, but I managed to do it. They talked—a little. All I can say is they are a work in progress, and I can live with that.
And then, of course, I purchased Simon Warren, with Katherine’s help.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Giving my sister a show, I make a few faces that I know I’ll regret later when she posts my picture all over social media like she always does. When I stop and get serious, she lowers her camera with a sigh.
“I have to go,” I say.
“I’m going to miss you.” Amelia throws her arms around me. “It’s been really great having you around.”
I kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it, and you can visit me anytime.”
She and I talked about her job in detail during my trip home. According to her, she likes working for our father, and although she doesn’t love her job, she’s happy with it. After everything that happened with Brandon, I was skeptical at first, but staying wi
th her, I almost believe it’s true. Almost.
Either way, she’s so much stronger than Brandon ever was, and I believe she will do what is best for her, when she’s ready. I did tell her I’m always there for her, should she decide she wants out. For now, though, I think she wants to give it a try and I have to let her.
I still haven’t told her what happened with Vanessa and my father, or about our father in general. I just couldn’t do that to her. Yes, she’s strong, but she’s fragile, too. She’s a daddy’s little girl, and maybe I just want her to have that.
And then of course, I told her all about Makayla and how much I love her. She can’t wait to meet her. That is, if Makayla takes me back. Of course, Amelia had all kinds of names to call me for being so dense and not making up with Makayla sooner, so I could bring her to the wedding, of which I convinced Amelia attend.
But I, too, am a work in progress.
I pull back and give her now more than faded turquoise strand of hair a tug. “I have to go, Amelia.”
She hugs me one last time. “Don’t forget to call me.”
With my backpack on my shoulder, I rush through security and get on the plane. Late again. It almost feels like déjà vu, minus the first class and minus Makayla.
The plane is full, and I have to shove my backpack under the seat in front of me. As I take my aisle seat, image after image, memory after memory, of the summer I shared with Makayla comes rushing back.
A smile tugs at my lips just thinking about her, and then that weight slams in my chest. All I can do is hope that what she said, she meant—when you figure it out, why don’t you come find me.
I’m ready, baby. I only hope you are.
I close my eyes and the moving plane lulls me to sleep. When I wake, the flight attendant is serving drinks and snacks. I’m so glad the flight attendant who was working when I met Makayla isn’t on board. I had to promise to take her to dinner to avoid going to the slammer. And then I gave her my number with one digit incorrectly written.
It was a shit thing to do, but reflecting back, I did it in the name of love.
Okay, done with the sappy shit, I promise.
Deciding to go over some of the divisional financials for Simon Warren, I yank my backpack out and set it on my lap.
As soon as I open it, a black photo album with silver lining pops out.
Uncertain, I pull it out. The note taped to the top reads, “This one is for you. Take care of it. With love, Amelia.”
Letting my backpack drop to the ground, I set the album on my lap and stare at it for the longest time.
“Sir, what can I get you?” the flight attendant asks.
My head snaps in her direction. “Nothing, thank you.”
When my gaze shifts back down to the photo album, the inscription gets me right in the chest. It reads, “The Adventures of the ABCs.”
I have to curl my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. All I can do is stare. Sweat coats my brow, I can feel my breathing increase exponentially, and I sit here, letting time pass.
Finally, I feel strong enough to open it. Slowly, I pinch the cover and even more slowly, I open it.
Staring right at me is an 8×10 color photo of Brandon and me in our “I’m a Big Brother” T-shirts, both holding Amelia in a bundle of pink. We’re smiling so wide. I wasn’t even two yet, so I don’t remember it, but I feel I could if I tried hard enough.
My vision starts to blur and I feel like the space in the plane has clouded over. It’s as if I’m the only one here.
A strange mix of hope and fear spurs me to turn the page.
There are two photos on the page to the left. The first is of the three of us the first time we all rode the subway together. I’m not sure how old we were, but Amelia was in a stroller. Excitement fills our faces because we were going on a train ride. I don’t remember that day, but I remember those matching cowboy hats and holsters Brandon and I wore. And Amelia’s pink hat and spurs. We thought we were outlaws from the West. And we were on the getaway train.
A smile tugs at my lips. We kept that cowboy gear for a long time. Amelia would sneak into our room in her pink hat and point her finger at us. “Put ’em up, or I’ll shoot,” she tried to say, but never got the words quite right.
The second photo on the page is of the three of us in our Easter outfits and we have the biggest frowns on our faces. I remember this day. Brandon was seven, I was six, and Amelia was four. Our parents had taken us to the country club for an Easter egg hunt and forgot our baskets. We were so mad at them because we had to use a plastic grocery bag. Made egg collecting very difficult.
Page by page, I find myself flipping. Smiling at the happy memories and knowing these are times that can never be forgotten.
Soon, though, I have to stop. I feel like I might suffocate. Like I can’t breathe. Jumping to my feet, I tuck the album away and head for the lavatory.
Once inside, I splash water on my face and then look in the mirror. Moments later, I find myself clawing at my T-shirt to get it off. As soon as I do, I stare at the scripted B on my chest and trace every delicate line of it.
When my finger returns to where it started, I look into the mirror. “I love you, Brandon,” I whisper.
I love you.
I miss you.
Now and forever.
29
A Cup of Sugar
Makayla
Never say never.
That’s all I can say.
Season five of The Walking Dead has me so nervous that I’m biting my fingernails. Seriously, do they have to make it so full of angst? I have no idea how I’ve managed to watch this series all by myself.
A zombie jumps out of the shadows and I scream. My pulse is racing so fast that I have to cover my head with my blanket. Honestly, I might have just had a heart attack.
Knock. Knock.
“Ahhhhhhh!” I scream even louder.
Realizing it isn’t a zombie coming to get me, I release the breath from my lungs. Someone is at the kitchen door, and the sound against the glass only made my heart beat faster. Get it together, Makayla. You’re a big girl. There are no bogeymen in the dark, or zombies in this case.
Maybe I can pretend I didn’t hear the knock and whoever it is will go away and let me finish this episode. It’s either Maggie’s latest beating her here before she even gets home from work—he has a habit of doing that—or Brooklyn and the door is locked, so he can’t get in.
Knock. Knock.
Hesitantly, I pull my head out from under the blanket and avert my attention away from the television, but it’s too dark outside to see who it is.
Setting my huge glass of red wine down, I hit pause on the remote and slowly rise to my feet. I spent all day making pieces and filling orders, and I am spent.
Another rap.
“Coming,” I call.
Wearing nothing but a T-shirt and panties, I wrap a blanket around me and start for the door. I flick the light on and freeze on the spot. Momentarily taken aback, it takes a few seconds before I begin to move again.
The closer I get, the faster my pulse races. There’s a distinct shadow in the dark of a man that looks very familiar.
A very tall, very handsome man who shared my bed all summer.
My heart stops at the sight of Camden Waters standing there. My steps falter, my breathing picks up, my mind spins into a daze of nothingness.
He’s back.
In a suit that fits his body perfectly, he looks ever so powerful. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top and his tie hangs loose. It looks like he’s been doing something important.
With a million tiny butterfly wings poking at my belly, I open the door. I have to grip the knob for support and to keep my knees from buckling beneath me. I draw in a slow, silent breath of relief because there he stands, leaning against the door frame with his head down and something in his hand.
That grin he gives me lights me up from the inside. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I say
back.
Trembling.
Uncertain.
And yet so thrilled to see him.
With a smirk, he holds out his hand. In it is a measuring cup. “I was hoping I could borrow a cup of sugar.”
Trying not to smile in return, I reach for the cup. “I’m not sure I have any.”
“Please,” he begs.
Okay he begged. I can’t turn him down now. I tip my head to the side. “Since you asked so nicely, let me check.”
“I’d appreciate it,” he returns.
With that, I close the door. And yes, he is on the other side of it. Setting the cup down, I hold onto the blanket and pretend to rummage through the cabinets with my heart pounding and my pulse thundering the entire time.
He’s back. He’s here. Now what?
Seconds later, Cam knocks on the door again.
Holding back my smile, I walk over to it, and with the blanket clutched in one hand, I open it wide with the other. This time when our eyes meet, warmth floods my whole body as we grin at each other. “Sorry, I don’t have any.”
Slowly, his gaze ravishes my face, and every feeling he has for me blazes in his eyes. “Let me try this a different way. Can we talk?”
No.
No.
No.
Yet, instead of saying no, I nod and move aside. I just can’t deny him. Honestly, I don’t want to.
That long, lean body of his strides in like he never left and I almost wish he hadn’t. Then I remember that we both had things we had to work out, and my stomach flips uneasily at the thought of Cam coming just to tell me he’s moving back to New York.
A wariness consumes his expression and he leans against the counter. “Makayla, I am so sorry,” he starts, his voice gruff with emotion.
My entire body is shaking.
“I’ve never met anyone like you before. In fact, there’s no one like you. You are everything I could possibly want and I screwed it up. I never meant to hurt you, or ignore you; I was only trying to find myself. Can you forgive me?”