Sweet Karma

by Amara Kent

  “Yeah… Well, my mom went to Asia, and she loved it there. Came back and started to cook all these Asian dishes she had tried over there. This is my favorite dish of hers. She taught me how to make it.”

  “I’m glad she did. If she didn’t, I would never have had the joy of eating it now.”

  We go through the rest of the meal in silence. I’m in trouble. I’m in real trouble.

  Rule Number One: Don’t fall in love with the mark.

  I repeat. Do not fall in love with your job. It will only end in heartache for you. Nothing good can come of the job. Nothing.

  I have to get over myself and this. I’m reading too much into this fake relationship. He doesn’t know who I am and will never know. He hasn’t fallen in love with me, he’s fallen for exactly the type of person I wanted him to think I am, a character of my own creation. When we’ve finished dinner and I’ve helped him clean up, I grab his face and slam my lips on his. He stiffens at first, a little shocked, but then he relaxes and is kissing me back. He lifts me up and takes me through his house and into his bedroom, fiddling with the handle and pushing open the door. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m being thrown onto the bed. He watches me with desire in his eyes as he starts to strip.

  I flip the pancake in the pan with a quick flick of my wrist. My nephew, Toby, watches in awe as the pancake lands on the uncooked side in the pan.

  “Ooooo. That’s so cool!” he bursts out in excitement.

  I laugh at his candor. It’s a Saturday, and I’ve woken up early to make my sister and her family breakfast since I’ve been pretty much ignoring her, as I focus on my job and Dean… Dean. I sigh, thinking about how fucked up my situation with him is now. What had begun as a job to screw him over, ended up with me catching feelings, like a goddamn chump.

  I place the cooked pancake on the plate that is already stacked twenty high with the fluffy pancakes.

  “Carefully, can you carry them to the dining table?” I ask Toby.

  “Uh-huh!” He jumps off the stool and rushes to my side, watching the plate intensely as he slowly walks over to the table and sets it down next to the plate of bacon and eggs. This meal is a tradition when we’re together. Usually, it’s my sister or brother-in-law, Chris, making them, but I offered to do it seeing as though I would be disappointing Toby again by not being there for Christmas.

  I had left Christmas and all that it represented, behind me. I wanted nothing to do with it, but for the sake of my sister, I still bought them presents each year and wished them a Merry Christmas. When our parents were alive, we would do this. Get together in the morning and have a feast, before we opened presents. Then, at one in the afternoon, we would go over to our cousin’s place and all have a late lunch. These traditions quickly faded when things became bad with me. After a while, they stopped asking. I was grateful for it, and even when we had picked up contact again, they still kept to themselves. The last thing I wanted to do was spread joy to the whole family, when it wasn’t even a whole family. My grandparents were no longer alive and neither were my parents. All I had in the way of family were a couple of cousins and my sister. And right now, they were more important to me. Sounds cruel. Hey, call me an outright bitch, but it’s the truth. I hardly doubt they’re thinking too much of me at the moment.

  I hear soft padding of multiple feet come down the hallway before I see the fresh faces of my sister and her husband, Chris. They yawn and stretch out their limbs.

  “Good morning, sleepyheads,” I chirp.

  “Good morning,” my sister greets me merrily. “I see you roped my son into helping you this morning?” She eyes me curiously.

  I throw my hands up. “Hey, he woke up early and wanted to help. He only did the heavy lifting because he’s such a strong boy.”

  “Yeah, Momma. I’m a big boy!” he exclaims, throwing his arms up and showing us his barely-there muscles.

  We both laugh, and Chris swoops him up into a hug and carries him to the table.

  “This looks absolutely wonderful, Tay. What time did you wake up to cook all this? And how many people are you feeding exactly?” he dramatizes in jest.

  “Well, I knew that since Mr. Eats-a-lot was here, that I would have to cook more than is the norm for a family,” I retort playfully.

  “Well, I’m sure that between the two of us, we can make this food disappear, right Mr. Eats-a-lot?” Chris asks Toby, ruffling his hair.

  “She was talking about you, Daddy!” Toby giggles.

  I watch with my sister at their little banter. I have my rules when it comes to men, but I hope that Chris is the exception to my rule, and that Violet has indeed found a keeper. So far, he’s remained genuine, always being by her side and mine. He’s also the most wonderful father, outside of our own, that I have come across. You know those mothers who are fiercely loyal to their children? The one that would kill for their kids and do whatever they can in order to ensure that their child is happy? Well, that’s Chris. I always joke at how much their dynamics are reversed now. Violet was always meant to become a mother. Even as a child, she was always the one taking care of me, even though I’m the oldest. All those years of taking care of everyone else around her prepared her for motherhood. When she had Toby she was confident, and rightly so. She was one of those rare people who took to motherhood as if her entire purpose in life was to become a mother. She was chill with it all, while Chris was a mess. It was quite funny seeing him run around stressed to the max on the day of Toby’s birth, while my sister plodded along, calmly telling him that the hospital bag was literally at his feet and that his keys were in his hand.

  He stepped up in the end, settled down, and was able to pick up on things with the help of Violet. I swear, that those two were destined to be together. He was the stressed-out guy that was too much in his own head, and she was the calm one that brought him down from his anxiety. It’s so good to see how far Chris has come. How easy he makes it all look.

  “Okay guys.” I clap my hands. “Let’s get to eating. We have a full day ahead of us! We’re going to make snowmen and then head to the lake and go ice skating! You excited for that, little man?” I ask Toby.

  “Yes! I can’t wait! Are we all going?” he asks. Eyes wide and hopeful as he looks at me.

  “Sure are! I wouldn’t miss the chance at seeing your dad fall on his bottom over and over again.” I laugh.

  Every single year we come here. It’s the place we would go when we were little, and my sister had carried on the tradition with her family. She wants to keep a part of our parents alive in her life, without it just being memories and photos. We both feel their presence whenever we come here, and even though it kills me to come here, I know I have to. I wanted to forget that tragic night, but I didn’t want to forget them. This place is the only thing keeping them burning hot in my mind.

  After filling ourselves stupid with all the food I had made for everyone, we all get ready and head out the front to make snowmen. It’s the perfect place, as the front is flat and there’s a gate that separates the footpath and the house, so the chance of it being destroyed is slim.

  Making snowmen didn’t exactly turn out the way I had planned it. Chris created four bodies for us. A mom and dad, son, and an auntie. I was busy putting the finishing touches on my snow auntie when I was smacked in the back of the head with a snowball. Things derailed a bit from there and what had started off as a fun and semi-artistic activity, quickly turned into a game of wits and cunning, breaking off into teams. Me and Toby against Violet and Chris. Toby and I won, of course. They were nowhere near as fierce and competitive as we were, so that gave us the upper hand.

  We fall onto the front porch of the house in a fit of laughter; hair wet and tangled from the fight.

  “Okay, who’s bright idea was it to play in the snow?” I joke.

  “Yours!” the three of them say in unison.

  “Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side, little man. What happened?” I ask, grabbing him and opening his
jacket so I can tickle him. He wriggles around in my lap, his high laughter spilling out into the open air.

  “Stop it, Auntie Taylor! Stop it!” he begs between bursts of laughter.

  “Say uncle!” I demand.

  “U-U-U-” He laughs. “U-U-U-ncle!” he squeals.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” I feign hard of hearing.

  “U-U-U-ncle!” He laughs.

  “Okay then, I’ll stop.” I give him a rest. A moment for him to catch his breath, as his laughter dies out to nothing. “Okay, go get changed into some dry clothes. I’ll come up and dry your hair.”

  “Okay!” he shoots up from the porch and runs inside. His tiny, but heavy steps, thundering through the house.

  I nearly fall on my ass when I see Chris’s arms flailing around in a desperate attempt at staying up. My sister is wobbling around as well when he reaches out and grabs her to keep himself upright. As expected, it doesn’t work and they both fall over.

  “Come on, little man. We better go over and help them before they get themselves hurt.” I grab his hand and together we skate over to them. We stop in front of them, and see the annoyed look on Violet’s face, and the dejected one on Chris’s.

  “So what’s the tally now?” I ask them both.

  Violet flips me the bird, and Chris smacks her for doing it. Mumbling that she can’t be doing that in front of their son. I shake my head at them and offer my hand to assist them up. Chris takes mine graciously, but Violet slaps my hand away and gets herself standing again.

  We wobble a little as Chris attempts to remain standing. “Buddy, I think you need to sit down.” I laugh.

  “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

  “I’ll help him to the benches. You stay here with Toby,” I advise Violet, who nods her head and skates off.

  “Daddy’s not very good, is he?” I hear faintly as Chris and I skate off slowly.

  “Every time I say I’m not going to do this, that I’m just going to watch, and every time I manage to let that nephew of yours convince me to try.”

  I chuckle, as I sit us down on the bench to the side. “He takes after his mother. She can convince anybody to do anything she wants them to do.”

  “Not you, though.” His soft voice adds.

  “You know I can’t do it. Not now.” There is a slight irritation to my voice. I love Chris and Violet, but they are asking something too big of me. They’re asking me to remember all the bad times the day holds, and I can’t do it, yet. It’s too fresh. Too deep.

  “I know why you can’t, and I respect that. But I also see his face whenever he hears a knock at the door and opens it to an empty porch. I see the look on his face when we have to remind him that yet again, you won’t be there for Christmas. He’s a smart boy, and loves you so much, that he can’t understand why would choose other people over him.”

  “I know. It pains me to have to tell him. And one day, I will be able to look back and not have it hurt so much, to not hear their screams in my head, or the sound of silence with images in my head. Too much has happened, and I know it’s been years since, but every time I think I can do it, I find myself shrinking. And the thought of trying to play happy family makes me physically ill. Toby doesn’t deserve to see me upset and miserable. He doesn’t deserve to have a dark cloud hanging over the day.”

  “Have you thought about seeking therapy?” He’s hesitant in his delivery.

  “A shrink? Funnily enough. I have, and they did nothing to help me. I didn’t see the point in watching my money wash down the drain on a quack that was as useful as a dirty dishcloth. I—”

  What, the motherfuck? What the hell is Dean doing here?

  He’s noticed me too, and is staring at me with daggers, as if it’s my fault that he’s seeing me. As if I should know not to be here. He’s with a little girl, and she’s pulling on his sleeve to get his attention.

  “Taylor?” Chris asks next to me, but I can’t respond, because I’m too floored at what I’m seeing.

  He has a kid.

  Dean fucking Lukas. CEO and billionaire playboy has a kid.

  Fuck. Me. Dead.

  I sit down at my desk at work. I’m feeling like absolute shit, and no doubt I look like it as well. Dean Lukas has a child. A little girl. And nobody seems to be aware of this. Why doesn’t anybody know about his child? Why is he keeping her a secret, and what was he doing in Baskerville? I got zero sleep last night, as I paced around my apartment, trying to figure out a reason as to why that information, that very vital piece of information, was redacted from the details about him, given to me by Skylah. I called her as soon as I got home last night and asked her, actually demanded that she tell me what is going on. She sounded just as astonished as I was to find out the news.

  I’ve been contemplating all morning on whether I should bring it up with him. We’ve gotten closer and closer as the months have gone by, and not once did he mention that he has a child. There aren’t even any pictures of a kid in his apartment. Although, I could have missed them since I was a little too busy fucking him, to take notice of anything that would suggest a child lived there. No, there couldn’t be, I would have been able to tell, and if he was so private about his life, there is no way he would have invited me over for dinner. You can’t necessarily hide the presence of someone else living with you.

  I need to know. I need to know if that was his daughter or not. It could have been a niece. That’s another plausible option. Determined, I stand up and enter Dean’s office, not bothering to knock.

  “What do you want, Tiffany?” There’s a heavy sense of irritation that hits me.

  “You have a child?” I blurt out in a whisper.

  “That’s none of your business. Do you actually have work related things to discuss, or are you going to pry into my personal life?”

  “I feel as if I have the right to know. We are dating after all.” I hold my stance, crossing my arms over my chest.

  A dark, hate-filled chuckle is released. “You thought that what we were doing was dating? I don’t date people I work with, I—”

  “You also don’t fuck people you work with in your office,” I interject.

  “That’s true. Consider whatever we were doing before to cease, effective immediately.”

  His attitude is cold and detached, and I can’t help but feel the pain that comes with such an attack.

  “Why won’t you tell me?” I prod again.

  He looks up from his desk. “Because what belongs in my personal life, has nothing to do with you. I don’t know what twisted perception you have of our relationship, but believe me. All you were to me was a stress reliever. That’s all.”

  “You asshole,” I spit out.

  “Don’t get all offended now. I gave you what you wanted, and you gave me what I needed. Nothing more, nothing less. You knew this wasn’t a serious thing, so don’t act as if it was.”

  This is the man whose description is written in a file in my office. This cruel, evil man who cares about nothing or anyone else but himself. This is the man I wish I had met in the beginning. This version of Dean, I would have never had feelings for. This Dean Lukas would have been easy to fuck over.

  “You walk around thinking that you are this king of kings. That you can’t possibly be thrown off your pedestal. Well, listen to me, asshole. One day you are going to find somebody better than you. Mightier than you. A better goddamn fucking actor than you. And when that day comes, I will smile from the sidelines and cheer him on.”

  “Are you done?” he asks.

  “Why are you so angry at a simple question? What does the mighty Dean Lukas have to hide? What is it about you that is shrouded in mystery? Are you part of the mob? What, is she your illegitimate child? You got a prostitute knocked up and—”

  “That’s enough!” he roars, smacking his hands on his desk and standing up. “Get out. Get out and never come back. We’re through here.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Fine with me.�
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  I storm out of his office and gather my things. Biting the inside of my cheeks to stop myself from crying. I will not let him witness tears falling. I will not allow another man to let tears fall from my eyes. Those days are over.

  I march to the elevator and get in, dropping my bag and letting the tears fall down my cheeks.

  I look at the invitation on the fridge. It’s tonight. I think about attending and apologizing to Dean for the hurtful things I said to him. I shouldn’t have said what I did, but I was so angry that he could turn so cold on me.

  “You know, if you keep on looking at that, you’ll hurt your eyes.” Kerri hands me a coffee, and I take it.

  “I found it in my bag today.”

  “I hope you’re not contemplating going.”

  “I was, actually. Just so I can apologize.”

  “Apologize for what?” she snarks.

  “I was an asshole to him. I implied that his little girl’s mother was a prostitute.” I turn to face her. “That was an awful thing to say, no matter how much of an asshole he was to me.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. And what do you possibly think will happen if you go? He’s not exactly going to be happy to see you there. Plus, he’s probably removed your name from the list by now.”

  “There’s a chance he hasn’t though. He’s been busy with this whole event lately. I doubt he would have had time to remove a name off the list,” I argue.

  “Don’t do it. You’re not going to be doing yourself any favors by going.”

  “I just want to apologize,” I press on, softly.

  Kerri puts an arm around me. “I know, hon. I know. Come on. Let’s go back to your place. We’ll stop by the store and pick up a bottle of tequila, and we’ll shot it up until we’re so blind drunk that we can’t focus. How does that sound?”

  “Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do,” I grumble.

  Kerri is on my sofa like a drunken idiot. She’s had one too many shots, and I’ve had zero. I plan to go to the event tonight and hope that I can get in to at least apologize to Dean. I need to let him know that I didn’t mean to insinuate his daughter’s mother was a paid sex worker.