“Anything open in the kitchen today?” I ask Simon before he takes off.
“Depends. Do you wanna make tips or wash dishes?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Tips sound good.”
“That’s what I thought.” He laughs, tossing a dishrag over his shoulder. “By the way, now you’re late.”
“Shit!” I race to the computer and punch myself in.
“Shame my big brother is such a bad influence on you.” Wren frowns. “I thought you were better than that.”
“Shut it, Birdie.”
“Hey! You can’t call me that.”
“I’ll do as I please.” I wrap my apron around my waist, expertly tying it behind my back. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought last week was your final shift.”
“Dad needed an extra hand after Winston called in.”
“He called in?”
“Did he not say anything to you?”
I shake my head. “No. He was gone when I rolled over this morning. He—”
I realize what I’ve said too late.
Wren’s brows are nearing her hairline and her lips are curved into a wide grin. “Well, well, well. What an interesting tidbit.”
“It’s not what it sounds like,” I tell her. “I promise.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Do I look freshly fucked?”
She barks out a laugh. “No, I guess not. But that doesn’t mean something didn’t go down. You know…like you.”
I throw a coaster at her. “Gross. Nothing happened.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say.”
“Anyway,” I say loudly, “did Simon say why Winston called in?”
Wren shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Huh.” I shrug. “Well, whatever. It’s not like him missing work is anything unusual. That boy never shows up to work.”
“Actually…” Wren draws out. “This is the first time he’s missed work in like a month.”
“Is it really?”
“Yep,” she replies. “I was shocked by it too, but my dad confirmed it this morning when we were going over payroll.” She leans across the counter conspiratorially. “Between you and me, he even has some overtime in the books.”
“No shit?”
She nods. “All the shit.”
“I’m shocked,” I say, twisting my mouth up. “I don’t think I’ve ever known Winston to be so…responsible.”
I don’t know why, but there’s this tiny ball of hope forming in my mind.
Maybe Winston’s finally growing up, finding his drive.
For his sake, I hope so. He can’t keep skulking around just waiting for everything to fall into place the rest of his life.
Granted, he doesn’t have as much to worry about in comparison to the rest of the working class, but surely he doesn’t expect to sit around doing nothing forever with no plans of growing up.
Perhaps he’s finally realizing that too.
“Maybe you’re the one rubbing off on him.” She winks, and I know exactly what kind of rubbing off her mind is drifting toward.
I ignore her and pour myself a water.
“Did Porter get in touch with Doris?” I ask, shifting the subject away from anything to do with me and Winston because the last thing I want to think about is us in any sort of sexual situation.
“I’m not sure. They aren’t moving here until next summer, so he’s not in any rush. He’s using the month he’s here to do some house hunting.”
“He has an entire month off work?” I whistle, taking a sip of my water. “Damn. Someone’s fancy.”
Wren laughs. “You’re telling me. They were only coming to visit and then, two days into the trip, he decided he wants to move here, so he took a month away from the office.”
“Seriously? Must be nice to just pack up and do what you want like that.”
“Right? Foster was telling me he’s pretty loaded. He owns an internet security company or something like that and is always traveling for it. I’m surprised he decided to buy out here since the home base for his business is in California.” She steals my cup from my hand and downs half its contents. “Foster said he’s divorced and still dealing with the fallout between him and his ex-wife. I guess maybe he’s doing it to get away from her and get a fresh start? I don’t know. Not my business. I just know Foster is happy to have him here.”
“How old is his daughter?”
“Kyrie? She’s six, and a total spitfire. Keeps Porter on his toes for sure.”
“I can’t wait for Riker to start talking. Right now, all he does is cry. And poop. Then cry some more. I’d just like for him to know any form of communication other than crying to get what he wants. It’s tiring.”
Her lips pull down because she knows I’ve been working myself into the ground since I found out I was pregnant.
Hell, I hardly took any time off when Riker was born. I couldn’t afford to; I had bills to pay.
“How have you been sleeping at Winston’s?”
“Like usual. I—”
No. That’s not true.
Since I’ve been staying with her brother, I’ve had more nights of peaceful sleep than not, a miracle when you have a three-month-old.
“Actually,” I say, “I’ve been sleeping pretty well. Sully’s been a big help.”
“Sully has? Really?”
I nod. “He’s been watching Riker for me lately. The kid loves him, it keeps me from having to ask Winston to drive to Doris a million times a day, and it gives Sully something to do, so it works out for everyone.”
“Except Doris,” Wren points out.
“Well, not really. Now she’s free to help Porter when he moves here, and I’m certain he’ll pay her a hell of a lot more than I ever could, especially if he’s looking for a live-in nanny.”
“Fair point.” She pushes off the stool she’s been occupying. “We better get to work before my dad comes out and scolds us for not slaving away.”
“Simon would never.”
“Simon definitely would,” says the man himself, coming through the back hallway. “He knows you have a lot of work to do before the lunch rush, so you better get your asses in gear.”
“Dad, don’t refer to yourself in third person. That went out of style in the nineties.”
“To be fair, I don’t think referring to yourself in the third person was ever cool,” I point out.
“Yeah, what Drew said,” Wren tells her father.
“How about you do what Simon says and get your rears to work.”
“You’re so bossy,” his daughter grumbles.
“Well, I am the boss,” he calls after her, feeling damn proud of his back-to-back dad jokes. He turns to me. “I was going to warn you to never have children, but that ship has clearly sailed.”
I laugh. “You can say that again.”
“I was going to warn you—”
I sigh. “If this is your ploy to get me to go work, you’re succeeding.”
He grins. “Good, but before you scamper off, how’s your car coming along?”
“You know, you’re the second person to ask about that today. I have no clue. I’d have to ask your son. He seems to have taken over all care for it.”
“Huh.” Simon grunts, hands going to his hips. “He keeps surprising me lately. Almost reminds me of the Winston before the accident, back when he had dreams and aspirations.”
“What happened to him?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure. He just sort of…gave up. I tried telling him he was too young to be so old, but he doesn’t seem to care.”
“Did he do any therapy after the accident?”
“Sure. He had lots of physical therapy.”
“No, I meant like”—I tap the side of my head—“that kind of therapy.”
Simon shakes his head, frowning. “No. I think he uses his camera and the weed for that.” He laughs when my brows shoot up. “Yes, Drew, I’m aware my son is a stoner. He probably gets that from me.”
>
“You telling me you were a stoner? Being a teen in the seventies?” I gasp mockingly. “Oh, Simon, say it ain’t so!”
“How dare you bring up my old age.”
“Pfft. Old or not, I wouldn’t kick you outta bed.” I wink.
He laughs at me, shaking his head. “Get to work before I put you on dishes.”
“One step closer to kitchen duty!” I call after him.
* * *
I push open the front door, relieved to finally be home.
Resting my back against the door, I take my first real breath in hours.
Simon wasn’t kidding about us needing to get ready for the lunch rush. It was intense. We got hit with not one, but two after-soccer celebrations and were all running around ragged.
When we were still slammed for dinner, I called Sully to ask if it was okay to stay for a second shift to help Simon out.
Okay, okay—it was also to help out my barely-in-the-black checking account.
He agreed, and so I stayed, busting my ass all through the dinner rush and close.
It was all worth it though. Just thinking of the huge stack of bills in my apron makes my feet hurt just a little less.
“I thought we talked about you riding the bus so late at night.”
My eyes shoot across the room, surprised to find Winston sitting on the couch.
There’s no TV on, no laptop across his legs, no book in his hands.
He’s just sitting there.
Waiting.
Though I’m not surprised.
When I left work tonight, Leroy, the only cabbie in town, was waiting to give me a ride home.
“You Drew Woods?” he asked, resting against his yellow clunker.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“I was sent by that Daniels kid to give you a ride home. He already paid, now I just gotta deliver.”
Of course Winston would send a cab. Heaven forbid I take the city bus home. It’s beneath him for some reason.
Annoyed, I roll my eyes.
Screw him. I’m not here for his handouts. I can take care of myself.
“You said he paid already?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Leroy says. “Tipped and everything.”
“Well then you won’t be mad if I decline the ride, will ya?”
“With the cash he gave me? Nah, kid. You do what you gotta do.”
So I walked my happy ass to the bus stop and waited for twenty minutes for the next one to arrive.
“You talked about it.” I push off the door, kicking my shoes away. “I pretended to listen. I don’t understand why riding the bus is like a sin in your eyes.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“I survived.”
“Yeah, well, you might not have. People are creepy as fuck these days. Something could have happened to you. Then where would Riker be?”
I glare at him. “Don’t you dare throw my son’s wellbeing in my face like you have any say in how I run my life. If I didn’t think I’d be safe, I wouldn’t have done it. Besides, it’s a tiny town. The only crime that happens here is a bike getting stolen by school bullies every now and then. I’m a big girl, Winston. I can handle myself.”
“We have drifters.”
“I truly feel like you’re just grasping at straws right now because you’re trying to make me feel bad about not calling and begging you for a ride like some damsel in distress.” I pull the cash from my apron before I hang it on the hook near the door. “Check your ego before you really piss me off.”
He rises from the couch. “It’s not my ego I’m worried about. It’s you.”
“I stand by what I said. I can handle myself.”
I hustle past him, heading for the bedroom.
“Do you really expect me to believe that’s true? You can’t even pay a fucking electric bill on time.”
His words stop me in my tracks, and my eyes sting with embarrassment.
I march across the room toward him, fists balled at my sides, nails digging into my palms, my hand itching to make contact with his face.
“I hate you, Winston,” I grind out. “I fucking hate you. Every single time I think you’re not a complete prick, you prove me wrong. So fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. If you were that worried about me, maybe you should have been there for me today.”
“I had shit to do.”
“Oh? Like what? Bail on your family…again? You know Wren came in and covered your shift, right? She put her business on hold because you can’t be bothered to show up for a shift at a fucking pizzeria and you want me to sit around waiting for you? To rely on you for rides to work?” I laugh. “Hilarious! You’re the most unreliable person I know.”
He grits his teeth together. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t? So then you didn’t call into work today to run off doing god knows what?”
“It was important,” he argues. “But never mind all that. That’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about—”
“How I’m supposed to wait around on you to save me. Yeah, I got that, but I’m telling you I can’t depend on you for anything because you’ve proven time and time again that you’re not that type of person. You only care about you.”
“Let me get this straight: because I don’t always show up to work at a—what was it again? Oh yeah, a fucking pizzeria,” he mocks in the same tone I used, “I’m a complete shitbag? That job doesn’t mean shit to me, Drew.”
“That’s just it, Winston!” I throw my hands into the air, adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Nothing means anything to you! You’re on the back half of your twenties and have zero drive to do anything! How do you not see the problem with that?”
“I have drive,” he argues.
“You sure as shit don’t show it.”
“You think just because I don’t walk around telling every single person I meet about every little goddamn thing I do I don’t have drive? Don’t aspire to anything? That’s bullshit. I aspire to plenty.”
“Then why don’t you act on any of it? Why don’t you make something of all that talent you have? I know you do photography. I’ve seen you with the camera, and you clearly love being behind it. Why aren’t you running a business with that? Why are you just working in your father’s pizzeria making everyone else’s life miserable?”
“Because…I…shit! Fuck!” He grabs at his hair. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know. I’m scared if I do something with my photography then that means I can’t enjoy it anymore, means I can’t just do it because I want to do it but because I then suddenly have to do it. I don’t want the pressure.”
I wave my hand around the house. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about if you don’t make it big. You’re set for life.”
He scoffs. “You have no idea what it feels like to have all this.”
“Uh, what? Freeing? Yeah, Winston, must be really hard to have a fucking roof over your head. Must be really goddamn hard to not have to worry about that at all.”
He gnashes his teeth. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me!”
“No!” he screams. “No! You clearly already have this idea of me in your mind painted nice and vibrant. What the fuck is the point?”
“I—”
I shake my head, my adrenaline losing steam fast, the exhaustion from the day and this pointless argument seeping in.
“I quit,” I say. “This argument, trying to understand you—all of it. I just quit. Tomorrow, Riker and I are going back to my apartment. I made enough cash today to cover what I owe the electric company. I’ll figure the rest out whenever.”
“You can’t leave. Your car isn’t ready yet.”
“I don’t care. I’ll take the bus you love so much.”
I turn on my heel, heading for the bedroom. I’ll be damned if I waste one more minute arguing with Winston and not sleeping in his insanely comfortable bed while I still can.
�
��Drew, wait.”
“Good night, Winston.”
I push the door open and stop in my tracks.
The first thing I notice is the music.
It’s soft and low, but it’s no lullaby.
It’s Slayer, and it’s playing from a lighted mobile swinging above a brand-new crib tucked into the corner of Winston’s bedroom.
“What the…”
I walk closer, running my hand around the dark wood, admiring the curves and cuts. It’s gorgeous. Exactly what I would have picked out.
There in the center, all swaddled up and snoring lightly, is Riker.
“Where did this come from?”
“This is what I had to do today.” Winston’s beside me, standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body. “This is why I missed work.”
“You…you got this for me?”
“Well, for Riker. I think you’re a bit too big for it.” He grins. “I just felt bad for him because he was sleeping in a drawer. Besides, this is something he can have for a while. It converts into a bed for when he gets older.”
“Winston…” It comes out as a whisper. “I…”
“Look.”
My eyes follow his hand as he reaches up to the mobile.
It’s not your typical farm or zoo animals hanging from strings.
No, this mobile is handmade.
And it’s made up of pictures of me and Riker…pictures I didn’t know were being taken. Us sleeping on the couch. Laughing on the back patio. Me feeding him, both of us half asleep. There’s even one of him crying and me covered in vomit.
I laugh. “Winston, these are—”
“I hope you don’t mind that I took the photos. It’s just when my mom died, I realized we didn’t have many pictures of her with us kids since she was always the one taking them. You don’t even have anyone to take them for you, to give you that option. So, I took the liberty of snapping a few candid ones.”
“Mind? Skulking around and taking photos of me and my baby is the sweetest, creepiest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
He chuckles. “I thought so too.”
I look up at him. “Thank you for this, Winston. I can’t even tell you what it means to me. I…I’m sorry I was a bitch about you missing work today.”
His thumb brushes over my cheek, wiping away the tears I didn’t realize I was shedding.
I Knead You Tonight Page 8
