Arranged

by Sara Wolf

  “As entertaining as watching you beat yourself up is, should I be asking if something’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine,” I run my fingers through my hair. It’s dry and smells like chlorine from practice. Coach ran me hard, because he could tell I was distracted. Hell yeah, I was distracted! I’d been anxious to get home from practice before the damn Fed-Ex guy arrived. I shoot a look at the package – it’s huge and sits in the middle of the living room.

  “You’ll be okay with all the ribbons and shiny pink paper?” Grace smirks. The package is surrounded by bolts of wrapping paper I’d bought earlier, all of them pink.

  “Her name’s Rose,” I growl. “It’s not like I think she’s a girly-girl or anything. The color just fits her name, right?”

  “You don’t know her favorite color?”

  “Does it matter?” I frown. “The presents inside are what matters.”

  “Oh, listen to you,” Grace’s smirk gets huge. “Talking about how appearances don’t matter. What happened to the Lee who said; ‘A girl’s boobs tell you all you need to know about her’?”

  “It’s called growing up. You might’ve heard of it.” I flop on the floor and start wrapping the presents.

  There’s a silence. Grace’s feet pad over, and something light touches my head – her hand. She bends down and kisses my scalp.

  “I’m happy for you.”

  I don’t push her off. Other brothers might push their sisters off. But this is the first time she’s touched me since Mom died. No hugs. Not even a pat on the hand. But now, the warmth behind her touch is undeniable.

  Maybe I’m not the only one doing the growing up.

  Grace quickly snaps back into business mode. “I’ll be gone for two weeks. Guam. If Rose comes over, give her the envelope on the counter, okay?”

  “What is it?”

  “Nosy,” Grace clicks her tongue. “If you paid any attention to my photoshoots, you’d know.”

  “Know what? Is this about the shoot you forced her to go on?”

  Grace lifts her rolling bag over the carpet. “If you really want to know, check the magazine on my desk. The middle-ish.”

  “She’s in a magazine?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” Grace laughs. “You must’ve noticed – she has quite the figure. The director liked what came out. She’s not career model material, and I’m sure if I offered she’d turn it down. She’s odd like that.”

  “Nothing odd about not wanting to become a clothes-horse,” I grumble.

  Grace laughs and checks her phone. “Oh, my cab’s here. Don’t forget to water my plants, okay? Bye!”

  She darts out the door with a lip-glossed smile. From the patio I watch her cab pull away and into the night.

  I haven’t wrapped many presents. Presents weren’t a thing growing up in our house after Mom died. Christmas came with the same present every year from Dad – a crisp fifty euro note. Dad told our relatives to send us things he could return easily and get the money for. Grace gave me her euro note every year and told me to keep it. Said she didn’t want anything from Dad. Ever.

  I’d always wanted the beautiful wrapped presents other kids had. I wanted the glittering piles of green and red and blue under the Christmas tree. I wanted Dad to smile and Grace to laugh.

  I was a pretty stupid kid.

  I shake my head and scratch my thumb on the tape teeth just as the doorbell rings. I suck the skin free of blood and answer the door.

  “Kiera?” My eyes widen. “What are you –”

  “Lee!” Kiera’s blonde hair and overpowering perfume assaults my face. She pecks me on the cheek and her gloss leaves a sticky mark. I wipe it off and frown at her as she flits about the living room, her tight jeans and silk top leaving nothing to the imagination.

  “Wow! Grace totally redid the living room, huh?”

  “Kiera, I’m really not –”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call.” She pouts her lips and settles on the couch like a languid cat, all slender limbs and perfect nails. “But I figured you could use a pick-me-up visit! You know, like the one you gave me a few weeks ago.”

  She winks, and I sigh.

  “Kiera, look. I…I’m involved. With someone.”

  “Oh, I know.” She fluffs her hair. “And she’s sitting right here waiting to become even more involved.”

  I rub the space between my eyebrows. “Jesus, Kiera. Don’t make me spell it out.”

  She stands and makes her way to me with that same cat-like grace. She laces her arms around my neck and pushes our chests together.

  “C’mon, Lee. We’ve been doing this for what, seven months now? You can’t leave now. I know every nook,” She runs her hand down my bicep. “And cranny of you. I know how you tick. You and I are good at this thing.”

  “This thing,” I tear away from her. “Is over.”

  “Is it?” She laughs. “I know you, Lee. You want sex. A lot of it. Whenever you can get it. You want it comfortable and easy and with girls you know. You have one-night stands sometimes, sure. But it feels better when it’s with me, doesn’t it? Because you know how to make me sing. And I know how to play you like a violin.”

  I clench my fists. “It’s over. Get out.”

  Her face contorts, but she smooths it over quickly and picks up her purse. “You’ll call me. I know you will. Whoever this new girl is, she doesn’t know you. You like things easy. You’re a coward. Challenge isn’t your style. And new things are challenges. Always.”

  I narrow my eyes at her retreating back. She doesn’t shut the door behind her. I walk up and slam it, but I can still hear her laugh in the hall. God, she infuriates me. Sure, we’d had some good times. I liked her. Used to like her, back when she wasn’t such a haughty bitch. She’s smart and beautiful, but now that we’ve known each other for a while, that smartness and beauty turned into vindictive, cutting insight and cruel sexuality. That’s what time does to relationships. Contorts them. You take the person for granted and forget why you liked them to begin with, and they twist you around yourself just to get a reaction. That’s how it’s always been with me and girls. That’s why I’ve never stayed with one girl for very long. They tear each other, or me, apart trying to get me or keep me.

  Would my thing with Rose become that?

  No. I shake my head. That’s impossible. Rose isn’t like the girls who fought each other after school in the cafeteria for my attention. She’s not one of the girls who catcalls me in the street about how hot I am. She never once stopped and stared lustfully at me, looked at me like a piece of meat. To Rose, I’m annoying. And a pervert. She doesn’t think I’m perfect just because of how I look. And I could kiss her for that.

  Kiss her and lean her over the table and slide into her –

  “Get it together,” I hiss to no one. I’ve gotta get these presents wrapped before I call her, and I can’t call too late, or she’ll think I’m just trying to get her over here for sex and then she definitely won’t come. I don’t want her to think she’s some booty-call I buzz in the middle of the night. No. This has to be perfect. I can’t let her down. I have to show her, undo all the bad things she thinks about me.

  Kiera’s wrong. I’m not a coward. I like challenge. It’s not going to be a problem between us, sex. At least I don’t think so. She doesn’t have experience, I know that much. I have experience, but it’s not like I can use it. She’s not one of the girls I sleep with in passing. She means so much more to me than that. I don’t want to mess this up. Is my experience going to be good enough?

  Am I going to be good enough?

  I sigh and cut a ribbon and nick my finger on the tape teeth again. I suck my thumb to get the blood off and let out a nasty swear no one hears but me and the pink wrapping paper.

  Chapter Seven

  In Which Lee Montenegro Seduces Me Through Cookies

  The drive to L.A. seems endless, but the deep blackness of the highway gives me the space I need. By the time I park on Grace’s street
it’s already past midnight. I check my phone – two in the morning. I stand at the apartment lobby door, pressing the buzzer and stomping my feet to keep warm. No answer. I text Lee. No answer. I call him, and it goes to voicemail. I sigh.

  “Hey Lee, it’s me, the girl you made drive down here after a long day? I’m going to have to sleep in my car if you don’t come down and let me in.”

  After a minute of mind-numbing cold, I turn just as the door buzzes open behind me. I take the elevator and Lee’s already waiting in the hall, barefoot and in dark jeans and a sweater, his hair mussed and hazel eyes sleep-clouded but concerned.

  “I fell asleep, shit, I’m sorry –” He starts. I smile and lean into his arm.

  “It’s okay. C’mon. Show me this surprise.”

  The sleep cloud evaporates from his face and he lights up. He pulls me by the hand into the apartment and I barely have time to take off my shoes before he whisks me into the kitchen. Five boxes – some long, others short and small – line the counter in messy pink wrapping paper.

  “It’s separate, but it’s actually just one thing,” Lee says. “The wrapping job is shitty, I know.”

  “You didn’t have to –”

  “Just open them!”

  With shaking fingers I unbutton my coat and throw it aside. I start with the smallest package – a pastry bag with dozens of different detachable tips for frosting decoration. It’s not some cheap brand, either, but the professional chef kind the owner of Bistro Miel uses.

  “Whoa,” I murmur, turning the bag over. “This –”

  “There’s more!” He points eagerly at the rest. “Open them all!”

  I tear into the other packages – a set of incredible, high quality knives, a heavy-duty pewter rolling pin, a chocolate melting pot, a steamer for puddings and soufflés, and a set of rose-patterned crème brulee dishes.

  “It’s for your baking.” Lee smiles. “I know you don’t start culinary until next year, but think of them like an early Christmas present. The guy said they’d last a long time, and they’re easy to clean, and –”

  I don’t know when I started, but I’m crying. Thick, hot tears roll down my face and drop into the rose dish I hold. I put it down before my shaking hands drop and break it.

  “Thank you. But I don’t think…I don’t think I’ll need these anymore.”

  I hear Lee stand and something warm presses into my shoulder, turns me around to face him gently.

  “What are you talking about?” His voice rumbles close to my ear.

  “My scholarship. They changed the requirements. It’s going to someone else after the break. It paid for housing and food and half my classes and I haven’t been able to find anything else, I’ve applied to the others but I don’t think I got enough of them. I think…”

  My sobs impact in my chest, like I’m trying to drown them in my ribs. Like they’re something that needs to come out but I’m pushing down.

  “I think I f-failed. My degree. My bakery. I won’t be able to go back to school after Christmas.”

  Lee wraps his arms around me and I mash my face into his sweater, picking up his scent of faint chlorine and soap.

  “And your parents are losing their company,” He mutters into my hair. “So they can’t help you, either.”

  “I’m sorry,” I sob. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t whine. I’ll do something about it, I promise. I can do it. You got me these amazing things but I can’t use any of them. Not for a long time. I can’t bake, I have to…put that dream aside. For now. I have to help Mom and Dad. I have to go home and help. That’s all I can do.”

  Lee’s arms tighten around me. “That’s not true. You can stay here, with me and Grace. She’s talked about renting the guestroom for a long time.”

  “But, my classes –”

  “We’ll get married. Tomorrow. We’ll let the lawyers and my dad know, and we’ll get married and you can have your half.”

  “You saw the will,” I sniff. “We have to be together for three months before we get the money.”

  “You can re-enroll, Rose, it’s not the end of the world –”

  “I wouldn’t use the money for school. It would go to Mom and Dad’s business. It has to. If the company doesn’t get saved, Riley won’t go to college, the house mortgage will be in trouble. Dad would get so depressed, Mom would get depressed and they’d fight more and more. It’s their life. Their dream. That soap company is like my bakery. If it fails –”

  They’ll divorce. I don’t say that, though, I just choke back another sob.

  “It can’t fail. I have to help. I’m dropping out and going back to help as much as I can.”

  “You’re just one girl,” Lee murmurs. “How can you help?”

  “I don’t know!” I clutch at his sweater. “I’ll give them my savings. It’s not enough to keep me in school, but it’s enough to put a dent in what they need. I’ll start working full time. Maybe two jobs. I don’t know. All I know is I have to help them. Or bad things will happen.”

  “You’re not responsible for everyone’s happiness, Rose!” Lee pulls back from me and stares intensely into my eyes. “You’re only responsible for one person’s happiness – yours! Dropping out and helping your parents won’t make you happy. You’ll be miserable. Do you think your parents would want that?”

  “They need help,” I whimper. “I have to help –”

  “No you don’t! They’re adults. They can take care of themselves. Maybe your family will change because of it, but it’s not the end of the world!”

  “I’m sorry I can’t be like you!” I snap and lean away from him. “I’m sorry I can’t be like you or Grace, running away from your family. You guys don’t like your dad and with good reason. But I like my parents. I want to help them!”

  “They want you to help yourself. They want you to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

  “I will be! Helping Mom and Dad will make me happy.”

  “If it will, then why are you crying?” He asks gently. I wipe my eyes.

  “Because…because I want to be with you. And I want to stay at this school I worked so hard to get into. And I want to keep studying, and learning, and earn my bakery. Every step. I want to keep going. I don’t want to stop. And if I go back, I’ll be stopping.”

  “We’ll just keep thinking, then.”

  “I’ll keep thinking.”

  “No, we. Let me help you.”

  “I can do it on my own.” I frown.

  “You’ve already done so much on your own,” He sighs. “Just…let me help, okay?”

  I purse my lips. There’s a long, tense quiet. He picks up one of my new mixing bowls and smirks in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “So, madame. I think it’s time to prove yourself.”

  “I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

  He taps the bowl. “Yeah? Well excuse me if I doubt your baking ability, then.”

  I wrinkle my nose and grab it from him. “I haven’t taken any culinary classes yet. But I know some things.”

  Lee sits at a barstool and motions to my presents. “Show me.”

  “Will Grace want any –”

  “Gone on a shoot for four days. In Guam.”

  I take out butter and warm it in the microwave. I put the stuff I don’t need into cupboards and rummage around for the flour.

  “Why do you like baking so much?” He asks.

  I shrug and mix sugar and butter together. “I don’t know. I really got into it in high school. I liked doing it because it took my mind off things; grades and stuff. I wasn’t lonely – I had my brother and some friends. But I was so focused on doing well in school and getting scholarships I sort of felt I couldn’t do anything just for me. Something fun, you know? Being with friends was fun but it was tiring. Baking is soothing. No one to impress. Just you and flour and some butter and sugar and eggs. Everything mixes so well if you just give it a bit of love.”

  Lee’s quiet, leaning on the counter to
watch me work. His long fingers trace a groove in the marble countertop. Suddenly I’m nervous. I put a pinch of salt and baking powder in the mix and stir.

  “What about you?” I ask. “You’re on the swim team. At UCLA. That means you like it or are good at it.”

  He shrugs. “Like you said. It’s something that’s relaxing for me. Don’t have to think. Just swim.”

  “I thought you didn’t know how to swim?”

  “Yeah, when I was a kid. After what happened at the creek…” He trails off. “I begged my dad for swimming lessons. And it just sort of stuck. It’s what got me here – I transferred at a weird time, but they allowed it because the swim team needed fresh blood. That and I got fifty three seconds on their one hundred meter butterfly test.”

  “What’s your major?”

  “Haven’t declared. Not like it matters.” He laughs bitterly. “When I graduate, if I graduate, Dad will bring me back to Spain to take over the ranch.”

  “And you’ll just go along with it? That’s not the Lee I know.”

  He laughs. “If I can’t run, I have to go back. I don’t like Dad. But I don’t hate him like Grace does. Mom’s dead. Grace hates him. He has no one left but me.”

  “You make it sound so sad.”

  “It is sad. Our whole family is sad.”

  To get the defeated look off his face, I offer him the cookie dough spoon. He licks it. His face lights up.

  “This is really good.”

  “You’re just saying that.” I ball the cookies up and put them on the sheet.

  “No, I’m serious!” He takes another big lick. “This is really, really good.”

  “All cookie dough is good. Wait until the actual cookies come out all dry and gross, and then tell me they’re good.”

  Lee chuckles. As I clean up the cookie mess, he comes up behind me with the licked-clean spoon. He circles one arm around my waist and drops the spoon in the sink with the other.

  “I missed you,” He mutters, low and in my ear.

  “It was just a day,” I frown.

  “And you didn’t text for three days before that.”

  “I was busy trying to save my family and my scholarship. It’s a little more important.”