by Nikki Chase
I wonder if it’s just been such a long time since I got laid that I’m overanalyzing the first man I’m attracted to since the break-up.
Honestly, now that I’ve decided to banish Fred from my life for good, it’s easy to see that my future will be better without him. He was always such a wet blanket, telling me to play it safe and never try anything new.
I’ve always known how much Fred sucks, deep down.
When I first got together with him, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but he was persistent and I gave in. I thought we could give it a go and see if we could work out.
We got along pretty well, in the beginning. I didn’t feel any strong attraction toward him, but I was opening myself up to the idea that love didn’t have to be this torrential, passionate breaking of the dam. It could be a quiet river flowing with affection and acceptance.
Maybe this could be one of those relationships that were based on companionship and friendship, rather than passion, I thought. Maybe love could be slow and sweet, rather than fast and hard.
Before Fred, my love affairs were short, meaningless, sex-fueled liaisons that burned out too quickly. I thought I needed a change.
But once we were in a relationship, it was impossible for me to end it. I quickly felt trapped, with his frequent meltdowns and suicide threats.
I stuck around, not out of some misplaced hope that we could ever work out. I was just managing one crisis after another. It was less “I may not be in love with him but I love him and maybe that’s enough,” and more “I don’t love him but I don’t want his suicide on my conscience either.”
For the longest time, I blamed myself for ever getting into a relationship with him. I thought it was my own fault for leading him on, for letting him think I was more into him than I really was.
Then, as the years passed, he became the biggest part of my life.
His jealousy didn’t allow me to socialize with any man, ruling out a lot of after-work drinks and outings in mixed company. Even when I went out with girlfriends, he’d constantly call and text to make sure I got home before his curfew.
If I was ever late coming home, we’d get into a big fight. Thinking back, though, it was less like a fight than it was an interrogation. He’d insist that I had met up with some other man, instead of just chilling with my girls for a while longer.
At some point, it became easier to limit my social circle rather than get into tearful, dramatic fights with Fred. Sure, he was my best friend, but he also made sure that I had no other friends.
I didn’t see what he was doing, though. I didn’t have anything to compare the relationship with, because it was my first long-term, serious one. I just thought that was the way all relationships were. After all, everybody was saying relationships were hard work.
Nobody else knew me better than Fred did; nobody else spent half as much time with me as Fred did; and Fred became my whole world. Things sucked when he was angry with me, and things were better when he was in a good mood.
I thought I loved him, but that wasn’t love. I was just trapped and trying to cope the best way I could.
The way he treated me, I doubt he ever loved me either. It was always more about ownership with him. He wanted me, but he also wanted to change everything about me.
He almost succeeded, too. My blood boils when I think about how I let him turn me from a strong, independent woman into a weak person who walked on eggshells all the time, just to avoid triggering his anger again in some way.
The only things that kept me sane were my work and my close relationship with Emily. I was lucky Fred and I were on a break when Emily needed a place to stay. That gave me the kick in the ass that I needed to move out of the apartment I shared with Fred and finally get my own place with Emily.
If it wasn’t for moving to my own apartment, I wouldn’t have been able to distance myself enough from Fred to see things more clearly.
Now, it’s obvious to me that I wasn’t putting enough distance between Fred and me. That’s why this job came at such a good time.
I still feel a little guilt over the hurt I’m causing Fred by not even talking to him, but I can’t let him pull me back in. I have to constantly tell myself his well-being is not my problem anymore, that his anger and his meltdowns don’t have to affect me anymore.
I chuckle as a random memory slips into my mind.
Back when we started dating, I was volunteering for this progressive prison program that helped inmates learn new skills, like cooking—which was where I was stationed, obviously.
It was the kind of thing Fred would’ve discouraged; there was no way for me to have started getting involved in that kind of program once I was fully under Fred’s control.
He was such an asshole that one of the inmates punched him in the face. He wouldn’t tell me what had happened, but he seemed embarrassed because his fragile masculinity was hurt.
The inmates who were on my program were actually sweet and polite in their interactions with me. Still, the place was filled with criminals, many of whom were violent.
I like to think those inmates found Fred more irritating than being in prison.
Prison? Yeah, I guess I deserve this.
Fred? Fuck that guy. Spending time with him is more punishment than I deserve.
With a grin on my face, I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with cool, clear, countryside air.
For once in my life, everything’s going well, and maybe that just boggles my mind for no good reason, forcing it to cope by conjuring up something sinister.
I’m free now, and that’s all that matters.
Alice
Sunshine streams into the room through the window, barely filtered by the sheer drapes. I yawn and do a full-body stretch.
I look around me, as if I'm trying to convince myself that this is really my home now, that the events of the past twenty-four hours really happened.
My new bedroom doesn't look too different from the one back in my apartment. It's a similar size, except there's carpet on the floor, which feels soft as a cloud under my bare feet this morning.
Mornings always energize me. It's a new day, a new beginning. I can shape this day however I want.
In the brightness of day, I’m having trouble believing the noises I heard in the middle of the night were real. I mean, it was my first night in a new, intimidating place, so maybe I dreamed the whole thing up? It seemed real at the time, though.
I woke to the tortured moans and grunts of a woman, which got louder and louder until they turned into full-blown screaming. I grabbed my phone from the night stand to check the time. 3:07 a.m.
Great. My new home is haunted, I thought.
I decided to check out the source of the eerie noises, in case there was some kind of dangerous situation unfolding nearby. But before I could get out, the noises abruptly stopped. I opened the door and popped my head out, only to see the dark, empty, unfamiliar hallway stretching infinitely in both directions.
I had no idea who my neighbors were or what kind of habits they had. For all I knew, it could’ve been the audio track of a horror movie playing in the next room.
I didn't even know which room the strange sounds had come from. I couldn't simply start knocking on every door just to wake everyone up and ask them about noises that were no longer audible. That wouldn't be the best way to introduce myself and make a good impression.
So I went back to sleep, deciding to wait until morning to ask someone.
I’m sure there's some kind of a reasonable explanation. A new mansion with this kind of modern design doesn't feel like somewhere ghosts would enjoy hanging out.
In the shower, I think about what to cook for breakfast. I haven't had time to check what's available in the kitchen, but I know where it is from the quick (partial) house tour Raphael gave me last night.
I quickly get dressed in something practical—a pair of black dress pants and a pink button-down shirt—and head to the kitchen. I can't wait to see my new
kitchen and meet my new co-workers on this new day.
“Morning, Alice,” Alejandra greets me in the kitchen with a smile, even as her gaze continues to be locked on to the screen of the tablet in her hands. She’s wearing a black dress with a plunging neckline today, and heels.
“Morning,” I reply. I wonder if Alejandra dresses up every single day. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
“I was just about to get you from your room. I didn’t want you to get lost on the way to the kitchen,” Alejandra says as her long fingernails tap the screen noisily.
“Oh, there’s no need for that. Raphael gave me a quick tour of the house last night.”
“Raphael, huh? That’s great,” Alejandra says. “Sorry, I’m a little distracted. Give me a minute to finish up here.”
“Sure.” I smile at the other girl in the kitchen, a young girl who’s shyly glancing at me while she washes some vegetables in the stainless-steel sink.
“Hey, uh…” I sidle up to Alejandra and, in a lower voice, say, “I heard some weird noises last night.”
“Hold on… Okay, Alice, this is Ana. Ana, this is Alice.” Alejandra turns around and leans her back against the counter, putting the tablet on the stone counter behind her. “Ana will help you prepare food for Mr. Wayne, Alice. She doesn't speak much English, but she's learning, and she does good work with food prep.”
“Look forward to working with you, Ana,” I say.
She looks up at me from underneath her lashes and returns my smile.
“Tell her what you just told me, Alice,” Alejandra says.
“Uh, I heard some strange noises last night.”
“Sorry, Miss Alice,” Ana says softly.
“Oh, that was you?”
“Yes, Miss. I have nightmares. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Ana. I’m not angry or anything. I’m just concerned. You sounded like you were in pain. But you’re okay?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Call me Alice, please. We both work here, don’t we? We’re colleagues.”
“Yes… Alice,” Ana says hesitantly.
“Great. I’m sure we’ll work well together.”
“Okay, now that all the introductions are done, I’ll leave you to it,” Alejandra says.
“Wait, what does Seth usually have for breakfast?”
“I don’t know, dear. Surprise him.” Alejandra smiles and turns around on her heels before click-clacking away hurriedly. I still have no idea what her role is in this house, but she seems exceedingly busy.
I turn to smile at Ana. She looks like a nice girl. She’s wearing a white shirt with the initials SW on the little pocket over her chest. A uniform?
“Do you know what Seth usually has for breakfast?” I ask.
“Omelette,” Ana says.
“Great. Is it usually you who cooks for him every meal?” I ask.
Ana pauses to think before she replies, “Yes.”
“How many people are we cooking this for?”
“Two.”
I wonder who Seth has breakfast with.
It doesn’t look like he has kids. This house is not exactly child-friendly, with its sharp corners and open sockets and lack of brightly-colorer pieces of plastic strewn all over the floor.
He might have a girlfriend or a wife. My chest tightens at the thought of him with a beautiful, glamorous woman on his arm. Maybe Alejandra?
I open the fridge door. Eggs, cheese, tomatoes, fresh herbs… I can do something with these ingredients.
“I washed vegetables,” Ana says as she points into the sink in front of her.
“Perfect.”
Over the next few minutes, we peel, wash, mix, and whip up some omelettes. I put them on two plates and sprinkle some truffle salt on top.
“Mr. Wayne is at table,” Ana says as she peers through the doorway.
“Great timing. I’ll bring these out. Thanks, Ana.”
“Thank you, Miss… Um, Alice,” Ana says with a sweet smile.
I balance the two plates and walk through the doorway to enter a big dining room with a long table in the middle. Seth sits on one end, reading a newspaper, spreading it open with both hands.
“Morning, Seth,” I say.
“Morning,” he says, glancing at me. He frowns. “You’re not wearing a uniform.”
“Oh, am I supposed to?” I put one plate in front of him.
“Yeah. Alejandra should’ve told you.” He looks me up and down with his intense, penetrating gaze.
“Uh, I’ll ask her about it later today,” I say, his disapproval making me anxious.
“Make sure you do that.” He folds his newspaper, crumpling it loudly, and puts it down.
“Do you want me to place the other plate at the other end of the table?” I giggle nervously.
“What?” He furrows his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I’ve always wondered, when I see such a big table, like, what do you do when you only have a handful of people?”
He cocks his head slightly to the side and studies me.
Say something, damn it. This silence is making me uncomfortable.
“I mean, this is a breakfast for two, right? I’ve just always wondered if it’s better to go for symmetry, so you have one person at each end, or what?” I hear the words and feel the vibrations of my own vocal cords, but it’s like I’m looking at myself from the outside.
What am I even blabbering about? God, Seth must think I’m a weirdo.
“You can put it anywhere you want to sit,” he says in his confident, deep baritone.
“You mean…” I squint at him.
“I mean the other plate is for you. So you can sit wherever you want.”
“Oh! Okay.” I didn’t expect this. “Thank you,” I add.
“I personally don’t care about symmetry. If you do, you’re welcome to sit all the way down there.” He gestures at the other end of the table. “But I’d prefer having you closer.”
Heat spreads across my cheeks. Damn it, I bet my face is all red now. I hate my pale skin sometimes. I work so much I don’t get much time in the sun, despite living in sunny California.
“Sit here,” Seth says with authority. He pulls out a chair for me.
I do as he says. That was an order; not a request or an invitation. My stomach flutters.
There’s something about the way he looks at me. Those blue eyes seem like cool ponds on a hot day and I want to dive in. At the same time, I have no idea what lies beneath and it scares me a little.
“Did you sleep well?” He puts one hand on the back of my chair and leans closer.
“Yes, thanks for asking. You have a beautiful home.”
He shrugs, letting silence dominate the room once again.
This is the first time we’re sharing a meal together, the first time we have to talk to fill the silence.
Previously, all our interactions have been structured. I know exactly what to say as a chef greeting a diner. Having worked more than half my life, I also know exactly what to say during an interview.
Right now, he’s not just a diner at my restaurant or my employer. He’s someone I share a meal with.
There’s something intimate about the act of eating together. Taking sustenance is a deeply instinctive part of being human. It’s the first thing we learn to do when we’re born.
To do it with someone is to take part in a ritual that has existed for as long as humans have existed. You eat with the people of your own tribe. When warring tribes establish peace, it’s also celebrated with the sharing of food.
“This is really good,” Seth says, breaking the awkward silence.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.” I smile as I pick up the fork and start digging in. No matter how many times I hear it, it’s always nice to know that someone enjoys my cooking.
“This kind of bare-bones, simple dish suits you better,” Seth comments.
“Oh, you mean, like, compared to the menu at The Local?” I tilt my head. To my knowl
edge, Seth has only ever eaten my cooking at The Local.
“Yes. They do too much with their food there.”
“That’s how I’ve always felt, too.” I wonder why he kept coming back to The Local if he didn’t even like the food. I pop a piece of omelette into my mouth. I have to admit, I made a pretty mean omelette, if I may say so myself. “How would you know about what my cooking is like, apart from The Local’s menu, though?”
“Just something I read online,” Seth says.
“Oh, yeah, I remember getting interviewed by some food blogger. I’m surprised you’ve read that.”
“You got me. I’ve been stalking you,” Seth says flatly.
I don’t know if I should laugh at his joke or worry about actual stalking.
“I don’t blame you. I’d stalk someone too if I were about to pay them six figures to work for me,” I say.
The corners of Seth lips curl up. “So you wouldn’t mind me stalking you?”
“For six figures? Sure, be my guest.”
Seth laughs, making the skin around his eyes and mouth crinkle.
I don’t see him laugh often. He always looks so serious and intimidating. This is going to sound stupid, but it makes me feel special that he’d lower his guard enough to laugh with me.
Is he like this with other people? He always comes into the restaurant on his own, so there’s nobody for him to converse with. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him interacting with many other people.
I wonder if he has this kind of effect on other people, too. He’s a distraction, is what he is. He takes up so much space in a room and he seems so enthralling, I can’t help but give him all of my attention. He has the kind of presence that makes it impossible for me to disregard him.
When I look up at Seth, he’s staring intensely at me, his blue eyes darkened with the kind of hunger that has nothing to do with food. A thrill runs down my spine.
His plate is empty. He picks up the cloth napkin and wipes his mouth. When he stands up, he towers over me. With him standing right by my chair, I can almost feel the heat emanating from his body.
He traps me with his gaze, and my eyes follow his movements. He reaches a hand toward me, and for a split second I wonder if he’s about to touch me.
