by Wendy Owens
“Ben, I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret,” she continues.
“Mom!” I exclaim. “I’m serious, stop. Kenzie needs to learn that she can’t just stomp off and pout every time she doesn’t get her way. I’ll let her sweat a little bit and then we’ll work it out.”
She bites the left side of her lip. It’s always the left side she bites. This isn’t just the normal overbearing interest of my protective Italian mother. There’s something more to her concern.
“Go on, say it, I can see it’s killing you to hold it in,” I allow at last.
She shakes her head, opens her mouth, then quickly closes it.
“No, come on,” I insist. “Spill it. I’d rather you get this out now, so we don’t have to talk about this again.”
“Leave the boy alone,” my dad yells from the living room where he’s been watching television since he got dressed.
“I got this,” I shout back, nodding in her direction. “Go ahead, what is it?”
She presses her lips together, placing a comforting hand on my arm. I look at the small and delicate fingers, wrapped around my flesh. The years of lines etched across her skin. The lifetime of caring for everyone else, hidden within every wrinkle. She’s trembling slightly.
“Mom,” I whisper, staring in her eyes. “I mean it, Kenzie and I are going to be fine.”
She opens her mouth, her voice cracking. “When she said goodbye to me, it was different.”
My chest aches when I see her moisture-filled stare, a slight quiver in her lip.
“Different?”
“I don’t know how to explain it, the tone, the way she looked at me, there was a finality to it all. I’ve seen that look before, when your brother—” Her voice cracks before disappearing completely.
Richard. My brother. Mom was certain when he said goodbye for his Afghanistan tour he knew he wouldn’t be returning. She has always regretted not listening to her intuition then, and as a result, the rest of the family gets to hear about every slight worry that crossed her mind now.
“Mom, stop, don’t do this,” I beg her.
Her fingers tighten around my arm. “Just promise me you’ll try to call her.”
“Okay, fine,” I concede. “I promise. Is that better?” Placing a hand on my mom’s shoulder, I kiss her forehead and mutter, “I love you.” Then grab my lunch and make a break for the back door.
Mom doesn’t move, staring at the far wall, I assume lost in some memory of Rich. “See you at the shop, Dad,” I shout. I’m answered by an incoherent reply in the distance.
Opening the door, I pause, glancing one last time at my mom. She’s like a porcelain doll that has been shattered and glued back together. Ever since Rich died, she sees disaster lurking around every corner. But—something inside me worries that maybe she’s right about Kenz.
She has to be wrong, though. You can’t go through what Kenz and I have been through together and just throw it away. After my brother died, it was like we were all in this haze. It knocked the air out of our entire family, and it was as if we’d all forgotten how to breathe. We floundered, suffocating on our grief. Then Kenzie pulled us out. She helped my mom remember the simple things like bathing and eating. She cooked and cleaned for my dad and kept us to a routine that helped numbness wash over the grief. I don’t know how we would have made it through without her. You don’t just walk away from people you do that for, right?
A wave of memories and sadness crashes into me. Pulling out my phone, I type the letters, forming the words.
You okay?
I smile. Staring at the olive branch of a text, I remind myself we’ll be okay, pushing the doubt down underneath my boots as I stomp out the door.
I STARE AT THE WORDS on my screen.
You okay?
Is he serious? No, of course, I’m not okay. What does he expect me to say to that?
The phone vibrates in my hand, disrupting my thoughts. Anna’s number flashes across the screen, and I frown, realizing I’ve missed her call. I sigh, slide my finger across the glass, and lift the device to my ear to listen to her message after punching in my voicemail box code. The joy in Anna’s voice stabs at my heart, and I want more than anything to destroy the damn message and the phone along with it.
“I miss you so much Kenz! And Emily, I wish you could see how much she’s changing every day. I know you were just here, but she’s already impressing Holden with all her new grunts and giggles. Call me, okay?”
It’s not okay. It’s not okay that I’m not over the moon excited for my best friend in the entire world and the joy that she’s managed to find. It’s not okay that I broke up with Ben and haven’t told her. I tell her everything. It’s not okay that the idea of calling her makes my entire body ache.
Before I can dwell on it for much longer, I press the return call button on the face of my phone. The line is silent as it connects me to the international number.
“Kenz!” An excited voice shouts at the other end of the line.
“It’s me,” I confirm for Annabelle.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I thought you were going to call me when your flight got in?” I don’t reply, trying to decide if I should even tell her.
The silence lingers on for a few more moments before she asks, “Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” my voice is soft. “I’m here. Sorry, it was raining when I got in, and Ben wasn’t at the airport to get me,” I explain.
“Why wasn’t he there?”
I’ve been friends with Annabelle Hart longer than I have been friends with anyone in my life. I knew how this conversation was going to unfold before I ever hit send for the call. There’s no hiding the truth when it comes to her. “He said he had to work late.”
“You sound like you don’t believe him.”
“No, I do. It’s just—” I stop myself. Just what? What on earth was the straw that finally broke the back of this relationship? Was there really no coming back? Once I tell Anna, will this be the real end of us? After all, right now I’m just an angry girlfriend. When I tell my best friend in the entire world that I left the only man that I have ever loved, it becomes reality. It will be spoken into existence, forever imprinted in the air, a part of the universe.
“What is it?” She senses my hesitation. “Is something wrong?”
“I can’t do it anymore.” I choke, my voice trembling.
“Kenz, what’s happening? Did he do something?”
I rub my head with my free hand. “You mean other than be a complete uncaring and insensitive asshole?”
There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. I suddenly feel like I need to justify my statement.
“It’s not just that he didn’t pick me up at the airport!” I exclaim. “I got to his place, and he was playing video games.”
“So, he didn’t have to work late?”
“Well, no, he did,” I continue, wondering if I sound as crazy as I think I do. “He worked late, and then couldn’t make it to the airport in time, so he headed home.”
“And that’s why you’re mad at him?”
“I’m not mad,” I realize. And I’m not. “I’m ready for more.”
“More what?” Anna presses.
“More of what you have.”
Anna laughs, “Of what I have? Is it the cheating ex-fiancée that gets you excited or perhaps it’s the fact I just had his baby? A man who will never be capable of loving or being there for anyone but himself. My life isn’t all that great, Kenz.”
“You have Holden now,” I remind her.
She sighs a heavy breath. “I had to figure my own stuff out before I was able to be with him.”
“That’s just it!” I exclaim. “You were desperate, I mean life was kicking you when you were down with the whole pregnant with your cheating ex’s baby.”
“Gee thanks, our talks are always so uplifting,” she grumbles sarcastically.
“Just hear me out,” I insist. “Wh
at did you do when life screwed you over? You followed your dreams. You flew to England, wrote a book, found love.”
“It wasn’t quite as simple as you’re making it sound.”
“I know, I know. But. You’re happy,” I groan.
There’s silence until at last she acknowledges this truth with a question. “You’re not?”
“No.” My answer slips out as a whisper.
I take a swig of the beer in my hand. It’s not my brand, but I didn’t have to pay for it, so I’m not complaining about what my parents stock in the fridge.
“Then what next?” Anna asks.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I find a job and see what happens.”
“You know I love you, right?”
“Of course, I’m so damn lovable how could you not love me? Oh!” I remember. “Callie and Becky are coming to pick me up for a night out.”
“Oh Kenz,” the judgment is heavy in her voice.
“What? It’s just a little fun.”
“You know those two are trouble.”
“That’s why they’re so fun.” I laugh. I suck down the last few drops in the bottle and drop it into an empty cardboard box at my feet, then kick it across the kitchen floor to the back door. The fluorescent light above my head flickers, reminding me again that I really need to get my own place.
“Just don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Anna advises.
“Oh I’m planning on it,” I tease.
“I miss you,” her tone tells me the distance is as hard on her as it is me. We’re both going through some of the biggest life events we’ve ever experienced, and there’s an entire ocean between us.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, you too. Well, I better go, I have some super slutty makeup that needs applying.”
“Add the whore red lipstick for me.”
“You got it.” I hang up the phone and look at the clock on the wall. If I’m completely honest, I was putting on an act for Anna. When I called Callie and Becky, I was in the mood to hurt Ben. Now, all I want to do is curl up in bed with a good book. I think of my purple comforter, the same one I’ve had since high school, calling my name only a couple rooms away, then glance down at my phone, scrolling through the names to find Callie’s.
Me: Hey, need to bail on tonight
Callie: Not happening
Me: Seriously
Callie: Unless you’re dying, you’re going
I stare at the text. I feel like I want to die, does that count?
Me: I’m surfing the crimson tide
I wait in anticipation for her reply. I see … repeatedly and then it disappears. Until at last, relief.
Callie: No sex for you! Later Lover.
Reading Callie’s reply, I’m relieved I decided to back out of the girls’ night in favor of a date with a book, escaping into anyone’s life but my own. Tomorrow I will wake up with a chocolate hangover and a fresh perspective. A deep breath. I know even the best book in the world won’t make me stop missing him. Damn it! Why do I miss him so much? I shove my hands into my pockets, a paper crumpling beneath my knuckles.
I pull out the small piece of card stock and read the name, Aiden Calloway. His business card. Stormy blue eyes. A smile finds its way to my face. Tonight I curl up with a book, tomorrow I’m a photographer’s assistant. My heart thumps with excitement. Change—it’s in the air and it’s intoxicating.
ME: HELLO?
I press send on the text message and wait impatiently, dropping my head into my hands and rubbing them against my face furiously in frustration. It’s not like I’m not already fully aware of her stubbornness. That was pretty evident from our very first date. This isn’t cute anymore; her lack of response is outright infuriating me.
Standing, I toss the phone onto my bed and begin to pace my room, itching at the Band-Aid on my ring finger from the accident at work that day. Kenzie always jokes with how often I hurt myself, we should invest in stock of the Band-Aid brand. A smirk finds its way across my face as I think of the elegant way her lips twist into a smile when she teases me.
Scooping the phone up into my hand, I glance at the screen again. “Damn it, Kenz,” I mutter under my breath, tossing the phone back onto the heavily worn bedspread.
Mom’s words dance through my thoughts again. “I don’t know how to explain it, the tone, the way she looked at me, there was a finality to it all.”
“Where are you, Kenz?” I moan to myself, debating whether I should show up at her house. Kenzie isn’t one you can force to talk before she’s ready. Her Irish temper flares rather easily.
I begin to replay our last argument in my mind. What if I had just picked her up from the airport? Would we be fine right now? I shake my head. Kenz can get mad over some pretty insane stuff sometimes, but she wouldn’t react this way to something insignificant. There has to be more to this.
Marriage? I wonder. Is she upset because she wants to get married? She’s never really talked much about it in the past except that it’s something she eventually wants. If it were so important to her, I have to believe it would have been a more common theme in our conversations.
I fall back onto the bed, pulling the phone up in front of my face, the black screen taunting me.
Me: Please. Can you at least let me know you’re okay?
I’m worried.
There, she has to respond to that. I have to think about something else. Leaning over the edge of the bed, I retrieve my notepad and box of pencils, flipping through the pages until I find a blank one. Cars were always the thing that interested me. I was so sure I was going to design them one day. A college degree didn’t translate into a job in that field. Kenzie and I both learned that lesson.
I start to sketch the lines of a futuristic looking set of fenders, but all it reminds me of are the curves of Kenz’s thighs. Anger burns in my stomach and I’m ready to shout at the top of my lungs to Kenzie just how pissed off I am that she’s playing these games at this point in our relationship. If only she would answer me when I call her. Flipping the sketchbook closed in frustration, I make my way over to the couch and plop down for a quick game of Grand Theft Auto.
I TOSSED AND TURNED FOR most of the night, every terrible scene running through my head. This photography assistant gig is supposed to be a turning point of change, a fresh start, but all I can seem to imagine is every which way it can go wrong. I’m determined not to allow my sleep deprivation or nighttime anxieties determine how the day will play out. On a positive note, I’m not thinking about Ben … much.
What does a photographer’s assistant wear? I went through several outfits this morning trying to answer just that question. The one my mother suggested made me look like a mime that would be performing at an awkward and tortured child’s birthday party. My selection apparently wasn’t much better, since the great deliverer of my life suggested I looked like cat woman. I settled on a comfortable pair of slim-fit dark denim jeans and a black t-shirt, covered by a gray, form-fitted blazer, just to be on the safe side, and ballet flats.
The cab pulls up in front of what can best be described as a warehouse straight out of a horror slasher movie. I hesitate, then repeat the address on the card. The cab driver nods to let me know it’s the right place. I look out the window again.
“Do you need me to take you somewhere else?” the driver asks. The look in his eyes tells me he’s as worried about my safety as I suddenly am.
You can do this, Kenzie. A couple of hours and you double what’s in your bank account, I think to myself. I shake my head, take a deep breath, “I’m good, thanks.” I hand him the $12 fare and hope he doesn’t say anything about the lack of tip.
The driver sits for another moment. I smile at him, and with a disapproving look that translates by the narrowing of his eyes, he pulls away from the curb.
I climb the stairs that lead to an old metal door. Painted on the door are the numbers five, one, three. I glance back at the crumpled card in my hand for at least the tenth time, confir
ming the address again, swallow hard, and reach up to the black box on the right of the door and press the buzzer.
There’s a muffled voice on the other end that I don’t recognize, unsure if it’s Aiden, or for that matter what the voice said. I press the button again and nearly shout, “it’s Kenzie, we met at the diner last night.”
The sound of metal sliding on metal rings out from the other side of the door, and with a grunt, it pulls open. Aiden is standing in the opening, and I sigh a breath of relief when I see he’s wearing a similar choice to me; jeans and a t-shirt.
He smiles, and I notice exactly how perfect his teeth are. Shady warehouse or not, I’m sure that smile was bought; he wasn’t born poor, that much is certain.
“Kenzie!” He nearly shouts my name. I stiffen and jump backward, making him laugh. “Sorry, after you left the other night I realized I never even got your name. I just heard you say it when I was opening the door.”
“Oh—” I don’t know what to say. I want to tell him everything about the night we met was totally weird, and he should probably work on his interviewing skills, but I really want the $200, so I say nothing.
There’s an awkward silence lingering between us until he stiffens and moves to the side to let me enter, “Come in.”
I smile uncomfortably moving past him. “So, do you get a lot of clients willing to come out here?”
“Not impressed with my studio?” His question worries me that I may have offended him.
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant—” I stammer as I climb the stairs up the narrow hallway that’s painted black. We both know that’s exactly what I meant. “It’s just … well, the neighborhood is—”
“It’s what?” he presses, now slightly irritated.
I top the stairs, all words falling away when I take in the open floor plan. Half of the space is painted black and the other half white. A kitchen that appears as if it were taken directly from the pages of a home design magazine is in the middle.
“It’s what?” He asks again, but I’ve forgotten what I was talking about.
