So Wicked

by Melissa Marino

  She has seen me, sees me, and knows what no one else does, what no one else will admit.

  I should have never been and should never be a mother. My love for her isn’t enough to keep her safe from me. It was as if a gun was pointed at both me and Delilah, and I had no choice but to save her. I’d take the bullet a hundred times over, because while I wasn’t capable of being her mother, she was still my daughter.

  “They will be okay,” she whispers.

  I look at her and her eyes are on Delilah. After a moment, they reach mine, and tears are sitting on the edge…for both of us.

  “I promise, Lexie,” she says. “I will make sure they are fine for as long as I live because I want you to live.”

  I already knew it was what I needed to do. Ending my life wasn’t the answer, because that will only leave Aaron and Delilah with a lifetime of unanswered questions and guilt. I care for both of them too much to do that to them. Leaving them will still bring immense grief, in the immediate future, but it is the lesser of two evils.

  Leslie is the voice, the selfless soul, giving me the last bit of courage I need to make the decision.

  Leave.

  Save them. Save yourself.

  “How will you ever tell Aaron?” I ask.

  She is startled by my words; her mouth drops open slightly. “I will not, nor will I ever, tell Aaron anything.”

  I would have to go away, far, far away.

  My city, my job, my friends, and what had become my family would be nothing but ashes after I leave it all in flames.

  The old Lexie would be left there, too.

  “When?” Leslie asks.

  Without thinking, as I smile at my daughter, I mutter, “Tomorrow.”

  I opened the email:

  Dear Lexie,

  I apologize for it being so long since I’ve been in touch. I hope things are well for you in California. I always forget where you said you were. Santa Barbara? I hope work is good as well.

  Delilah is doing remarkable, of course. Second grade is going well, and in typical fashion, Delilah has situated herself as mayor of the class. She is well-liked by both her teacher and classmates. She’s still in dance, and while she’s not the best, she certainly has the most personality. Her recital was precious. She was dressed in an adorable chicken costume and danced to ”Shake Your Tail Feather.” (I attached a few pictures.) She puts it all out there, and you could see her smile all the way to the back of the auditorium.

  Another thing she is very into these days is baking, which is such fun. You used to like to bake, didn’t you? She’s actually quite good and a very good listener. It is one of the few times I can get her to stand still long enough, without her running off to do something else. We made my mother’s apple strudel recipe last weekend. Truth be told, she did most of it herself. She was so excited to show Aaron, who even admitted it was *almost* as good as his grandmother’s. We have plans to bake many other things together. Aaron’s even got her a little embroidered apron and matching hat to wear. It’s just darling.

  She’s healthy. A bad cold last month, but otherwise healthy. She’s grown and is at the top of the growth curve for height at 4’3”. She has those long legs of yours. She’s wanting to cut her hair, but Aaron’s afraid she’ll lose so much of her curls, and he isn’t having it. We’ve been telling him it’s time to let her start growing up and making her own decisions about her appearance. For now, she’s still very blond, with those tight ringlet curls past her shoulders now.

  Take care, dear. Talk/Email soon,

  Leslie

  My stomach churned, and a familiar nausea rose throughout my body. The pain, a wound buried so deep within me that it burned whenever Delilah’s name was presented to me, never, ever wavered. The maternal pull was there, and because of it, I did what was best for her.

  It was what a mother does.

  It was what I did.

  Baking.

  My daughter.

  Leslie still thought I was working in finance. I never mentioned in my emails back, which were seldom, and she understood why, what I was doing these days. It was basic things. I wasn’t capable of any more than that, and she never asked.

  She was the only one up until recently who still knew me as Lexie.

  I scrolled down slightly and enlarged one of the pictures she sent.

  I could only look for a moment, almost peeking through half-closed eyes, because I was never prepared. Ever.

  Aaron’s eyes.

  And that hair. The blond ringlets like Leslie wrote about. There was only one person I’d ever known to have hair that beautiful white blond, with curls that looked like they were made by hand.

  Delilah looked so much like her.

  It wasn’t until the smoke detector went off did I remember the Pizza Rolls. I ran into the kitchen and yanked the oven door open; smoke poured out as I grabbed a pot holder and pulled the pan out. After dropping it on top of the stove, I looked at it—all my neatly placed rolls were burned. They were ruined.

  I ruined them all.

  Chapter Seven

  Marshall—

  I came in through the back patio entrance to a quiet bar. I loved this time of day, the early afternoon, almost as much as when it was packed. The quiet roar of conversations, the laughter rising above it, and the smiles of the slightly inebriated was a rush, but the empty peacefulness of the bar was a different kind of energy. It was the calm before the storm. It was the teacher preparing before the kids came in for the day.

  Three days since opening, and things couldn’t be going better. Lines were out the door and down the side of the building to the corner every night. When we opened at three p.m., the crowd began to filter in and ebbed and flowed with the biggest hit coming soon after eight p.m. It was full-on adrenaline. In the bar business, it was always like this. When it was showtime, you hit the ground running, letting the work fuel your energy. It was the only explanation for the fifteen-hour days I was working and still being able to function.

  That and coffee.

  And the occasional shots of the Koval bourbon that Aaron and Callie sent me—I kept one of the bottles in my office. Yeah. I fully enforced the “no drinking while on the clock” rule with the kids, and for the most part, I followed the same rule. I’d reconsider my stance when one of them was opening and running their own bar.

  I stepped across hardwood to the main floor, checking everything out to make sure it was cleaned and set up as instructed to the night crew. For the most part, they were nailing it, but there was always going to be wrinkles to work out, especially in the beginning.

  As I walked farther in, just above the rafters that led to the second-floor mezzanine that was still under construction were a few large black feathers. Glancing around, there were several more scattered around on the floor.

  “What the fuck?” I said to myself.

  I looked at the ceiling, and one of the windows was left open. Something obviously got inside between last night and this morning. Now where the fuck was it?

  “Wells!”

  “Yeah?” he shouted from the office.

  “Why are there feathers all over the floor?”

  “Because a pigeon got in last night, and when we were all leaving for the night, we saw it flying around,” he called back. “We took care of it.”

  “What do mean you…took care of it?”

  “We took care of it and it’s gone.”

  “Christ, Wells. Where is the goddamn pigeon?”

  He emerged from the office, the foam from the latte or whatever shit he was drinking sticking to his ginger beard. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, boss,” he said with a serious business face.

  “Fair enough,” I said. I was too tired to wonder where the dead pigeon carcass was and how it, in fact, became a carcass. “For further reference, if you don’t want me to find out, make sure they know to check all the windows at night and to dispose of all the evidence of it in my bar. Plus, wipe your beard. You
have coffee jizz all over it.”

  “For sure,” he said with a quick nod, brushing away the foam remnants. “Anything else?”

  “I don’t know, is there a dead horse on my desk? The remains of a sacrificed goat or something upstairs?” I snapped.

  “Ah. No. Not that I know of.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Did you want to double-check the schedule I did for next week?”

  “With everything else I have to do, you want me to be double-checking your shit?”

  “Ah. No. You told me to. We’re using that new software, and you being the control freak micromanager you are, you wanted to see it before I posted it.”

  “I don’t think I did, and furthermore, take your micromanager shit and shove it. That’s bullshit.”

  It wasn’t and I knew it. So did he.

  “Why are you so cranky today?” Wells asked. “I mean, more so than usual?”

  “I’m not cranky,” I muttered.

  “Yeah. Right. You’re jumping at me about everything the last few days. I get that the opening is a stressful time, but even I have my limits, boss.”

  I flashed him a dirty look. “You sound like a chick.”

  “And you sound and are acting like an asshole.”

  Touché.

  “Like I said,” Wells said, breaking the silence. “I can’t imagine how maddening all of this is. I’m your backup and I feel overwhelmed.”

  “Fuck. You’re right, I’m sorry. And you’re more than my backup. You’re my backbone and my right hand. I know I don’t always act like it, but I’m grateful, man.”

  His lips twitched as he attempted to conceal a smile. “That’s, like, literally the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say to me or anyone.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a dick. I just talk like one sometimes. You hear how I talk to the kids.”

  “True, but you’ve been edgy since opening night. I get it though. Crazy amount of stress.”

  Yes. It was the bar. It was the hours. It was being pulled in a thousand different directions at once. It was the lack of sleep and not eating well. All of it was enough, but the one thing that overran all of it was how so many of my thoughts were being occupied by Lexie.

  Alexis.

  I hadn’t seen her since the night she left me and the brownie in the office. Phoebe had been making the daily deliveries. I didn’t know if that was going to be the norm or if she was keeping a low profile. I didn’t blame her if it was the latter. I was beyond harsh with her. It was honest, but even I knew that no matter how much anger I still had for her, the vitriol was fierce. I wouldn’t apologize, but I didn’t know how to take some of it back without sounding…weak.

  We’d have to talk eventually because business was still business. We were getting cleared out of Tipsy Treats by nine at night, and customers were not pleased. The ordering, the volume of her sweets, was going to easily double, and I didn’t know if she was capable of that.

  Yeah. It was all of that stuff. Work, business, me being a dick, but there was something else. Something that rose to the top of all my thoughts, and it made me hate myself a little for allowing it.

  She was so goddamn beautiful the other night.

  It wasn’t only what she was wearing, but it was the…air…around her. How she handled herself with customers and was professional with this added grace. She captivated them, and they responded. Her baking skills were obviously something the locals already knew, but being able to interact with her that first night was the, well, frosting on the cake.

  It wasn’t the Lexie I once knew.

  It was Alexis.

  And this was someone new to me, and I couldn’t get her out of my fucking mind.

  It was driving me mad.

  “Fuck. I need In-N-Out Burger,” I said, running my hands down my beard roughly.

  “Is it even open yet?” Wells asked.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket to check the time. “Shit. Not yet, but in about another half hour.”

  “Didn’t you have it yesterday? And like two days before that? You know, Marshall, emotional eating is something you’ll have to look into if you’re doing it often. I struggled with it myself, and there’s—”

  “Quit judging me, Wells!” I said. “The only thing that comes close in Chicago is the cheeseburgers at Portillo’s and maybe Au Cheval, but neither of them come close to a Double-Double Animal Style.”

  “Good point. I think I’ll join you in on it today. Want me to run out?”

  I shook my head in exasperation. “Aren’t you listening to me at all? They don’t open for another half hour.”

  “Yeah. I heard you, but by the time I get over there, and you know. We’ll get the firsts of the day. It’s good to be first…in…something, right?” he asked with a snort-laugh.

  He doubled over in a fit of giggles, continuing with his snort fest, and it was obvious to no one but himself that he wasn’t funny.

  “Jesus,” I said. “Just how many times were you dropped on your head as a child?”

  “Let me go get my phone and I’ll head out to—”

  He was cut off by the cheerful, albeit annoying, voice calling out her now trademark “Hellllooooo.”

  Phoebe always came in the same way, through the front door, announcing her entrance. She floated in with a few of the several boxes she arrived with daily, wearing a smile and twinkle in her eyes for Wells. We had gotten along a lot better since our first meeting, and there was mutual shit talk and banter based on respect.

  “Hi Phoebe!” Wells said.

  He rushed over to help her, trying to display his He-Man abilities by taking the delicate boxes from her. They paused at the handoff long enough to make googly eyes at each other and stockpile masturbation material for later. Every day I had to watch it was another day I wanted to tell them to start fucking and get it over with already.

  However, if they did, it would get them into that whole fraternization thing, and while Phoebe didn’t technically work at Ginger, I didn’t want the drama.

  “Hey, boss,” Wells called from where he was standing with Phoebe. “I’m going to help her get all this in. You okay to put the ones in the refrigerator that need to stay cold when we’re done bringing it all in?”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “We’re going to go grab a coffee together,” he said, pausing to give me an exaggerated wink.

  Phoebe spun around on her toes, twirling her skirt with her hands. These two marched to the beat of their own drummer. I don’t think I ever saw two people more perfect for each other.

  “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” Wells asked.

  There were two problems I had with it.

  “Didn’t you already drink coffee? Also, you don’t want Phoebe to know about the coffee jizz problem,” I said.

  I held in a smirk at busting his balls in front of a crush, but as I had forgotten, Wells might crumble a tad, but Phoebe would not.

  “You’re his boss, Marshall,” Phoebe said. “Not the jizz police. Not coffee or otherwise.”

  “Yes!” Wells shouted before they high-fived each other. “Be back in a bit,” he said, calling over his shoulder as they headed toward the door, their steps barely under a sprint.

  The other problem was the most critical and of the utmost importance.

  “What about my fucking cheeseburger?” I shouted as they exited. “Come on! And Phoebe! Tell your boss I need to talk to her!”

  * * *

  I never got my fucking cheeseburger. Wells was out with Phoebe for over two hours getting “coffee.” He was disheveled enough when he returned that my theory that they were keeping their bits to themselves was thrown out the window.

  At least someone was getting some.

  Not only did I have a completely off-limits, no-fucking-way-in-a-million-years girl running through my mind all the time, but also the fact that I hadn’t had sex in so goddamn long was making me antsy and only adding to
my grumpiness. A wild, wild roll had me going strong in and out of the bed with a lot of women throughout my twenties, and while there were some meaningful relationships, there wasn’t anything super long term.

  I had a few standbys that made my bed warm some nights, but since there hadn’t been anyone special in my life for a while, those “friends” were enough to keep me moderately sated.

  It was hard moving to a new city without knowing a soul, working the hours I did and not having anyone even on standby. I knew there was apps and shit for that kind of thing, but I didn’t want the hassle of all the games that went with it.

  Maybe I was over the whole friends-with-benefits thing, anyway.

  Like a shot of whiskey, it took the edge off enough to fuck a familiar body, but when there was nothing else there, it never completely filled the void.

  Maybe that was why the only pleasure I was getting was from my hand when I wasn’t exhausted enough to get myself off, or cheeseburgers.

  I was going to gain twenty pounds and be a walking horndog.

  The afternoon flowed into the night as usual, like a current increasing with intensity the farther it got down stream. I’d try to catch up on something, and another thing would pop up in its place. The bar was getting slammed. Owner or not, if I saw my kids working their asses off and struggling, I was going to hop in and help.

  They always thrived when I got behind the bar, sensing my veteran energy and words of encouragement. It always kicked them into high gear at any bar I was managing or, in this case now, owning.

  It was still trippy as fuck to think that. Owner.

  I helped to bring them back around, getting the crowd under a more workable flow, and was finishing up a strawberry margarita with jalapeño-infused vodka for a looker that was giving me some serious eyes.