[Reluctant Hearts 01.0] Caged in Winter

by Brighton Walsh

  Without waiting for my response, he adds, “Have you talked to Tess about this? How’s she feel?”

  Jason stares at me while he waits for me to respond, and I clench my jaw. He doesn’t even say anything, just raises his eyebrows like I already have my answer.

  “She wants me to go.”

  “So what’s the problem? Go. Look, I know things are fucked up right now. You’ve got Tessa and Haley to worry about, plus whatever shit is going on with Winter. But you will hate yourself for letting this go if you don’t at least try. Just go to the damn interview. Figure out the rest when the time comes.”

  “Yeah, what he said.” Jason points at the phone with a nod.

  I huff out a laugh, rolling my eyes.

  “Plus, I’ll be here to look after her for you.”

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Hey,” Jason says, for once sounding actually offended. “I’d never do anything to hurt Tess or Haley.”

  I look over at him, seeing complete sincerity, and if I’m not mistaken, underlying frustration at my dismissal of him and his promise.

  “I hate to break up this slumber party, girls, but I gotta roll,” Adam says. “Do it, Cade. I mean it. I’ll talk to you fuckers later.”

  We say our good-byes and I throw the phone at Jason, hitting him square in the chest.

  He fumbles with the plate in his hands, trying not to drop everything. “What the fuck?”

  “You’re a dick for springing an Adam lecture on me, you know that?”

  He shrugs, unconcerned, as he rights the plate, then shovels more food in his mouth. “Yeah, well, don’t act like you lost your damn puppy anymore, and I won’t need to resort to such drastic measures. And I was serious before. About Tess. You don’t need to worry about her being on her own while you’re gone.”

  I stare at him, his normal carefree façade showing something completely serious. With a nod of acknowledgment, I close my eyes and rest my head back against the couch, thinking over what they said. It’s all true, every bit of it. I know Tessa’s responsible enough and doesn’t need me around, but that doesn’t make the pressure I feel to protect her lessen. Even with Jason’s assurances.

  But in the end, what Adam says is what seals it. I will hate myself if I don’t at least try.

  Twenty-Seven

  winter

  It’s amazing how even after four years, the feeling of being a burden can come on again so suddenly. That overwhelming, sinking sensation that you don’t belong, that you’re a bigger hassle than you’re worth. The need to shrink as much as you can, to leave no trace of yourself, like you were never there in the first place.

  If they can’t tell you’re even there, they won’t want you to leave.

  Even though I’ve been at Annette’s for a few days, I still keep my stuff in my single duffel bag, hidden away in a closet. She had the couch made up for me when I arrived, and every day I make sure to clean it up, fold the sheets and blanket, and hide them away. I’m out the door before she even gets up in the morning. Like I’m a ghost.

  She leaves me little notes. Telling me I don’t need to leave so early. Telling me to help myself to whatever is in the fridge. Telling me I can stay for however long I need.

  Telling me what a failure I am.

  How I fucked this up, fucked up my life, and I just sat there and allowed it to happen. I knew it was happening, saw it as it did, and I sat back, too blissed out on, what? Love?

  Love is a fairytale, and my life is anything but a fucking fairytale.

  A key turns in the lock, and Annette pushes her way inside. “Hey, sugar.”

  “Hi,” I mumble, not taking my eyes off my laptop. “How was work at the shithole?”

  “Shitty.”

  I crack a smile as she moves about, doing her nightly routine. When she comes out of her bedroom, having changed out of her jeans and work T-shirt, she grabs her trashy magazines and a glass of water and settles in on the opposite end of the couch. She spends this time winding down from the night until she’s relaxed enough for sleep. It’s quiet and peaceful, and the only other time I’ve ever known this sense of calm was with Cade. I wonder if that’s because I just get along so well with these two people, or if this is how it could be, if only I gave others a chance. If I let others in, maybe I’d feel that comfort around them as well.

  After a while, she gestures to my computer and asks, “What are you working on tonight?”

  “I’m finishing up a site someone commissioned. I agreed to do it really cheap, so it won’t be much money, but it’ll be something, at least.”

  She looks at me over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip. “You’re sure a lot happier behind your computer than I ever saw you working the tables. You positive you can’t just find something doing programming or whatever it is you do?”

  “Designing, and I wish I could. I mean, I’ve got a few jobs like this here and there, but there’s no way it’s enough to live on. I’ve been looking at some larger firms, but with most of those places, you have to start as an intern, and then get hired on if you’re a good fit, if they like your work. And I just can’t afford to start out as an intern. I need to get paid now.”

  She hums. “Well, I think you should look closer at starting something on your own. I’ve told you a dozen times you can stay here as long as you need, so you don’t have to worry about making money right away.”

  I glance up at her, my doubts written all over my face.

  “No, don’t give me that look,” she says. “It’s true. I know you want to make it on your own, and we can work out a payment for rent once you start getting paid. But I understand that takes time. And I love having you here. It’s so lonely being by myself. Plus, you’re like a free maid.”

  Cracking a smile, I shake my head. “Why are you doing this, Annette? I’m not your responsibility.”

  “Sugar, you’ve gotta stop thinking of yourself as a burden. You’re my friend, and friends help each other out. That’s what they’re there for. And…” She trails off, the curve of her lips fading slightly as she glances down at her lap. “Let’s just say I’ve had a lot of years to catalog all the ways I screwed up with my own kids. I don’t know what happened with your parents, and I don’t need to know. But it’s obvious they’re not helping you out. Let me. It makes me happy to be able to do it when you need it. I wish I would’ve paid attention when my own kids needed it.”

  Her words, so honest and open, so beseeching, take root under the wall I’ve erected, a fissure spreading along the bricks surrounding my heart. I feel my eyes fill with tears, and thankfully she looks away, moving her attention down to the gossip rag opened in her lap.

  “Well, now that that’s settled…”

  I like to think I would’ve accepted her offer, would’ve said the words and swallowed my pride, again, told her I want to stay, but I love her a little more that she didn’t make me. One step at a time is about all I can handle.

  cade

  “Cade Maxwell? It’s nice to meet you. I’m John Stevens. Chef Foster has a lot of impressive things to say about you.” The owner of the restaurant extends his hand to mine for a shake. He’s younger than I imagined—maybe mid-thirties—and this rush of excitement crashes into me. He’s maybe ten years older than me, and already he’s accomplished so much. Two successful restaurants with plans to open more.

  And I want that so fucking bad.

  I grip the hand he offers, giving it a firm shake. “Thanks for allowing me to cook for you. Hopefully I live up to everything he’s been saying.”

  He smiles. “I’m sure you will. If you want to follow me, I’ll give you a quick tour…”

  As he takes me through the space, empty now save for a few employees prepping for their dinner service, I already know I want to work here. Even on the drive here, I was unsure, my worries still present in my mind. But now, seeing the possibilities, I know without a doubt, I want this.

  The kitchen is spotless, all
white tile and stainless steel. It reminds me a lot of the kitchen at the bistro, but it’s a different level completely. There are a handful of fresh ingredients sitting out on one of the prep stations, and he gestures to them. “Rather than ask you to make a specific dish, I want to see some of the creativity Chef Foster went on and on about. I’d like you to make a main dish using mussels or scallops or both. Shawna will be back here if you have questions regarding where anything is.” He points to an older woman currently prepping agnolotti on the other side of the kitchen. Slapping a hand on my shoulder, he says, “I’ll be back in ninety minutes. Wow me.”

  Once he’s out of the kitchen, I flip through my mental recipe cards. A dozen possibilities pop up in my mind, but ultimately I settle on cioppino, an Italian-American fish stew that’s rich and multidimensional. It’s deceiving in its simplicity because there’s a certain finesse in developing the ingredients to bring out the intense, hardy flavor. And I have to do it in about half the time as I’d prefer to let the flavors marinate. I haven’t made it in a few months, but I know I can nail it. And I know if any dish is going to lock this position for me, it’s this one.

  I block out everything else and focus completely on my task as I dice and sauté. I don’t think about what’s waiting for me hundreds of miles away. I don’t think about what nailing this interview will ultimately mean. I immerse myself completely in the food I’m creating and think about what it would be like to do this every day. To be here, working in this professional kitchen, straight out of culinary school. It’s more than I ever thought was possible, and now that I’m here, now that the option is staring me in the face, I want it.

  As I put the last crouton atop the bowl, John pushes through the swinging door, a smile on his face. “Smells good, Cade. What’d you make for me?”

  “I’ve prepared cioppino, and topped it with some freshly made French bread croutons. I hope you enjoy.”

  “Ambitious.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hands locked behind my back, I hold my breath as he takes a bite, watching as he gets his first taste of my food. His face creases, his eyes locked on mine.

  My stomach drops and soars at once. And I know my fate before he even says a word.

  Twenty-Eight

  winter

  When am I going to start feeling normal again? Normal and flat and stale. Because it’s been a week and I still feel this horrible, hollow pit where my heart used to be. Regrets and uncertainty weigh me down, and I just want to be free.

  Instead I’m trapped. Inside my head and inside memories I’m not sure I want and inside this apartment that isn’t mine. Trapped and I don’t know how to get out. I want to call Cade back, to just pick up the fucking phone and return one of the dozens of messages he’s left me, just to say hi. Just to tell him I miss him and I maybe made a mistake and I don’t know what I’m doing and I love him. I should’ve told him I loved him.

  Instead I’m floundering. And I want nothing more than his arms to fall into, to clutch to keep me from drowning.

  Somehow, even in the midst of all this turmoil, I made it through finals, submitted my website, and I finished. For all intents and purposes, though we haven’t yet had the ceremony for the design students, I am a college graduate. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get here. I wasn’t sure I’d survive long enough to make it through to the end. But I’m here. And while I thought I’d have this sense of completion, this sense of satisfaction, I don’t.

  Because the only thing that’s ever made me feel complete isn’t a thing, but a man. A man who stood by me, who supported me, tried to help me, and I let him go.

  I forcefully stop that train of thought, making myself focus on the details in front of me. The list of things I’ve researched for starting my own business. Which I can’t even believe I’m contemplating. And maybe that’s why I’m actually going through with this. I don’t have time to contemplate anything. Not all the ways this could fail, all the ways I could fall flat on my face. I’m jumping off a cliff without a harness, and I don’t have time to give it a second thought.

  The small bit of money I have is running out quickly, and even though Annette assured me—again—that I can stay, rent free, for as long as I want, I’m not going to leech off her any more than I have to. I will pay my way, as soon as I can. As such, I need to get up and running immediately. All the small jobs I’ve done over the years have been on the side and nothing of monetary significance, but they’ve allowed me to build an extensive portfolio.

  A portfolio I’ll be showcasing on my own site. I’ve started designing it, building the code. I sort through hundreds of font choices and color palettes, focus on coding the basic site and adding what I want to it. This is how I keep my brain busy. Too busy to think about a tall man with dark hair and arms of steel and the sweetest lips I’ve ever tasted.

  But I know my diversion won’t last. I know tonight, when I’m lying here in the dark, nothing but my memories to keep me company, he’ll meet me there, in the place where my mind fades into my dreams. And I’ll be happy again.

  cade

  I tape up the bottom of a box, flipping it over and filling it with books. It’s hard to know what to take and what to leave. I’ll be gone at least a year, but after that, if I can show John what I’m made of, I hope to be back here eventually. Back home and the head chef of a restaurant.

  It’s hard to believe it’s been only a few days since I returned from Chicago. Hard to believe how much my life can change in seventy-two hours.

  Before I went, I was still torn. Part of me wanting to stay behind, to stay in the house I grew up in, to support Tessa, to be there for Haley. But another part of me, a selfish part I never listened to before, thought about what it would mean if I got the position. Once I got in that kitchen, though, I was done. I wanted it. Bad.

  I was on my way back home when John called and left me a message, and I’d already made up my mind before I listened to the voice mail, before I called him back and was offered the job as sous chef.

  In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to call Winter, to share it with her, and I tried. A dozen times, I’ve tried. And a dozen times I’ve left voice mails, hoping after each it will be when she finally calls me back.

  “When do you have to leave?”

  I glance up, seeing Tessa leaning against the doorframe. She’s been nothing but supportive since I told her. Excited, even. And while I thought staying behind was being selfless, I know now I was being selfish by forcing that burden on her. I wasn’t staying for her as much as I was staying for me. I realize we’re both old enough to make our own choices…our own mistakes, and she doesn’t need me here to protect her anymore.

  “He wants me out there right away. My first day’s a week from Monday.”

  “Have you found a place to stay yet?”

  Shaking my head, I add a few more things to the box, then tape it shut. “Not yet, but John gave me a list of some areas to check out. I’ll probably be staying in a hotel for a while, though.”

  “I wish I could come with, help get you settled.”

  “Jason’ll be there to help me, and you’d just boss us around anyway, telling us where to put everything.”

  She laughs. “You’re probably right.”

  “You and Haley can come up this summer. I’m counting on it, actually. I don’t know how much time I’ll be able to get off right away.”

  “We’ll be there.” She moves over to sit on my bed, resting back on her hands. “It’s gonna be weird not having you here anymore. I’m so glad you’re doing this, but I’m going to miss you.”

  “You’ll miss my amazing dinners every night. My socks on the living room floor? Not so much.”

  She cracks a smile and moves to stand. Coming over, she wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight. “I’ll miss it all.”

  I return her hug, my chin settled on top of her head. Think about everything—everyone—I’m leaving behind. “I know. Me too.”

  Twenty-Nine />
  winter

  I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve just waited, gotten my diploma in the mail, and spent the afternoon in Annette’s too dark apartment, working on a site, instead of here, surrounded by nameless people. At least there, I’m alone because I choose to be. Out here, in front of all these smiling families and friends of my fellow classmates, I feel more isolated than ever.

  Even in the midst of hundreds of people, I feel completely and utterly alone.

  After years of this, it shouldn’t be difficult. I should be used to it, used to the solitude. Every school function, every assembly or graduation or ceremony, was completed on my own. No one was there for National Honor Society induction or year-end award ceremonies. No one watching me, cheering for me as I graduated high school in the top ten percent of my class. No one celebrated my scholarship, my answer to a better life.

  And now, as I put a period on the past four years, as I celebrate my accomplishment—all the times I scraped by, the weeks and months when I wanted to give up but didn’t—there’s no one here but me. No one will clap when they call my name, no one will take my picture when I walk across the stage, accept my diploma, and officially become a college graduate.

  No one is here.

  As I sit among fellow design graduates, surrounded by the buzz of happy voices, of excitement and cheer, a startling realization hits me. No one is here because I chose that. All my life, even before my mother actually left, I felt abandoned. I was on my own, from day one. And somewhere along the line, I decided it was better that way. That rather than get left behind again, it was better not to get involved at all, not to open myself up, not to be vulnerable with anyone. Ever. It’s been my choice all along to keep people out. To keep my head down and power on, and to do so all by myself.