***
On Saturday, I sleep late, have lunch, then spend the afternoon on our tiny patio, soaking up the sun. I have the day off and all I want to do is kick back and relax. Mike's working on his podcast so I'm staying outside to give him privacy. I've got my music, a tall glass of lemonade, and I'm laid out on the lounger. I don't need fireworks. To me, doing nothing is a great Fourth of July.
At five, Mike fires up the grill and makes burgers while I set out potato chips and heat up some baked beans. It's not much of a holiday cookout but it's better than nothing.
"What's Ethan doing tonight?" Mike asks as we're eating.
"I don't know. Probably watching sports. Why?"
"Just wondered." He pops some potato chips in his mouth, his eyes on me as chomps away.
"What? Just say it. I know you're thinking something."
"Nope. I'm just having dinner." He smiles as he grabs another handful of chips.
I know what he's thinking; that Ethan is probably spending the holiday by himself. I've been thinking about that too, imagining him stuck on the couch, bored, watching TV. But it's not my job to entertain him. I barely know the guy.
"What do you expect me to do?" I ask. "Go over there and hang out?"
Mike shrugs. "Bring him a burger. We have extra and you said he didn't have any food in the fridge."
"I just met the guy. And I'm his cleaning lady, not his friend."
"Sounds like he could use a friend."
"Are you kidding? This is Ethan Baxter we're talking about. He has tons of friends. He's the most popular guy on campus."
"But they all went home for the summer."
"Maybe one of them came to visit him for the weekend."
"Maybe. But if not, it'd be a shame if he were all alone." Mike takes a swig of his lemonade, intentionally pausing, the silence forcing me to think about Ethan and the fact that he's probably alone right now.
My eyes go to the plate of leftover burgers and the half-empty bag of potato chips. I guess I could go over there, but what if Ethan slams the door in my face? I could totally see him doing that. He said he likes his privacy. But he shouldn't be alone on a holiday.
"Okay, fine." I shove my chair back. "I'll go over there, but if he yells at me for it and I lose my job, it's your fault."
"Stop at the store and buy him some beer. Guys can't say no to beer."
I get some foil and wrap up one of the burgers. "Are you just trying to get rid of me so you can work on your podcast?"
He lifts up his glass and points it at me. "It was your idea to go over there, not mine." He takes a drink.
"You guilted me into it." I find a paper sack and toss in the burger and bag of chips. "Okay, see ya. I'm sure I won't be gone long."
"Good luck." He smiles.
I'm going to need it. I can't imagine Ethan being receptive to me showing up there uninvited.
As I'm driving to the store, I almost change my mind, but then just decide to do it. If he turns me away, I'll give him the food and leave. At least he'll have dinner.
At the store I buy a six-pack of beer, and as I'm walking to the check-out I pass a display that has the ingredients for s'mores. I stop and add them to my basket, figuring if Ethan doesn't want s'mores, Mike and I can always make them when I get home.
My heart is pounding as I knock on Ethan's door. I wait but nobody answers. The blinds on the window are closed so I can't see inside. Maybe a friend did come to visit and they went out.
I ring the door bell. After a few seconds, I turn to go back to my van.
"Becca?"
I turn back and see Ethan at the door. He's in his wheelchair, wearing navy shorts and a white t-shirt, his hair messed up like he'd been sleeping. It's six-thirty. That's kind of an odd time to take a nap.
"Hey." I turn around, holding up my two grocery sacks and the smaller sack from home. "Mike made burgers and we had extra so I thought I'd bring you one." I bite my lip, feeling completely stupid for coming over here. What was I thinking? I don't even know Ethan, and yet I show up with dinner? On a holiday?
"You brought me food?" He's looking at me like I'm crazy, which I obviously am. This was such a dumb idea.
"Yeah. I um, just thought you'd want a burger but if you don't, that's fine. I'll just leave." I start toward my van but hear his voice again.
"Becca."
"Yeah?" I stop but don't turn around.
"What else did you bring?"
I face him again and see him smiling. So maybe he's not mad, although he's still looking at me like I'm crazy.
I walk up to him and hand him one of the sacks. I thought it was the beer sack but it's the sack with the chocolate bars.
He pulls them out, along with the marshmallows. "S'mores?"
"If you don't want any, I can take them home. It seemed like a Fourth of July thing. There was a display at the store."
"I haven't had one since I was a kid. Sounds good. But I might need help toasting the marshmallows. Unless you're leaving."
"Um, no. I can stay." I hand him the other sack. "Here. I got you this too."
He pulls out the six pack. His smile drops to a frown and his brows furrow as he looks at the beer.
"Is something wrong?" I ask. And then I remember the accident. According to the paper, they were all drinking that night. Ethan's friend was drunk driving. That's what caused the accident. Shit! How could I be so insensitive?
I snatch the beer from his hands and shove it back in the sack. "I'm sorry, Ethan. I wasn't even thinking."
There's a blank stare on his face, his eyes on the sack which I'm now clutching against my chest.
"I'll just leave. Here's your burger." I hand him the sack. "There's chips in there too." I hurry off to the van, feeling like a complete and total idiot. Fumbling with my keys, I finally get the door open and set the beer on the floor.
"Becca, wait."
When I turn around, I see Ethan wheeling his chair toward me. "I didn't say you had to leave."
"I shouldn't have come. I didn't even call, and technically I don't even know you. You must think I'm totally nuts."
He gives me a sexy grin that causes a flutter in my belly. "You are a little nuts, but who isn't?"
I smile back. "I guess that's true, but I still should've called first."
"Next time. For now, I'll let it slide." He says it jokingly, putting me at ease. "Want to come inside?"
"Sure." I follow him to the door, then hold it open for his chair. It gets caught on the door frame so I grab the handles and move it back to realign it.
"Don't," he says in a harsh tone.
"I was just helping."
"I don't need your help." His shoulders stiffen as he grips the wheels and pushes himself through the door. The force causes the grocery sack to fall off his lap. I go around him and pick it up.
"Stop." He grips my wrist. He's mad at me for helping and I'm mad at him for being moody. But as our eyes meet, I can feel something else between us. An undeniable attraction. It was there when I was cleaning his house the other day but I tried to rationalize it. I told myself the attraction was only because he's hot but it was more than that. There's something else there that I can't quite explain.
As for Ethan, I told myself any attraction he had to me was because he doesn't get out much. He probably hasn't been with a girl for weeks, or maybe since before the accident, so when he saw me the other day, he couldn't stop staring. But I'm not sure if that's really the reason.
He holds my gaze for just a moment, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. "I can do it myself. It's just a broken leg. I'm not handicapped."
"I know. I was just..." I look at the sack in my hand. "I'll put this in the kitchen." I hurry in there, wanting to get away from him. I don't like it when his mood changes like that. It's so sudden, and I never know what's going to trigger it.
Why did I come over here? This was a bad idea. And yet I don't want to leave. Leaving Ethan all alone doesn't feel right. So even if he's
cranky and irritable and moody, I'm staying.
Chapter Seven
Ethan
What is she doing here? Who just drops by someone's house after just meeting the person? Maybe it's an Ohio thing. People in L.A. would never do something like that.
And why did she pick today? Because it's a holiday? Did she think I'd be bored and lonely? Truthfully, I was both those things. I've been bored and lonely since moving into this place. But I'd never admit that to anyone.
"Do you want me to heat it up?" She holds up the burger, which is wrapped in foil.
"Sure. Go ahead." I watch as she unwraps the burger and takes out a plate. She knew where the plates were because she was snooping in my cupboards the other day. I yelled at her for it, which I shouldn't have done, but I didn't like her commenting on my lack of groceries. It's none of her business what I eat or how much food I keep in my fridge.
"Crap, I forgot the buns." She chews on her lip. "Do you have any?"
"No. I'll just eat it without one."
"I could run to the store. It's not that far."
"Really, it's fine. Don't worry about it."
She opens my fridge and scans the shelves, which are mostly empty. "What about pickles? Mustard? Ketchup?"
"I don't need it. I'll just eat it plain."
She closes the fridge. "I should've brought all that stuff. I wasn't even thinking. I hurried out of the apartment and totally forgot."
"Why were you in a hurry?" I grin just enough to make her think I'm onto her. I'm not. I have no idea what she's thinking or her motive for rushing over here. I'd like to think she likes me and that's why she's here. I caught her looking at me when she was cleaning the other day. Just like I was looking at her. There's definitely an attraction between us.
She pauses, like she's trying to come up with an answer to my question. She glances at the clock on the microwave. "Because it's dinner time. I didn't want to bring this over only to find out you'd already eaten. You haven't, have you?"
"No. I was taking a nap when you got here."
She puts the burger in the microwave and sets the timer. "You sleep a lot."
"Only when I'm tired." It's a lie. I sleep a lot because I'm bored, and maybe a little depressed. "I was up late watching TV."
"You watch a lot of TV," she says, smiling.
"What can I say? I like TV and I like to sleep."
She finds a bowl and pours the potato chips in it.
"How long were searching through my kitchen?" I ask, but in a kidding tone, not the angry tone I used the other day.
"Not long." She sounds nervous, like she's worried I'm about to yell at her. "I was only looking so I'd know where to put stuff when I unloaded the dishwasher."
That makes sense. I hadn't even thought about that. So she wasn't snooping, and yet I accused her of it.
The microwave beeps and she takes the burger out. She holds up the plate. "This looks really pathetic. No bun. No condiments. Just a sad little burger." She frowns, which is the cutest thing ever. Most people have angry frowns, but hers is sweet, like her smile.
"It's fine," I tell her. "It smells good. Did you grill it?"
"Mike did." She walks over to the kitchen table and sets the plate down, along with a knife and fork. "What do you want to drink?"
"I can get it." I roll myself to the fridge and take out a can of soda. "Mike's your brother?" I ask, hoping he's not her boyfriend. I'm not sure why I care. I'm not going to date Becca, and yet the thought of her with some other guy irritates me for some reason.
"Yeah." She brings the chips over and sits down. "He's five years older than me."
"Aren't you eating?" I ask as I maneuver myself at the table. It's difficult with my leg up, which is why I never sit here. I usually eat in the living room with the plate on my lap.
"I already ate."
This is strange. Sitting here eating the food she brought while she sits there watching me. Why would she do this for a guy she just met, who wasn't exactly nice to her?
"Why'd you come over here?" I ask. "It's Fourth of July. Shouldn't you be out with your friends?"
"They're going to the fireworks and I didn't want to go. I didn't feel like being around all the crowds."
"So you thought you'd pay a visit to one of your cleaning customers?" I chuckle to let her know I'm not making fun of her, just joking around.
"I thought maybe you could use some company. I mean, the cast kind of limits what you can do, and since you can't drive, you're kind of stuck here."
"Why do you care?" I look at her, curious, and wanting an honest answer.
She shrugs. "We had extra food so I thought I'd share."
"Because you think I don't know how to make anything?"
She sighs. "Why do you have to question it? Why can't you just say thanks for the burger?"
"Sorry." I smile. "Thanks for the burger." I take a bite, and we sit in silence for a moment. But the question keeps nagging at me because I know she's not telling me the truth. I set my burger down. "What's the real reason?"
"For what?"
"Why you came over?"
She looks away. "I just told you. We had extra food."
"That's not the only reason. You could've just saved the leftovers or brought them to someone else. So why me?"
She doesn't answer right away but I keep quiet, knowing the uncomfortable silence will eventually make her talk. And it does.
"I don't like people being lonely," she says, still not looking at me.
"Who says I'm lonely?"
"No one." She shakes her head. "Forget I said it. It's an assumption I shouldn't have made. I just thought being alone all day might make you lonely. For me it would. A few years ago, after my dad died, I was really lonely. Mike was overseas and I'd just graduated from high school and all my friends went off to college and I was stuck living in a crappy apartment with two strangers who couldn't even remember my name. The one girl kept calling me Bella." Becca shrugs. "But in her defense, she was obsessed with those Twilight books. I'm pretty sure she thought the characters were real. She even asked me if I had a boyfriend named Edward."
I laugh but then feel bad for doing it since Becca is telling me something personal.
"Sorry," I say. "The whole Bella thing was kind of funny."
She smiles. "Yeah, it was. It wasn't at the time, but it is now. She had Twilight movie posters covering all four walls in her room and she'd read those books over and over again. And no matter how many times I told her my name was Becca, she wouldn't stop calling me Bella. After a year of that, she was starting to freak me out so I got the hell out of there."
"Is that when you were going to school?"
"No. I was working, trying to save money for school. My dad didn't have much when he died and the little money he had went to pay for the funeral."
So she lost her dad. That's tough, especially at that age. But what about her mom? She hasn't mentioned her.
"I don't know if I should ask this," I say, "and don't feel like you have to tell me if you don't want to, but what happened to your mom? Is she..." I don't want say 'dead' but that's what I'm guessing.
"She's alive," Becca says, "but pretty much dead to me. She left us when I was 13. Decided a husband and kids wasn't the life she wanted. Guess it was too boring. I don't know. She never really said. She just took off."
"And you never heard from her again?"
"She called about six months later just to check in. That's what she said. To 'check in', as if her checking in made it all better. As if it meant she cared about us when it was clear she didn't. She never even tried to come back. She didn't call us on our birthdays. Didn't send a card."
"She never gave a reason for leaving? Not even to your dad?"
"She told him she wasn't happy and that leaving was the only way she could be happy again. She didn't seem to care if her family was happy." Becca takes a sip of her soda. "Now that I'm older, I can see that maybe it was for the best. Maybe her staying would've
made us all miserable because she wasn't happy. But honestly, and I know a lot of people would disagree with this, but I think happiness is a decision. Bad things happen to people all the time and yet some people find ways to get through it and be happy and some people don't. And I think the people that don't use not being happy as an excuse. They use it to rationalize leaving, or to get out of doing whatever they don't want to do. Saying you're not happy is a cop-out, at least in my opinion." She looks at me, then covers her mouth, like she's embarrassed. "Did I seriously just say all that out loud?"
I smile at her. "You did."
And I love that she did. It's the first time in a very long time that someone has actually been honest with me. Like truly honest.
I'm used to people lying, telling me what they think I want to hear. I've told plenty of lies myself, or more often, withheld the truth. It's what my lawyer parents taught me. Words can incriminate you. Be used against you. Present you in a negative way. So keep quiet until you've thought through your words. Until you've figured out the other person's motives and created your own. That's how I was raised. To censor my words. Hide my true thoughts.
"I should go." Becca turns in her chair like she's getting up to leave.
I hold her wrist. "Why would you go?"
"Because I just blurted out all this stuff that I'm sure you didn't want to hear and now—"
"I wanted to hear it." I loosen my hold on her wrist but don't let go of it. "You were being honest. That's rare these days."
"Yeah, and it also makes people think you're crazy."
"Do you care what people think?"
She pauses. "Not usually. I think worrying about what people think makes you forget who you are. You become someone else just to conform to what other people want, and in the process, you lose part of yourself." She squeezes her eyes shut. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"
"Doing what?"
"Telling you stuff you don't want to hear."
"Why wouldn't I want to hear it? And even if I didn't, by not telling me aren't you contradicting your earlier statement about not caring what people think?"
Holding On Page 6
