by Mariah Dietz
“Help me?” King bellows.
“She drives you crazy!” Kenzie continues. “You’ve said so yourself.”
“Kenzie.” It takes me several seconds to process Kash’s voice but an instant to realize he’s touching me. He has wrapped a hand around my shoulder with a firmness I know is meant to be comforting, but right now, it produces the opposite effect.
“I can’t believe you.” My words are too quiet to sound like a threat. I shake my head and take a deep breath to fight my emotions from breaking through.
“Lo, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you after you started dating. I knew you guys would eventually—”
“Kenzie, just shut up!” King yells. His face has turned hard, his eyes a darker shade of brown, and while I expect his fingers to be pinching the bridge of his nose like they do when he’s upset, they’re fisted at his sides. My eyes get distracted by the movement of his T-shirt, exposing his breaths, which are coming in quick heaves. Everything about him portrays anger.
My body feels too large, my arms and legs too long as I order them to move.
“Lo, wait.” Kenzie’s face is haunted. I don’t doubt for a second that she’s regretting what she’s done. The tears streaming down her cheeks express more than just the guilt for the deception.
“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you had the audacity to lie to my face countless times. Then you decided to hate me and treat me like a goddamned leper. You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You need to get out of your own head and look the hell around.” Shaking my head, my thoughts sift through curses I want to scream at Kenzie, but I know that would make me no better than her. “Why in the hell did you encourage me to get this job? You basically gifted it to me on a silver platter.”
“Because he wanted to find you. I was afraid he wouldn’t stop. Don’t you understand? Isabelle’s my best friend. He needed to get over you.” Kenzie’s eyeliner and mascara run with her last few words.
“It’s none of your business, Kenzie. You don’t get to be like Mom and control this shit!” Kash objects.
“Kash, it’s Isabelle.”
“I know that, Kenz. I know you’re not trying to hurt people, but—”
“Get out Kenzie,” King orders. “Your entire life you’ve blamed Mom for meddling in your business, begged Kash and me to help get her off your back. She never pulled a stunt this sick and twisted. Never. You want to know why you hate her? It’s because you’re just like her.”
The fact that I’ve never met their mom or heard any of them mention her in detail doesn’t matter. I can sense the harshness of his message in the way Kenzie’s narrow shoulders fall, and her eyes are glassy with tears. It causes my emotions to somersault with the need to stand up for her, while the urge to condemn her is still actively present in my thoughts. “I need to go.”
“Lo, we need to talk.” King crosses the distance between us with intentions clear in his eyes. His hand swallows the golden bangle along with my wrist. “Kash…” He doesn’t say more. I don’t know if it’s because they’re both already aware of what’s going to transpire next, or if he’s simply passing the baton to him, done with his turn in the relay.
Emotions are running rampant, shooting out accusations and questions before King has the office door closed.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask me?” The questions burst through my lips, nearly as angry as the ones I had directed toward Kenzie.
“Because I thought you were dating someone else! I thought you were just like so many others that didn’t give a shit about me, only my name.”
“I’ve never cared about your name!”
“I know!” King’s words are still too loud, like he can’t manage to get his own emotions in check.
“That’s why you thought Charleigh was a guy.”
“Of course that’s why I thought she was!” He dips his head, closing his eyes.
“Do you love Isabelle?”
King’s head snaps level again, his eyes bright. “No!” We focus on one another, a silent conversation passing between us that consists of his plea for me to trust him, an insult for my insinuation to a question he’s already answered, along with an apology that I’m having to ask again.
“Never. Kenzie’s right, I did grow up with Isabelle. She’s like a sister to me. There was never a time I even considered liking her as anything more.”
“This is really…”
“I know.”
“What if she’s right?” I don’t bother specifying which part she may be right about. Every one of them would be awful, and I hate considering any of them.
“We can’t think about it like that. What if she’s wrong? If you go into something already thinking you’re going to fail, what’s the purpose of doing anything in life? You wouldn’t be going to school to have an art major. I wouldn’t be considering stepping into competition. We’d still be thinking the world is flat, fearing we’d fall off the edge if we got too far out. But I’m not going to let that fear ruin my chance at having one of the best things happen to me.”
My chest feels heavy, like I have too much air, or too much blood, or maybe my organs have suddenly tripled in size. I knew that I mattered to him; I just never realized it could be this much.
“I need you to go back to being an asshole for a few minutes before I say something I’m not ready for.”
“I wasn’t that bad.” King looks like he wants to smile by the way his cheeks move up, but it quickly becomes a wince. “Was I?”
A smirk pulls at my lips as I nod. “You were a class-A asshole at times. It was easier when I could hate you.”
“I don’t want you to hate me.”
“I don’t want to care about you this much,” I admit.
“I don’t want you to stop.” King’s eyes are warm, gentle as they hold mine. The desire to have him hold me and fix this, fix everything, is so tempting.
“All my life people have been there when it was convenient, when it benefited them.”
“I want to be there for all of it, the good, bad, ugly, and everything in between.”
“That’s easy to say now.”
“The last six months have been anything but easy and good. Still, look where we are. Look where we’re going, Lo.” King’s voice is calm and assured as he takes a step closer to me, not even slightly deterred or defensive about my concern. It makes something warm and tingly to spread through my entire body.
“You need to go talk to Kenzie.”
“First I need to make sure you’re okay. I want you to tell me you aren’t going to let what she’s done affect us.”
“It won’t. It might make living with her more difficult, but it doesn’t change anything between us. Besides, I get off on proving people wrong.” Eyebrows raised, he struggles to conceal his smile. “Don’t even,” I say, raising a hand. “That wasn’t intended to be dirty.”
“Yet it was. I like that you think dirty. No need to hide it.”
“Go talk to your sister.”
“Going.” He doesn’t move though. King’s hand curves around my waist, pulling me closer to him as he takes a step forward. We kiss for several long moments, and while it leaves me breathless and with the promise of all he can make me feel, it isn’t a hot kiss filled with lust. It’s packed with passion and sincerity, ensuring me that everything is going to be okay.
I HAVEN’T seen Kenzie for two days, not since King came back into the office, where I waited for him to sort through his family drama, and told me Kash was giving her a ride home. I didn’t pry … much. I knew by his tired expression that he was feeling remorseful for what he had yelled at her. I feel a little guilty that I’m so relieved to not have seen her. The inevitable conversation between us in an attempt to iron things out is without a doubt going to be awkward and forced.
The doorbell rings, distracting me from going through the contents of my closet once more.
“Here,” Allie says, shoving a garment bag forwa
rd as I open the door.
“What is it?”
“Your date with King is tonight, right?”
“Yeah…”
“This is what you’re going to wear.”
“What is it?” My hands are already pulling down the zipper, not patient enough to wait for her reply. “Allie!” I squeal, pushing back each side of the bag.
“If you get anything on it, I’m going to kill you,” she threatens as I lift the beautiful handmade dress so I can fully admire it. It’s one of the pieces she’s going to present during the fashion show. I recognize the color, but that’s all. There have been two dresses she’s been working on that I have barely seen, this being one of them.
“Are you sure?
“Of course I’m not. But I am sure that this is a big deal to you, and therefore you need to be dressed to the nines.”
“This is like the twenties.”
Allie smiles with pride and drops a bag on the kitchen counter. “Let’s get you ready.”
The dress is like a second skin. A flawless, shimmering, surprisingly heavy second skin. It’s emerald and falls several inches past my knee in waves of hand-sewn beading. When she initially shared the idea, I regret to say I looked at her with wide eyes, trying to hide how unattractive the idea seemed. Now, I’m amazed. The waist extends for my height and curves to my body, knowing of my bust and hips perfectly.
I leave my straightened hair around my shoulders, and while it feels wrong to hide any of the dress, Allie insists it will allow me to be casual enough to fit into nearly any restaurant that King chooses.
“Shit! He’s early!” Allie cries. She’s only a few steps behind me, watching over my shoulder as I apply another coat of mascara.
I take a deep breath as Allie moves to the front door. She turns, looking over her shoulder for me to confirm I’m ready before pulling it open.
“You clean up nice,” she says.
Curiosity has me moving forward around my easel and beside Allie. She’s wrong. He cleans up to look like a Calvin Klein model.
King is dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a navy blue shirt that both fit him so well I wonder if they were tailored to fit him. At the very least, I know Summer was involved. I’m staring at his hands, mesmerized by how even accompanied by fancy dress clothes they reveal hints of tricks gone bad, grease, and hard work. It makes my desire to have them on me—all over me—become my sole thought.
A sharp elbow to the back of my ribs has my eyes darting up to see that King is just as lost.
“Fair-y godmother,” Allie says quietly. “Don’t order anything with a cream or red sauce. They stain.”
King’s eyebrows raise, but Allie doesn’t notice. She’s packing things back into her bag. She slips around me and behind King and doesn’t turn around again, making her way downstairs.
“No red or cream sauce?”
“She made this dress. It’s the least I can do.”
His eyes widen, peering over it once more. “She’s definitely climbing the charts to favorite person status. First heels, now this.” His hand sweeps down the length of me but several inches away, making that yearning for his touch grow more prominent.
I’m grateful I’ve been forced to wear heels lately; otherwise, I know I would be as nervous about them as I am this dress as we head down the stairs, my hand resting in the crook of his arm. It’s cool outside, the black shawl draped over my shoulders barely serving as a barrier, but thankfully it’s dry.
“How are classes going?”
“Good,” I answer while attempting to fasten my seatbelt and sneak another look at him before the dome lights dim. It’s starting to stay light later, but the sun still set a couple hours ago.
“Did you get your submission in?”
Since mailing my portfolio I’ve felt a heavy weight in my chest each and every time I consider the possible outcomes. “Yeah. I mailed it on Tuesday.”
I catch the slight lurch of King’s chin and his hand tightening around the steering wheel. “You’re going to love it. Traveling and working on paintings from artists you’ve studied. It will be like a dream come true.”
“They haven’t said yes.”
“They won’t be able to say no.”
I don’t know which possibility scares me more.
“There’s this restaurant in Florence, it’s called 13 Gobi. When you get there, you have to go. Their food is like nothing you’ve ever tasted before. It’s where I first started to really appreciate eating and wanted to learn to cook.”
“I doubt it will leave the same impression on me.”
King flashes his smile, the dim lighting from the dash and passing cars teasing at what they expose, hiding so much that my imagination draws most of it.
“You haven’t asked where we’re going yet,” King says as we pull to a stop at a light.
“Call me weird, but I like surprises.” Not to mention it seems rude to ask him. I fear he’s going to spend an obscene amount of money going anywhere our attire is set for.
“Goes with your theme of surprising others with your work, huh?”
“Something like that. I feel like people don’t have an appreciation for waiting any longer. As a culture we’re so used to being able to get any and everything at the tip of our fingers: we need it, and it arrives the next day. People no longer spend time thinking about the perfect gift. They simply go online and order whatever’s popular. We don’t want movies that leave us thinking; we want things spelled out. Popular books have spoilers online because people want to know what they’re walking into. Couples buy their own gifts. If something doesn’t load within seconds, people complain and leave the site, or call their phone and carriers crap.”
“This coming from the self-proclaimed food assembler.”
“Yes, but I don’t have a great appreciation for food. If I did, it would be different.”
“That sounds like a double standard.”
“It probably is. After all, I am a part of this culture as well.”
King glances over with a smile of amusement. “Wait until you get immersed into Italy’s culture. By the time you return you, won’t know what to do when you see a line, or understand why our dining experiences are so fast when there they savor not only the food, but the time together.”
“Impatience for the tedium and great amounts of patience for what they love. I can appreciate that to a point.”
“To a point?”
“Maybe if we all appreciated the fact we get to do tedious tasks, they wouldn’t seem so tedious.”
“The glass is half full.”
“Sure. Otherwise, what’s the point? If all you want to see is the pain and suffering, why live?”
“A friend of mine said artists are all sad. That their work is how they express the grief they feel.”
“We have to know sad in order to know happy, pain in order to feel pleasure, fear to teach us safety.”
“You told me that same line that night at the party.”
“Even while drinking, I’m deep. It’s a gift.”
King’s silent, navigating us through the busy Saturday evening traffic. He doesn’t even look my way. I have a feeling if his hands weren’t both on the wheel, one would be on the bridge of his nose and the other tightly fisted at his side. Though my words are light, I can tell by his reaction he was hoping I’d share in reminiscing. He isn’t mad. He’s disappointed.
“I remember meeting you.” My confession is so quiet my own ears strain to hear it. “I had only drunk a glass of beer before you arrived. Granted, that was enough to make me pretty tipsy since the glasses were ridiculously big, and I pretty much never drink, but I remember.”
“You were talking with Kenzie. I noticed you because you weren’t hanging on her every word and giggling. You guys were actually having a conversation. Kenzie has always sought out people that just want to have a good time. I knew then you were different.”
“You had a crowd of twenty girls around you. I didn’t eve
n know you were at the center until you started moving forward, and through a mess of hair, I saw you.” I smile, recalling my piqued curiosity, and the sympathy and confusion I felt for each of the girls. “I expected you to be a complete asshole. I wanted you to be an asshole. There was no way I was going to join that group, and then I went out to get some air, and there you were.”
“Did you sleep with me because they were interested in me?”
King’s question sends a flash of anger through me. A bold insinuation, one that I hate to admit I’ve questioned myself about several times. “You walked right up to me and introduced yourself. I thought you were going to be one of those guys that just assumes everyone is going to fall head over heels in love with them. Then you made that joke about the rain in Oregon and how it’s always just a cloud away and how glad you were because it weeded out the people that were afraid their façades would wash away. It just seemed so honest. Granted, now I know you lied about your first name … but I’m willing to let that slide, now that I know the reason behind it.”
“You told me you loved the rain, and I couldn’t tell if you were being sarcastic or trying to flirt.”
“Neither,” I say, surprised he considered those were the only possibilities. “I really do love the rain, but I am glad it isn’t raining tonight. I doubt Allie would approve of me getting a single raindrop on this dress.” And hopefully my nerves won’t be reflective under my arms when this date is over. She definitely wouldn’t appreciate sweat marks.
“Where are we…?” My words pause as King pulls into the parking lot of Portland’s Art Museum. “You know it closes at five, right?” I shift in my seat when he doesn’t reply, feeling guilty for my reaction. “I mean, this was a really sweet idea, and I would love to come another time…”
“Do you think I would have brought you here without looking into it first?”
My eyebrows that were already raised dance higher, eliciting an amused laugh from King. He ducks out of the truck and is around to where I’m sliding out, offering me his arm once again. Without delay, he strolls to the main entrance of the museum where we’re met by a man wearing a suit and museum badge. He nods to King with a courteous smile while bidding us good evening, and then waves us in.
