Through the Lens

by K. K. Allen

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Never mind. You’d never understand.”

  He slams his hands on the wheel and pulls off to the side of the road before we reach the highway. There’s an empty parking lot looking out over Lake Union, and before I know it, Desmond is stripping off his seat belt and facing me. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel abandoned by one of your parents? Well, here’s your reality check. Try growing up with a father who spent most of his life in and out of rehab. And when he was out of rehab, you’d be lucky to spend a single day with him without him falling off the wagon all over again.”

  My heartbeat quickens. “That doesn’t change my situation.”

  “Yeah, well, at least you weren’t abandoned by your mom too.”

  The air goes cold. Whatever point I was trying to make earlier suddenly feels wrong. “Where was your mom?”

  “Dead.”

  The word comes out with a chill on his breath, and I shiver.

  “She died when I was four,” he continues. “Couldn’t handle life, so she decided to take hers. I don’t even remember her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He blows out a breath. “So what now, Maggie? You still want to compare your daddy issues to mine? Because while your dad wants to make amends, mine is somewhere in Texas, stealing food from trash cans and getting wasted behind the nearest dumpster, just biding his time until he’s back in jail or rehab.”

  My insides are quaking like an active volcano a second before erupting. Maybe I shouldn’t make assumptions about Desmond, but he’s just as guilty for making assumptions about me.

  “I think you should take me home now,” I whisper. I never meant for things to get so intense, but every time I’m near Desmond, it’s like I get this overwhelming anxiety that brings me back to everything I’ve spent my life stuffing deep down into a secret box in my chest, one I swore I would never open again. No matter what I do, I can’t escape the key that’s forcing its way into the lock, opening the damn thing without my permission. One day, it’s just going to burst open, and there’s no way in hell I’ll be ready for it.

  Desmond and I are completely silent the entire way to Monica’s, and it stays that way when I exit the car and shut the door behind me. Desmond lingers until I enter the security code to get in and walk through the hall to the elevator, but then he’s gone, and I’m terrified of the next time I’ll see him. Because for the first time since I met Desmond Blake, I’m the one who feels like the bully.

  I’m already an emotional mess when I push my way into Monica’s apartment. My head hurts from my fight with Desmond. My eyes sting from the tears that I’m forcing back with everything in me. There’s no way this night can get any worse. I just need to sleep it off.

  As I enter the apartment and slip off my heels, I hear what resembles a cry followed by an intensely erotic sigh. A squeak of the bed comes next, and if that isn’t enough to deter me from stepping another inch inside my temporary home, the sound of a body hitting a wall and a guttural moan sure as shit does.

  “Oh my God.” My voice comes out louder than I intended, and I slam the door behind me out of habit. It definitely gets the attention of the occupants behind Monica’s bedroom door because the silence that follows feels almost deadly.

  I don’t know why I can feel Monica’s wrath before she even swings open her bedroom door, but I just dumb it down to sisterly intuition. And damn, I wish I were wrong.

  Unfortunately, Monica’s face is filled with fury as she stands there, hands on her curvy hips, wearing nothing but pretty black lace panties.

  I raise my hands in apology. “Sorry, I had no idea you two would still be awake.”

  “Are you serious? Did you not see the sign on the door?”

  I look sharply at the apartment door and then rub my eyes, exhaustion taking its toll on my body. “No. What sign on the door?”

  Monica huffs out a breath. “The Do Not Disturb sign?”

  I scrunch my face, trying to make sense of my sister’s words. “You knew I was coming home after my shift, yet you decided to put a sign on the door to tell me to what? Sleep in the hall? No, Monica, sorry, I didn’t see your stupid sign. I’m tired.” I step forward and throw myself on the couch, desperate for this night to be over. “Sorry I interrupted. I’ll cover my ears or something.”

  Monica stomps forward until she’s in front of me. “The sign just said to wait and text me when you got here. Jesus, I can’t even have one night alone with my boyfriend.”

  I’m done with this conversation. “Go to his place next time. I don’t know.”

  “This is my apartment!”

  “Monica, it’s fine,” Zach coaxes as he comes up behind her. Then he wraps his giant arms around her petite frame.

  “It’s not fine,” Monica says with an exaggerated pout. “I barely see you. I just wanted one uninterrupted night with you without having to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to drive back to Bellevue for work.”

  He cups her chin delicately, like she’s the prettiest and daintiest flower. “It’s only one night. We have the rest of our lives.”

  My chest tightens as I witness their swoony love story play out in front of me, and I hate the feeling of jealousy that follows.

  “I’m going to go,” he says.

  “Wait.” Monica tugs him back toward her. “I’m going with you. I’ll just have to set an alarm for super early.” Before she’s even finished her thought, she’s in her room, packing an overnight bag.

  I don’t know whether to be annoyed or embarrassed, so I wrap myself in a blanket on the couch and shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep when they leave.

  I don’t like to cry. It’s never gotten me anywhere before, so I avoid it at all costs. But there’s no mistaking the emotion that slips between my tightly squeezed lids and drips down my cheek.

  I learned what true abandonment felt like when I was just sixteen, but I always thought that feeling would eventually go away. I never thought I would carry it with me forever.

  Pursuasive

  Desmond

  Routines keep me grounded and productive. Daily checklists are my motivation to never miss a step. In the mornings, I like to hit Pike Place Market early, before the tourists wake up and flood the streets. I shop for fresh fish, handpicked fruits and vegetables, perfectly picked cuts of meat, and select dairy. Everything I need can be found in the best of the best lineup of organic goods. I even grab a few dozen bouquets of flowers to add some ambiance to the kitchen.

  I wheel my cart past the fish market, where I just grabbed five pounds of fresh jumbo grilling scallops for today’s class. Herbs, spices, and vegetables are next. Then I fill up on wine, cheese, and bread, all locally prepared in and around Seattle.

  Zach may have initially purchased Edible Desire, but it was me who turned his empty studio into something locals would be talking about soon after. Faye called it farm-to-table. I had never sought a term for my style of cooking. I just do it how I always imagined it being done.

  When I was younger and my dad was sober enough to cook, he was great at it. To this day, I’ve never tasted a single meal that could compare to his. He had a natural ability to pair ingredients together to bring out mouthwatering flavors in unforgettable meals. It was why Zach’s parents didn’t even hesitate to hire him as a cook in their restaurant years ago.

  I’ll never forget when he came home from work one night. He walked through the front door of our apartment with the biggest smile on his face. The Ryans were going to use one of his recipes on the menu from that day forward—fried green tomatoes, my dad’s specialty.

  Unfortunately, the reason they were open to new recipes was because business wasn’t great. A few months later, my father stumbled home with a bottle of booze in his hand, signaling the beginning of the end. He’d just been fired. My dad had been on the highest of highs. When it all came crashing down, the fall shook us all.

  Everything changed once my dad got laid off. It was the catalyst
to many drunken nights where I had to suffer through frequent vomit, police cars, and a father who took care of his addictions instead of taking care of his son. I hated the downward spiral, and I misdirected my anger toward the Ryan family, namely Zach.

  Zach was the same age as me, twelve. We shared some classes together, and we got along well when we saw each other. But my life was a walking, talking hell, and I made it my mission to make Zachary Ryan suffer just as much as I was. That carried on for four years. It was a time in my life I’ll forever regret and never stop apologizing for.

  Thanks to Coach Reynolds, Zach and I are best friends and business partners. My cooking classes started selling out after the first few months, and it has only felt natural to want to grow things from there. We’ve expanded to include catering, meal-prep deliveries, and private events. The works. Saturdays are my busiest days, and unfortunately Gretta chose today—Saturday—to call in sick again.

  I’m pushing the Edible Desire grocery cart I purchased for my daily market runs when I spot Zach jogging across the street to meet me. “Need help?”

  “Uh, sure.” I move away from the cart to let him push it. Not because I actually need the help, but because it’s funny to watch one of the NFL’s best pushing groceries around downtown Seattle. Just to be an ass, I hop on the front of the cart as it curves uphill so he can wheel around an extra 230 pounds.

  Zach accepts the challenge with a grin and a flex of his arms. Lowering himself to get the leverage he needs to use his legs instead of his back, he starts to push against it like he would a speed sled during football practice. He digs into the sidewalk with his feet and uses his calf muscles to support the weight.

  “All right,” I say, jumping off the cart and taking it from him. “Now what the hell are you doing here?”

  He stretches his back with a twist at his waist. “I was heading to the training facility and stopped by the kitchen to see you. Then I remembered you’d probably be shopping. Doesn’t your assistant help you with this stuff?”

  I huff out an annoyed breath. “Gretta? Yeah. She used to, but she called out sick today.”

  Zach shakes his head. “I thought you were going to fire her weeks ago.”

  I shrug. “I was, but the kitchen’s been busy. I don’t have time to search for a new employee, fire an old one, and keep up with everything I need to keep up with.”

  “Well,” he starts slowly. “Maybe I can help.”

  His tone reflects caution, and knots immediately twist my insides. “Can I just say no and move on about my day? I don’t know what you’re about to propose, but I have a sneaking suspicion I’m not going to like it.”

  Zach chuckles. “To be honest, you might not, but you’ll warm up to it, and it would solve a lot of problems right now.”

  I quirk an eyebrow, now curious, because it sounds like Zach isn’t only trying to help me out, but himself. And if there’s anyone in this world I would do anything for, it’s him. “All right, what is it?”

  “First, did you ever decide what you’re going to do with that studio apartment upstairs?”

  I shrug. “I have some ideas.”

  “Like?”

  “Well, I haven’t given up the idea of Pop moving here. I’ve been warming him up to the idea.” Just saying the wishful words out loud makes my stomach turn.

  Zach winces a little. “I didn’t realize you were still entertaining that idea. Are you sure that’s a good plan? I mean, I know you want to help him, but at some point he’s got to start making some changes on his own.”

  “I know. Which is why he’s still in Dallas and I’m still here. When he’s ready, I’ll be ready.”

  “Okay.” Zach draws the word out slowly, assessing me with his eyes. “So then, what about right now?”

  I shrug. “Why? You got a renter?”

  Zach lifts his brows like he’s prefacing his words with a warning. “In fact, I do.”

  Shit. I already know where this is going. “Zach—”

  “Just hear me out,” he says as he raises his hands.

  The lift opens to the second floor, and he pushes the cart inside the storage room. Then he meets me in the main entrance of the kitchen and sits on the couch.

  I take a seat on the chair across from him. “Spill.”

  “I’ll spare you the gory details, but last night, I asked Monica to move in with me, and she said yes.”

  I didn’t see that one coming. “Dude, you two have been together for only, like, weeks.”

  Zach makes a face and shook his head. “No, bro, it’s been longer than that, and you know it. Try months. But I’ve known her for years.”

  “Jeez, I mean, what’s the rush? Is the ten-minute distance really hurting your relationship?”

  Zach rolls his eyes. “No, but her apartment has gotten a little crowded.”

  Oh. So Maggie is causing issues at home, too, and not just in my kitchen.

  Zach continues. “Anyway, Monica’s lease is expiring at the end of the month, and now that she’s going to the Art Institute, she’s spending the majority of her time in Seattle anyway. She loves her sister more than anything, but she’s going crazy right now, especially since I’m gone a lot during the season. So I asked her to move in, and she said yes. It’s a done deal, but that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about.”

  “You want me to rent the studio to Maggie.”

  Zach cringes, telling me I missed the mark. “Not exactly.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re asking me to let her stay there for free. What about utilities and maintenance of the place? There’s no way I can cover those expenses, especially not now that I need to hire someone full-time. Most of my profit goes to charity as it is. If I’m ever going to grow this place, I need the extra income, dude.”

  He holds up his hands. “Just hear me out. Maggie needs a place to stay, and you need an employee. Why not train Maggie to work the kitchen? She’ll live right upstairs, so she’ll always be available. And then you’ll just need to pay her the difference. You have to admit, the plan is brilliant.”

  “Yeah, if we weren’t talking about Maggie Stevens. Have you met the woman? She hasn’t worked a day in her life.”

  “Don’t be a chauvinist ass. She’s been modeling her whole life.”

  “Oh yeah? Then why’s she suddenly broke and working for White Water?”

  Zach shrugs. “None of my business. Look, I know this is asking you for a lot, and who knows if it will work out. It probably won’t. But it would help all of us out in the meantime. You, me, Monica, Maggie. Just please, consider it. But don’t take too long. Monica is going to talk to Maggie this week.”

  I chuckle. “She doesn’t already know about this little proposition you’re making me?”

  Zach shakes his head, which makes me laugh harder.

  “You know what?” I hold up my hands. “If you can convince Maggie to work and live here, then you’ve got yourself a deal.” My laughter comes harder yet again because I know there’s no way in hell Maggie Stevens will agree to spend her days anywhere near me. If for some reason she does agree… Well, I’m not sure who would end up regretting it first, her or me.

  Moving Out

  Maggie

  When my sister takes me out for drinks the following Thursday night, I instantly detect that our girls’ night out is more than our usual sisterly outing. There’s something heavy on her mind, and I can’t help but feel like it has everything to do with my rude interruption of her and Zach’s sexcapades last weekend. Things have definitely been tense this week, but she isn’t the only one still fuming about that night. I can’t get over the fact that she knew I was coming home after work and tried to keep me out with a sign on the door.

  “Let’s just get the conversation out of the way,” I say after pulling out the lime from in between my teeth. “You’re still mad about last weekend, but what did you expect me to do? Where would I have gone?”

  Monica sighs. “I want to apologize for that. Zach i
nsisted that I go to his place that night, but I had to be at BelleCurve for a production at five the next morning, so I convinced him to stay. And well… we stayed up a little late.” She blushes and then shakes her head. “That’s still no excuse. I was a total bitch to you, and I’m sorry.”

  When I look at Monica and see the red forming in her eyes, my chest tightens. I reach for her hand and squeeze. “It’s okay, M. Honestly, I’ve been invading your space for months. I kind of deserved it. I’ll tell the manager at White Water that I want more hours. Maybe I can work enough to get my own place somewhere cheap, you know? I don’t need anything fancy. All I need is a bed and a lock, and I’ll be good.”

  I laugh because the one thing that has always made me weak is seeing my sister sad. It’s why I’ve always been the tough ass for the both of us. But lately, Monica hasn’t needed me in that way. Her sadness now has more to do with the fact that she’s letting me down gently. She’s kicking me out of her place, and I can’t even be mad at her about it.

  Monica pinches out a smile and squeezes my hand back. “I don’t want you to think it’s you. You’re my sister, and I love that you’re here. I don’t want you doing anything crazy and moving back to your old life in LA, but if we continue living together—”

  “We’re going to kill each other,” I finished for her.

  Now both of us are laughing, and I wrap Monica in a side hug. “I kind of hate that you stopped needing me.”

  Monica blinks and swipes at a falling tear. “I’ll never stop needing you, Mags. Don’t ever think that. I’ve just been thinking a lot about our living situation. Between all the hours I’m spending in school, my lease ending soon, and Zach, I think I should be living closer to Seattle right now. And so should you.”

  I perk up at the sound of that. Living in Bellevue doesn’t make sense for me anyway with the work I’m trying to get, not to mention where White Water has me currently promoting. “What if we get a bigger place where there’s room for the both of us? I can help make some of the payments if White Water gives me more hours, and…” I pause in midsentence when I see the look Monica’s giving me. She’s already made her decision.