by K. K. Allen
I pull the hot pan out of the oven and set it on the stove before wrapping her in my arms and kissing her square on the mouth. “Actually,” I say between kisses, “I’m baking, but don’t tell.” I wink and smack her ass before turning back to the stove. I slide in a second batch of guava turnovers while Maggie hops onto the counter to watch. “How’d you sleep?”
“Great, except that you’re a bed hog.”
I chuckle. “Sorry. Now you know why I have a king at home.”
She raises her brows as if to challenge my comment. “Is that why? I kinda thought your bed was like your version of a playground. You need all that room to do your tricks.”
I smirk and shrug. “I won’t disagree with that.” I pick up a turnover and step between her legs then hold it to her mouth. “You need to try this. You’ll love it. I swear.”
Her eyes are wide, and I swear drool is about to start pooling at the corners of her mouth. “How many calories do these things have?”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her with a smirk. “You worked them all off last night. But if you’re really worried, I can put you on another cardio program today.”
She narrows her eyes but opens her mouth anyway then leans down and takes a bite from the corner. Her body reacts exactly as I expect. Maggie experiences great food the same way she orgasms. Her entire body freezes, and her eyes roll into the back of her head, then she groans out her pleasure.
She takes hold of the small pastry and finishes it off before eyeing the rest of them on the tray. “What are those called?”
“Guava turnovers,” I say proudly. “My dad loves them. I thought we could sneak him in a couple and leave the rest for Rebecca.”
“Rebecca?”
Desmond smiles. “Zach’s mom.” Then I pick up another turnover from the tray and hold it in front of her. “You can have this on one condition.”
“What? You’re seriously going to hold food hostage from me? That feels wrong.”
“Let me photograph you eating it.”
“I should have known.” Then she laughs and plucks the pastry from my fingers. “Snap away.”
I use my camera phone, since I don’t have my professional lens, and shoot a series of photos of Maggie devouring her orgasmic breakfast. She’s chewing the last of it when Rebecca steps into the kitchen with a full-blown smile on her face.
“There she is,” I say before scooping her up in a hug.
She’s a petite woman in her late forties with light-brown hair, same as Zach’s, and a round, beautiful face. She gives the best hugs and the warmest smiles. If anyone reminds me of home the most, it’s her.
“I missed you, Desi,” she says, pulling my face between her hands and kissing me on the cheek. “But I think I might have missed your cooking more.” She turns and catches sight of the pastry before turning back to me with a grin. “I see you’ve paid your hotel fee in food.”
I smile back. “I have. I hope you’ll accept. Although Maggie here might fight you for them.”
Maggie has already slid off the counter, and she’s extending her hand to Zach’s mom with a timid smile. “It’s so good to meet you, Mrs. Ryan. I’ve heard lovely things about you.”
Rebecca appears as confused as I would expect as she shakes Maggie’s hand.
“Rebecca, this is my girlfriend, Maggie. She’s Monica’s sister.”
Rebecca does a double take, and her eyes widen. “Oh my. Did I hear you right? You and Zachary are dating sisters?” Then she laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m not surprised at all.”
Rebecca pulls Maggie in for a hug, and I can feel the warmth from where I’m standing. “Maggie, dear, my apologies for this one over here. I did what I could in the time he spent with me, but I’m afraid he was a lost cause from the beginning.”
My jaw drops in mock disbelief. “I take offense.”
“You were meant to.” She winks and wraps an arm around my waist. “Tell me how your pop is doing. Back to his stubborn old self yet?”
I texted her last night after my dad woke up to let her know. “Yup. We’re going back to the hospital now to check in one last time before we head back to Seattle.” Then I remember my conversation with Maggie last night. “Actually, I might ask my dad to come with me again.”
I see the doubt written all over Rebecca’s expression, but she smiles through it, encouraging me like she always does. “I think that would be great if the stubborn old man listens this time. You’d be a great caretaker. But are you sure you have to go back to Seattle so soon? I’d love if you stayed for dinner.”
“I wish we could, but we really need to get back to the kitchen.”
She understands, and I’m able to chat with her for a bit longer while Maggie changes into the single set of clothes she packed in her handbag.
When Maggie comes back out, she wraps Zach’s mom in a hug. “It was so nice to meet you, Rebecca.”
“Give my love to your sister.”
Maggie smiles. “I will.”
Then Rebecca turns to hug me. “Tell that boy of mine that I’ll be in Seattle on Thanksgiving, so he better make time for me.”
I assure her that I will, and then Maggie and I are hopping into my rental with a full belly and a heavy heart. I hate leaving Rebecca, and I hate that I’m about to see my father for possibly the last time for a few months… unless he chooses to come to Seattle. Maggie was right to mention how much he would love the kitchen life. Maybe it’s not too late for him to turn his life around after all.
We pull up to the hospital, and I’m feeling optimistic about things with my dad for the first time in a long time. I’m breathing deeply, my fingers tightly woven with Maggie’s. I know that no matter what happens today, I’ve still got her by my side.
We pass through the main entrance and ride the elevator up to the second floor. We enter the west wing of the hospital, where the ICU is. It always seems to be chaotic here—alarms going off, patients moaning, and beeping hospital equipment echoing in the space. I grip Maggie’s hand tighter as we turn the corner and head down the hall.
While everything seems to be business as usual in the hospital, something feels off. The closer we get to my father, the stranger that feeling in my chest gets. A nurse leaves his room. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her cheeks are tearstained. Instead of the normal beeping from yesterday that signaled my dad’s heart was beating regularly, now I hear one solid line of noise.
I release Maggie’s hand, rush to the room, and push back the curtain. My father’s still there with a doctor and three nurses by his side. His gown has been opened, and one of the nurses is holding the two plates of the defibrillator in his hands. I half expect the nurse to apply a shock to my father’s chest right then, but judging by the somber faces in the room, I think I may have been too late.
The doctor pushes a button on the machine, stopping the long beeping noise, and places his hands on his hips. Then he looks at me, his sorrowful eyes telling me everything I already know deep in my gut. “I’m so sorry, Desmond.”
“What?” I yell. “Why?”
The doctor steps forward, his expression and mannerisms so calm that I want to rage. “Your father had another heart attack, and he went into sudden cardiac arrest. We did everything we could.”
“No.” My voice cracks, my face crumbles, and my vision is starting to blur. This has got to be a sick joke. This can’t be happening. This cannot be real.
“I’m so sorry, Desmond,” the doctor says again. “We just couldn’t save him.” Two solid beats pass followed by two words I’ll never forget. “He’s gone.”
TAKE VII
HELLOS & GOODBYES
“Every story has an end, but in life every ending is a new beginning.” —unknown
38
Open Minded
Maggie
There’s still a heaviness in the air after we return to Seattle on Friday night. I opt to join Desmond inside his place instead of retreating to my own. I can’t even imagine leaving him alone right
now.
Desmond hasn’t spoken much, not that I’ve attempted to hold a conversation. I’ve been giving him his space while letting him know I’m still here.
When he crumbled to the floor after hearing the news, I fell with him.
When he was finally ready to say his goodbyes, I stood by his side.
When he started to make the tough calls to family and friends, I held his hand.
And when Desmond had to go to his dad’s apartment—which was the hardest day of all—I helped him sort through everything so that he could take away any keepsakes. The only thing he ended up walking away with were some recipe books and his parents’ wedding rings. He was shocked him that his dad still had them.
In a way, I would say the past few days were a cathartic experience for him. Each day seems to bring Desmond a little closer to acceptance while he works through the main stages of grief. Shock and denial were probably the shortest stages of them all, with the longest being his anger and bargaining. The guilt he carried from being a helpless bystander in the entire situation was a tough pill for him to swallow. Even if his dad had agreed to move to Seattle, not even Desmond could stop a heart attack.
Desmond excuses himself to take a shower, and I decide to whip him up a small dinner to tide him over for the night. He hasn’t been eating much at all, but I’m hoping he’ll try now that we’re back home. I search through his refrigerator and pantry to see what I can grab without having to run to the market for ingredients, when I get the best idea: a variety of cheeses, a loaf of bread, an onion, mayonnaise, spices, and brown sugar. That’s all I need to make Desmond’s gourmet grilled cheese.
I’ve just gathered all the ingredients when there’s a knock on the door. I look toward the bathroom, where the water is still running. Desmond probably didn’t hear anything beyond the shower water, so I set down the skillet and peep through the hole in the door before opening it.
My heart beats a little faster when I see my dad standing on the other side. He’s wearing a Seattle ball cap and a matching sweatshirt with jeans. His head is angled down, and there’s a melancholy look on his face, which means Desmond must have reached out at some point. Then I’m struck by a feeling of gratitude for the fact that the two men I love have each other.
I pull open the door, and when our eyes connect, surprise registers on his face. “Maggie—”
Before my dad can get another word out, my arms are around him and squeezing him tight. My throat clogs, and it’s impossible to hold back tears. Here I am standing in front of my father when Desmond just lost his. I can’t imagine being in Desmond’s shoes, especially knowing that I could have had a relationship with my father, but I refused to let him love me.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
He squeezes me back. “Are you okay?”
More tears fall even when I try to squeeze them away. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain in the ass.”
He rubs my back gently, just like I remember him doing when I was a little girl. “Shhh. It’s okay, Mags. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I want to know you too, Dad. I want to be part of your life.” I pull back slightly to see his face.
His eyes are bloodshot, and his chin is quivering as he nods. “You always have been, baby girl, whether it felt like it or not. You’ve always been here.” He pats his chest and then cups my chin. “How is he?”
I sniffle. “As good as can be, I guess. He hasn’t been eating much, but I’m about to make him something to eat while he showers. Do you want to come in? I can make extra.”
He quirks a lip at me. “You’re going to cook? You definitely didn’t get that trait from your mother.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve been working in a kitchen, Dad. Besides, it’s just grilled cheese. You can’t exactly mess that up.”
He raises his brows. “Don’t be so sure about that.” Then he gestures for me to head inside. “I wouldn’t say no to that offer. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I smile and shut the door behind us both then head into the kitchen. My dad takes a seat at a stool while I start to heat the skillet.
“When did he let you know?” I ask.
“He didn’t.”
This throws me off a little, but I focus on dicing the onions, trying not to add to the waterworks.
“Rebecca reached out. I imagine Desmond’s been quite preoccupied.”
I nod. “He has.” I toss the onions and some spices onto the hot skillet. A loud sizzle follows. “I think keeping busy has helped him in some ways. The nights seem to be the hardest for him.”
“I can imagine.”
Silence passes between us while I start to brown the onions. A few minutes later, I reach into the refrigerator and pull out a beer. I hold it up to my dad in question, and he accepts with a nod. I grab another one and pop the caps off before handing him one.
“So how was it being back in Dallas? You know, before…” My dad’s voice trails off, but I understand what he’s asking.
“It was nice, actually.” I peek at my dad over my shoulder and smile. “Desmond’s dad was sweet and adorable. I had a hard time picturing him any other way, you know? And then we drove around our old neighborhood and stopped at Brighton.” I take in a deep breath and turn back to the stove to set aside the onions. “I forgot how much I missed those old days when you’d drag us to those high school football games. I never did fall for the game the way Monica did, but I still enjoyed that time with you.” I start to smear some mayonnaise on each of the slices of bread. “And then you ended up coaching there. How crazy is that?”
He chuckles. “The world sure does work in mysterious ways. I love that it brought you girls back here to me.”
I suck in a deep breath to help steady my emotions, and then I nod again. I’m not sure I trust myself to speak right away, so I focus on adding my butter to the pan and adding the bread. While two slices are heating, I turn to face him while reaching for my beer. “If there’s one thing I learned this week, it’s that life is truly short. I don’t want to live with regrets or what-ifs, or feelings of resentment.” I feel heat spreading across my cheeks as I hear myself speak. “Anyway, I love that we’re all here too.”
“Not really the way I would have ever pictured it,” my dad says with a smile. “With my two daughters dating Zach and Desmond. I never even got the chance to threaten them with my shotgun.”
I stifle a laugh and roll my eyes. “Miracles do exist.”
I turn back to the stove and finish up the sandwiches while my dad and I finish our beers. I don’t even notice how quiet Desmond’s condo is until the door to the bedroom opens and Desmond comes out in shorts and a T-shirt. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
My dad meets Desmond halfway and wraps his arms around him in a tight hug. The exchange has me choked up all over again. My dad whispers something I can’t hear, and Desmond just nods, appearing as though he’s about to well up with tears too.
“Dinner is ready,” I say softly.
Desmond glances in my direction. His eyes landing on the three plates of food I made then flitting up to mine. “Whoa. Did you make those?”
My dad’s boastful laugh echoes around the entire condo while he squeezes Desmond’s shoulder. “She did. I watched her. I wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.”
Desmond walks over and starts to inspect his sandwich like I might have poisoned it. Then he takes a bite, and his eyes flutter a little. “Are you serious?” he asks with his mouth still full. “That’s damn good. Is this my recipe?”
I shrug while my heart dances. “Well, yeah. It’s the only recipe I know.”
My dad takes a bite too and has a reaction similar to Desmond’s. “This is very good, daughter.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, Father.”
I don’t miss the strange look Desmond gives us both. “You two eat,” I say while sticking the spices back in the cabinet. “Enjoy. I need to go to my place for a bit. I’ve been wearing the same two ch
anges of clothes for too long.”
Desmond’s mouth is still full when he speaks. “At least you’ve been washing them.”
I make a face. “They still feel dirty. I’ll be back.” I step around the counter and lift myself onto my toes to kiss Desmond’s cheek. Then I hug my dad goodbye and smile when he squeezes me a few seconds longer.
“I’ll see you soon?” he asks.
I nod and kiss him on the cheek too. “Yes.”
My shower lasts as long as the hot water allows. I probably should have opted for a bubble bath instead. My muscles feel tight from the tension I’ve held over the last week, but the hot water is a gentle reminder that while things might feel different. Everything heals, everything will be okay.
I towel myself off, wrapping myself in the cloth when I’m done. Then I leave the bathroom to find a change of clothes, knowing my father has probably left already.
When I see the figure sitting on my bed I jump so high I think my heart leapt outside of my body. “Holy shit, Desmond, you scared the crap out of me.”
He turns from looking out my window and winces. “Sorry. Your dad left, so I thought I’d wait for you here.”
“I forgot you had a key,” I say gently. Then I walk toward him and sit on my bed to face him. “You okay?”
His eyes search mine for a second before he nods. “I will be. It’s just… heavy, you know? I keep thinking about the last time I saw him alive. It had been over a decade since I last saw him smile, and he smiled at me that night.”
I scoot forward so my knees are touching his legs. “You never told me that.”
Desmond releases a small smile, and I swear a blush is crawling up his cheeks too. “Yeah well. Maybe that’s because he was smiling because of you. He told me I was in trouble, and you know what?”
I swallow, my heart pounding like crazy. “What?”
Desmond leans forward and brushes his lips across mine. “My father was right. I am in deep”—he kisses me softly—“deep”—he kisses me again—"trouble.” This time, he pulls me back onto the bed with him until I’m snuggled in his arms. “Can we sleep here tonight? I’m too tired to walk back to my place.”
