Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
KENZIE
I wake up at two in the morning. The moon casts light on the bedroom wall.
Why can't I sleep? Some nights, I'm awake for hours, and my eyes hurt because they dry out. This is a bewitching hour. Between one and two, I wake up on most nights.
Ugh. I pull the pillow over my head. Then I take it off and roll over, snuggling Sherlock.
I take a deep breath.
I'm fine. I’m in my apartment. I’m safe.
I take another breath.
Sherlock licks my face.
I nuzzle his nose with mine as I pet his fine, soft hair.
“You're the best. I'm sorry I woke you up.” He licks me again. “Mm. I love you, too.”
Anxiety engulfs me. My mind races. I fluff my pillow and turn on my side. When this happens, I know I’m screwed. I will stare at the ceiling for fifteen minutes before I grab the remote. I scroll before I settle on and find a movie. I had the TV mounted on my wall for these occasions. The light from the screen fills the room. Movies are my go-to because they distract me.
I've seen every movie. I wish there wasn't a two-year wait before new seasons are released. Don't these executives understand that we need to become absorbed in our favorite shows to escape life for a few hours? It’s a great escape and keeps me busy on Saturday nights when most women my age are on date night. It’s the perfect ending to my week that’s punctuated by my loveless love life!
Sherlock stands, turns on the bed, and repositions himself next to me before he falls into a peaceful sleep. I’m jealous. I’ll be dragging ass this afternoon. I finally drift off before the movie ends.
The morning comes too soon. I sit and yawn. Sherlock stands before me. Ready or not my day has started. I throw the covers aside.
“Let's go outside,” I say, grabbing my fluffy robe as I slip into my Uggs.
I pad to the door, open the sliders, and let him walk into the gated yard. My lungs ache when the cold air enters them.
Sherlock was so happy with Mikael on the pond. I wonder if he goes there often.
Sherlock returns to me, and we walk to the kitchen, where I fill his bowl with kibble. I watch him eat, and when he’s done, he sits at my feet.
“I can bake you peanut butter cookies.”
His tail wags excitedly, his jaw drops, and his drool puddles at my feet.
“I take that as a 'yes.'” He paws me. I rub his head and methodically gather the ingredients, placing them on the countertop near the KitchenAid.
I eat a scoop of peanut butter, roll some into a ball, and feed it to him.
“Only one,” I say. All dogs love peanut butter. Labs love food, and Sherlock is no different. I love to spoil him, and I do share pasta and steak with him. He’s so smart he sits at my feet when I boil water for pasta. I swear he has a sixth sense because it took a while for me to figure out his intuition with this. The fact that I let him test the pasta to see if it’s done probably feeds his addiction. But still, he’s an incredibly smart dog!
Sometimes, I wonder if I'm too absorbed with him. He’s adorable, and aside from Bo, he’s my best friend. He can be ornery, but to me—he’s perfect. I'll take him over any man who doesn't understand how important he is to me.
I preheat the oven. I measure and mix the ingredients for cookies. I roll the dough into balls and place them on a baking sheet. I slide them into the oven. Sherlock drools at my feet. The apartment will smell wonderful when Bo wakes up.
I set the coffee to perk and clean the bowls and the mixer as I wait. I'm partial to Kona coffee, and flavored creamers. I make my own so it’s not too sugary like the ones in the store. I pour coffee into a mug add blueberry powder and stir.
I take a sip. It's a slice of heaven.
“This is great,” I mutter.
We walk to the French doors, waiting for the sun to come over the horizon.
“There it is,” I coo.
Pink emerges in the sky as I sip my decadent coffee. I step out to greet the sun. Sherlock sniffs around the yard and returns.
The timer interrupts our moment, calling us inside. I turn the alarm off as the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafts into the chilly air. I pull the cookies out and place them on a cooling rack before it’s time to make breakfast. I’m sure Bo would love an egg and sausage croissant.
Bo became my family when we were teens. We probably bonded more than most women our age because our families were never supportive or as close as we would have liked.
We met in the fifth grade and we just fit together like the designer jeans and Nike’s we bought at the second-hand store. We knew everything about each other. Each night in college she wore a kimono over her pajamas even if it wasn’t trendy. And I know from experience that she has one speed while driving—fast.
She pushed me out of my conservative comfort zone when I needed it. With her, I wore short shorts and two-piece bikinis in the summertime. She helped me dress for the club scene and together, we didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about us. We had a plan to conquer the world. She would carry a leather-skinned briefcase as an attorney one day and I would earn a Michelin star.
I like to think I kept her grounded and out of jail. She developed sticky fingers as a teen and I knew it would eventually lead to an arrest. She was crafty and overly confident and had figured out how to get around anti-theft protocols for employees. Yes, you can stick a ton of shit inside a thermos!
Her parents divorced when she was in elementary school so neither of us had biological fathers in our lives. She went to school with wealthy kids and shoplifted clothes she would wear to fit in at school. She felt pressured to fit in with the wealthy kids. She had pressure to compete but I pressured her to be proud of who she was. I like to think I added common sense to her life and that in the end, we balanced each other out.
Money can provide security, but love exists on all economic levels and we knew we didn’t need money to be happy. She had one brother I had two.
I'd like to think Mom left me in the hospital for cancer treatments to take care of my brothers who were at home, but that wasn't the case. When I was in therapy years later, I learned it’s called loving neglect. No matter what it's labeled, it will never erase the loneliness and abandonment I feel to this day. Perhaps that’s why family is so important to me. If I can’t have a family from the one I was born into, I obtained one with Bo.
My father died tragically in a car accident when I was seven. It bothers me that I don't remember much about him. He was an only child, and his mother and father were in our lives as much as possible. My grandmother was supportive of my love of baking and helped me when I was short on funds to pay my college tuition. I called her every week until she passed away two years ago.
And maybe it’s a need in me to do nice things for the people I care about because it’s my way of showing them I love them. Well, that and lots of hugs. So last year, I gave Bo a personalized ornament for our Christmas tree. My favorite one is round, with “Besties” written on it. I was able to make the two women customized to match our looks, and I dressed us in matching outfits. Both of us are sitting with our legs crossed and holding a glass of red wine. Bo loved it and was impressed with my thoughtfulness and creativity.
I’m happiest when I make others smile.