Chapter 18
18
Kayla
“Well, how was it?” Meg asks, coming into the office at the café where I’m ostensibly hanging up my purse.
“Hmm?” I reply. I barely pay attention to her because I’m too busy grinning stupidly at my phone. I texted Gabe when I got home from my run, like I said I would, and we’ve been in nonstop contact ever since. We have already shared our opinions on many important topics: cats are fine for other people, but we both prefer dogs; it’s okay to sleep in the same pajamas several nights in a row; Prisoner of Azkaban is our favorite Harry Potter book and least favorite movie. We disagree strongly about whether you can wash all your clothes together at any temperature and still get good results, but he’s never touching my laundry anyway, so what does it matter? Talking to Gabe is easy and fun, and now that I’ve opened this particular floodgate, I’m not sure that I can shut it.
“The sex .” Meg spells it out for me. “How was the sex ? Don’t you dare try to deny it.”
Now I finally do look up from my phone. I feel my face turn beet red.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Kayla Johnson. I am a human being. I have met human beings before. I know what that smile means. Was he nice to you?”
I stash my phone in my purse. I can see there’s no use pretending. “Yes, Mom, he was nice to me.”
She raises her eyebrows at me.
“Okay, it was great ,” I lean in and whisper. “I didn’t know it could be like that, you know? Maybe I’ve only been with duds before, or maybe he and I are just a better fit, but it was… great.” Words fail me.
Meg smiles warmly. “Sweetie, that’s wonderful.” She wraps me in a hug. “He seems like a good guy.”
I laugh. “Have you been vetting him?”
Meg laughs back and smiles a little sheepishly. “Not exactly vetting , just pleasantly chatting with Mark Pritchard and Nancy Meadows when they come in here for lunch. His colleagues at the courthouse,” she explains in response to my puzzled expression. “They really like him,” she continues. “It seems like he’s great at the work, and I think Mark is relieved that there might be someone decent to take the reins. He’s been looking to retire.”
“Oh, but Gabe isn’t planning to stay in town,” I reply quickly, furrowing my brow. “He’ll pass the bar, go someplace else, and become the hotshot attorney his dad wants him to be.”
Meg studies me. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
I feel unease squirm through me. A fling is one thing, but if he stays long term…? I’m definitely not looking for a relationship. I wonder how soon my mom can refinance so I can start planning my own escape from Kentwood.
“I really can’t…” I stammer, foundering under her steady gaze. “I mean, I like him, but a relationship … I’d be giving up everything I want, everything I’ve put on hold...”
Meg’s expression softens slightly. “I know your dad left you guys, and maybe you haven’t had such great models, but relationships don’t have to hold you back. Having someone you love in your corner can make it possible to take risks that you wouldn’t otherwise.”
I shake my head and look away from her, trying not to cry. “My mom never touched her painting after she and my dad split. She was left with nothing ? — ”
“Sweetie, she was left with you . Don’t you think she would rather have had you than a painting career, if it came down to it?”
I don’t know how to answer that. Mom has never shared her regrets with me. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have them.
“Kayla, listen to me,” Meg says, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. “There are things in life that are more important than professional goals. And besides,” she continues, “I don’t think Gabe Wilson is the kind of guy who would walk out on anyone.”
This is probably true. I’m still beating myself up over the way I treated him, trying not to remember , but then of course actually remembering , all the nice things he has ever done for me. And every part of me from the neck down has clearly decided that Gabe is amazing. Which is, of course, terrifying. I stare at my sneakers, still stained with beer from the night at Mickey’s.
“Does Gabe know you feel this way about relationships?” Meg asks.
“No, and I appreciate your advice, but really, we’re just friends. He’s here temporarily, I’m here temporarily, and we’re just… passing the time. That’s all.” I force myself to hold her gaze, trying to make myself sound more confident than I feel.
“You know about his break-up with Gretchen Meier, right?” She looks at me seriously.
“Yes, but?—”
“So don’t break this poor guy’s heart, okay?” I start to protest again, but before I can speak, Meg squeezes my arm and heads back to work.
11:30 AM on a Sunday. Protestants. Baptists, Methodists, Lutherans, Presbyterians, the odd Episcopalian, all in desperate need of omelets, scrambled eggs, eggs sunny-side up, eggs over easy. And coffee, coffee, coffee. I rush back and forth to the kitchen, balancing heavy trays, expertly avoiding the heads of small children running maniacally to and fro like dogs that have just been let off the leash. I’m on what feels like the thousandth trip back to the kitchen because, my God, the people need ketchup , it’s a ketchup emergency out there, someone’s going to burn the place down if I don’t get ketchup right now , when I stop short, practically squirting the stuff all over the man suddenly blocking my way.
“Adam,” I say with a weak smile. Gabe’s brother looms over me, eclipsing the light from the dining room. He’s maybe a hair shorter than Gabe, but still a big guy. Gabe’s handsome features are coarser on him. His nose is bigger, his eyes closer together. I am definitely less impressed by his biceps. He’s scowling at me now and standing in a posture I can only describe as threatening.
“The bathrooms are on the other side,” I tell him, trying to edge past him. “Would you please excuse me, I’ve got to?—”
“Are you sleeping with my brother?” he growls at me.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. Are you sleeping with him?”
“That’s absolutely none of your business.”
“That’s not a no.”
“What on earth gives you the right?—”
“Look,” he says, taking a step closer to me. I want to back away from him, but, perhaps stupidly, stand my ground. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but Gabe’s been through a lot.”
“I know ?—”
“And he needs to get back on his feet, not waste time with someone like you.”
“Someone like me? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he huffs. “You know very well that he should marry someone from the Kentwood fifteen. Or at least someone from a… similar family somewhere else. Not someone who’s about two weeks from being homeless.” He gives me a nasty smirk.
“Fuck you ,” I snarl, seriously considering squirting ketchup in his eye. I am deeply insulted. And also deeply alarmed that Adam, like Meg, is assuming that my fling with Gabe is anything more than just that. I cross my arms and take a deep breath. “For your information, I have no intention of marrying anyone.”
I see something like relief in his eyes. He takes a step back.
“So you’ll stay away from him, then?”
“I never promised that,” I snap. This isn’t just contrariness. I have spent the entire morning slipping back to my purse to check my phone for his texts, which probably explains the ketchup emergency out front. I can still feel his lips on my skin. The thought of not seeing him again is almost as scary as anything Meg or Adam has insinuated.
Anger flashes across Adam’s face again. “If it’s money you want—” he chokes out.
“ Money? ” I almost laugh in disbelief. “I don’t want your money. I just want to keep a little more of my money, which as far as I understand I’m entitled to do.”
“Listen,” he says, in an obvious effort to remain calm, “If you promise to leave him alone, I’d be willing to?—”
“ I don’t want your money ,” I repeat through clenched teeth. “Now if you’ll please get out of my way, I have work to do.” I try to get past him again, but he’s not backing down. I feel my heart start to thump in my chest. But before I have to shout for help, Jeff the cook appears at my elbow.
“Everything all right, K?” he asks casually. He leans against the wall of the narrow hallway, staring Adam down. Jeff is shorter than Adam, but he’s wiry and tough, his body stained and pockmarked by DIY tattoos and piercings. He grins at Adam, revealing teeth that have been seriously compromised by his life choices. He exudes a kind of feral energy. Most likely the worst thing Adam would have done is whip out a checkbook, but now, with Jeff in the mix, it feels like anything could happen in this hallway. Adam seems to sense this. He sizes Jeff up, like he’s calculating the probability of Jeff having a shiv in his pocket. He takes another step back, almost involuntarily, and nearly bumps into Meg.
“Mr. Wilson!” she says cheerfully. “So nice of you to come in today. Unfortunately, the health department won’t let us have guests in the kitchen. So if you’re done paying your compliments to our chef, can I invite you to rejoin your family in the dining room?”
Adam takes one last look at me, then allows Meg to lead him back to his table.
“Thanks,” I say in a shaky voice to Jeff.
“No problem,” he says, gracing me with his ruined smile. “Besides,” he adds with a wink, “I figure it’s in my best interest to be nice to a girl who’s dating a lawyer.”