9. Mckenna
NINE
MCKENNA
“You brought me dinner?” I ask, confused.
“Lia did.” Mav leans against the stove and crosses his arms over his chest. He stares at me, expectant.
“Uh, thanks.” Lia and I have been spending a lot of time together, and given my lack of friends, we’re hitting it off. She’s even called me Kenny a few times. But I wouldn’t expect her or Mav to bring me dinner when they were on a date.
Shit, does she think I’m a charity project? Did she tell Mav ? —
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’ve been working at the café?” he interrupts my thoughts, clearly annoyed by my silence.
I sigh heavily. So he knows. Frustration gathers at the base of my throat, but it’s mainly directed at myself. I can’t be angry at Lia for telling Mav something that should be common knowledge.
Still, as my frustration burns into humiliation, I revert to my default position. Angry and snappish. “It’s none of your business.” I don’t mean the words to sound as sharp as they do, but I don’t want to tell Mav how much debt I’m in. Or how my parents are literally arguing over garbage cans in their divorce settlement. Or how, after years of ignoring my father’s infidelity, Mom decided not to turn a blind eye when the woman he was having a tryst with two years ago was her sister. And how, since that tryst ended, it burned my entire life to the ground and resulted in everyone in my family forgetting I exist.
The last two times I tried to speak with either of my parents about law school and finances, they circled the conversation back to themselves and their divorce.
Since then, Dad cancelled our dinner plans with his new girlfriend Jeannie and Mom is still in Cabo, taking a break from her socials. Somehow, that also includes me.
For two people who claim to have nothing in common, they sure share common ground where their daughter is concerned.
No, this shame is mine. Allegra, Ivy, and Nova know part of the story. Emily and Robyn know even less. My friends understand snippets, watered-down morsels, of how my family disintegrated. Of how I am barely keeping my head above water, juggling financial burdens I never considered, a law degree I don’t want to give up, and a very unclear future.
Mav narrows his eyes. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and I know he’s not impressed with my response.
Welcome to the club, Mav. I’m not impressed with my bullshit, either.
“It’s none of my business? Mckenna, you’re living in my house. You’re coming home at all hours of the goddamn night. You’re—what the hell is going on with you?” Exasperation fills his tone, and his eyes take on a bewildered look as if he can’t understand why he’s even asking.
I glance at my laptop screen, wincing when I note that the small crack that started in the top right-hand corner is spreading, like a spider vein, toward the center of the screen. Bran Burton bumping into me, on purpose, when I was carrying my laptop like a textbook was messed up. Realizing my laptop screen cracked when Bran jerked me upright nearly made me cry.
“Mckenna!” Mav barks.
I look up at him. What were we talking about?
He drops a hand to the center of the island and leans closer, peering at me. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” I scowl. Why does he keep asking me that? I widen my eyes, knowing they’re not bloodshot. “I wish I was fucking drunk,” I mutter.
“High?”
I shake my head, snorting. “I’m not you, remember?”
His mouth twists at my ugly accusation. He shakes his head. “Whatever.” Swiping his keys up, he moves toward the door. “I’m tired of doing this with you. I tried, Mckenna. I fucking tried to be a friend or whatever the fuck.” He gestures between us before shaking his head. “Do you. Don’t wait up for me. I’m going out.”
“You do you,” I toss his words back in his face. I move the pads of my fingers over the trackpad, waking my laptop back up.
“And eat the fucking pasta,” Mav hollers over his shoulder. He turns and points at me. “You’re too fucking thin and look like shit.”
I flip him the middle finger. He’s not wrong. I have lost weight and look awful, with purple half-moons under my eyes and a permanent paleness clinging to my skin. But I don’t need to hear that from Mav. Not all of us mere mortals can roll out of bed with messy hair and bloodshot eyes and have admirers swarm us.
The front door slams closed.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dropping my head to my hands. The weight of my head causes my elbow to bump along the island, knocking into my water glass. “No!” I shriek, reaching for the drink.
But it’s too late.
The glass tips over, and water floods my keyboard.
I close my eyes, hating the hot tears that leak underneath my lids.
“You’ve gotta be fucking with me,” I mutter to the higher powers of the universe that clearly hate me.
I look back at my laptop in time to watch the screen turn a rainbow of colors, all static lines. Then, the screen turns black. Frozen and empty. Horror burns through me. Is it dead? Have I fried it?
“Shit.” My tears fall openly now. The last thing I have money for is a new laptop. But I obviously need one to keep up with my classes.
Swiping my fingers underneath my eyes, I take a deep breath.
“It’s fine,” I mutter to the empty kitchen. “It’s going to be fine.” Except my voice sounds dejected to my own ears.
Nothing is fine. Nothing has been okay for a long, long time. Moving into this brownstone was a mistake. All it’s done is get Maverick Tate twisted up in my life. He’s the last person I want sympathy from, yet he’s the person I now see most regularly.
And he’s right. He’s tried to be a friend to me. He’s asked, several times, if I’m okay. He’s showed me more concern than my own family. Instead of being grateful for his generosity, I’ve pushed him away.
Living with him in his home constantly reminds me of how low I’ve fallen. This must be rock bottom. The fact that Maverick Tate has his life more together than I do and he’s bringing me dinner is telling.
I am failing at everything. I am failing at life.
I have no skills, no plans, no family or man to come home to, and a friend group I’ve been dishonest with.
In short, I have nothing.
I feel it when I look around Mav’s decked-out kitchen, with the fancy espresso machine and stocked fridge.
Lonely. Apart. An outcast.
I don’t fit in anywhere, and I really don’t belong here.
My stomach growls, and I glance at the pasta takeout container. I’m grateful for the meal but don’t have the appetite to consume it.
Closing my broken laptop, I stand from the barstool and relocate to my bedroom.
How many nights will I lie to myself that tomorrow will be better? How many more days am I going to struggle to get through it?
Checking my bank balance on my phone, my stomach clenches at the amount. One-thousand nine-hundred and seventy-eight dollars. That’s it. That’s all I have to my name. Not enough to settle my late tuition payment, replace the laptop I just ruined, and buy groceries. Not enough to pay actual rent.
Just…not enough.
I heave out a sigh and force myself to take a shower. My phone screen lights up with messages from my friends.
Emily: Hey! Want to grab a drink tonight?
Robyn: Kenny!!! Miss you! Drinks?
Allegra: How’s everything going? How’s Mav been?
Lia: Hey! Want to pick up a shift on Thursday night?
Jameson: Yo, Kenny. Is all good with Mav? Haven’t heard from him…
Branson: Prof Terrence sent out partner assignments for the clinic next semester. Guess we’re going to be buddies, Mckenna.
Ugh. My stomach churns at the last one. Shaking my head, I ignore the messages and pull on pajamas.
Then, I crawl into bed. Before I turn off the lights, I send off one message. I text Mav.
Me: I’m sorry.
Then, I beg for sleep to come.
Tomorrow will be better. Right?