Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
maya
I flick my wrist in a sad attempt to flip the pancakes in the pan and immediately regret it.
Instead of turning over, one pancake shimmies into a lopsided oval shape, causing the unset batter to shift awkwardly into a blob.
Lovely. I’m not a bad cook by any means, but dinner is more my specialty.
I tend to lean toward granola bars for breakfast, since I’m usually running late.
I’ve practically earned a PhD in hitting snooze.
Honestly, why is Apple’s default alarm nine minutes? What kind of sadistic math is that?
A shuffle of footsteps behind me has me peering over my shoulder.
“Morning,” Ava grumbles as she appears at the threshold of my tiny kitchen. Her Bambi-brown eyes are at half-mast as she surveys the stove. “Are those pancakes?”
With the spatula I snag from the utensil holder beside the stove, I manually turn the pancakes. They’re a little too brown to be light and fluffy, but they’ll do. I hope. “They may not look like ’em, but I promise they’ll taste like ’em.”
Mumbling unintelligibly, she drops into a barstool and drapes herself over the counter. She flew in yesterday and has been catching up on sleep since. Between midterms and a delayed connection, she was running on fumes when she landed.
“What time is dinner tonight?” she asks with a yawn.
“We haven’t even had breakfast, and you’re already thinking about dinner?” I chuckle at her predictability. “Slow down, Aves.”
She sticks out her tongue. Glad to see college hasn’t completely matured her.
“Not until seven,” I say. “Elliott’s finishing up a project.”
“He’s always working.” Her lips twist into a frown. “It’s Thanksgiving, for fuck’s sake.”
“Language,” I chide with a raised brow. Even though I swear regularly, and even if she’s an adult herself now, the caretaker in me feels obligated to police her language. “He’s bringing babka from Goldblatt’s for dessert.”
Her mood immediately lifts at the mention of her favorite treat.
No one loves chocolate chip babka more than Ava, and I’ve never been above bribing her with it.
Once, when she was six, I convinced her not to scream bloody murder at the dentist by promising she could have as much as she wanted that evening.
She ate half a loaf. It probably counteracted the cavity-preventing work completed during the appointment, but oh well.
I was sixteen and working with limited resources.
With a dreamy look in her eye, she asks, “He’s bringing his not-boyfriend, too, right?”
“Yep,” I confirm.
Though the thought of Cole is a tender spot for me, meeting him led to not only my friendship with Sophie, but Elliott’s introduction to Logan.
They’ve only been seeing each other a few weeks—and Elliott refuses to define the relationship yet, hence Logan’s not-boyfriend status—but it’s obvious already that the blond hockey player is good for my brother.
When he worked late last week, Logan had dinner from his favorite restaurant delivered to his office to make sure he ate.
When Elliott told me, I melted a little. Okay, a lot.
“Need any help?” Ava asks as I slide the pancakes onto a plate.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for asking after I’ve finished cooking.”
“I can make coffee.” She grins, knowing I won’t turn down another cup. “Almond or skim milk?”
A few minutes later, we’re curled up on the couch with mugs of hot coffee in hand and weirdly shaped but surprisingly tasty pancakes on our plates.
Since it’s Thanksgiving and we have no plans to leave the apartment, we stay in our pajamas and spend the day watching Gilmore Girls for the billionth time and catching up on life.
We text and talk on the phone a few times a week, but none of that comes close to replacing sitting beside her, where I can feel her body vibrate with excitement as she talks about the friends she’s made.
And it doesn’t allow me to really study the way her lower lip twitches in distaste as she complains about her atrocious English 101 professor.
Since she left for school, I’ve been filling the quiet with work and slowly making my way through my Tbr list. Yes, I’ve missed her desperately, but I didn’t realize just how much until she came home. It’s only been two months since she left, but it feels like a lifetime.
She doesn’t need me like she once did, and while I’m thrilled she’s thriving, my demotion from a main character in her story to someone standing just offstage is bittersweet.
I’ve just finished sprinkling the final layer of breadcrumbs onto my famous mac and cheese when a thunderous bang rattles my front door.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume I was seconds away from being the victim of a break-in.
But by now, I can easily pick out the specific sound of my brother’s knock.
He’s the only person on earth who knocks like he’s trying to escape a killer clown.
Granted, my neighbors are questionable—I’m convinced the guy in 4D performs satanic rituals during full moons—but Elliott’s earthquake-inducing knocks are overkill.
As if on cue, my upstairs neighbor (who plays the violin at all hours, yet never improves) bangs a broom against the floor in protest. Definitely not thankful for her this Thanksgiving.
I yank on the knob and zero in on him. “I’m not going to get my security deposit back if you dent my front door.”
With a lopsided smile, he shoves a to-go bag from Goldblatt’s into my arms as if that’ll make up for his obnoxious entrance. “Hey, Yaya. Where’s Aves?”
Before I can respond, his eyes drift over my shoulder and he pushes into the apartment, his face lighting up.
And just like that, I’m forgotten. Not that I mind.
Elliott won’t admit it, but he hates that Ava goes to school so far away.
He stayed local for college, like I did, so we kept up with Sunday dinners even during his frat-star phase.
The six-four hockey player lingering in the hallway gives me a sheepish smile.
Confused by the expression, I frown, giving him a once-over. That’s when I notice what’s at his feet.
A dog.
A ridiculously cute dog with big brown eyes, a pink tongue lolling out the side of its mouth, and a green and blue striped bowtie around his neck. Did I say cute? I meant the cutest freaking thing I’ve ever seen.
What the hell?
“Who’s this handsome fellow?” I crouch down to pet the chocolate lab, who thanks me by licking a layer of moisturizer off my face with his kisses.
“This is Goose,” Logan says, his chest puffed out a little. “Elliott said he texted to tell you we were coming. Is it okay?”
Elliott most definitely did not text me, but Logan looks nervous, like I’m about to turn them away. And the dog is practically smiling, already charming his way into my heart. “Yes, of course. I totally forgot. Come on in.”
As if he’s thanking me, Goose barks, which is quickly followed by another bang of the broom upstairs. With a sigh, I lead Logan inside, taking his coat and the bottle of wine he holds out with a dramatic flourish.
Drinks are poured and a bowl of water is set out for Goose, and soon we’re squeezing around my tiny kitchen table (a table meant for two, maybe three, but definitely not four plus a nosy dog), piling our plates high with honey BBQ wings, creamy three-cheese mac and cheese, creamed spinach, and cornbread biscuits.
It’s not a traditional Thanksgiving feast, but I don’t know how to baste a turkey, and I don’t plan to learn anytime soon.
“My trainer’s going to murder me,” Logan moans, scooping a third helping of creamed spinach onto his plate. “What is in this stuff, Maya? It’s crack.”
“I helped, you know,” Ava pipes up, pointing her fork at our guest.
“Taking the dish out of the oven doesn’t count,” Elliott teases.
“Says who?” She flashes him a mischievous grin before turning back to Logan. “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”
“Not much,” he says with a shrug. “I’m Canadian; born and raised in Ottawa. Our Thanksgiving was a month and a half ago.”
Lips pressed together, I survey him. I envisioned him being from Los Angeles or Dallas. I blame the lack of an obvious Canadian accent.
“I’ve lived in the US since I was nineteen, but we usually have games on American Thanksgiving, so it hasn’t been on my radar,” he adds. “The team’s pretty pumped to be with their families this year. It’s why I’m on Goose duty.”
“He’s not yours?” Ava pats her lap in a failed attempt to lure Goose over to her.
He’s doubled as my shadow throughout dinner. I haven’t given him any under-the-table scraps, but he’s been curled up at my feet, nonetheless.
“Oh, hell no.” Logan barks out a laugh. “I’m not nearly responsible enough to have a dog. Goose is Cole’s. He went home to San Diego, but his usual sitter’s out of town, too, so I volunteered to babysit.”
“That was nice of you,” I say coolly. Focus fixed on my wineglass, I bring it to my lips, pretending the sound of Cole’s name didn’t make my heart skip a beat.
“Mm-hmm.” He shoves an enormous forkful of stuffing—his second serving—into his mouth. “Not sure if he’ll like this, though,” he mumbles around the food. “Having to compete with his dog for your attention.”
“Who’s Cole?” Ava asks, suddenly sitting a little straighter, her dark eyes full of curiosity.
“Logan’s teammate,” I answer.
At the same time, Logan says, “Maya’s love interest.”
Elliott chimes in, too. “The new captain of the Bobcats.”
I narrow my eyes at Logan. Asshole. I’m 100 percent not offering him a slice of babka for dessert.
Ava’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to my love life. One mention of a man, even if it’s someone I chatted with in line at Boston Bean, and she’s mapping out our wedding and picking out our kids’ names.
“Oh, c’mon, Maya,” Logan says with a chuckle. “You can’t deny that you and Berrett have chemistry. It even got me all hot and bothered.”
“Okay, ew,” Elliott grumbles.
The boyish grin on Logan’s face makes it hard to be annoyed with him. He’s so damn charming. Add in the dimple, and it’s no wonder my brother’s infatuated.
Even so, unease prickles at me. “Cole isn’t interested. Trust me.”
Logan’s blond brows bend together in confusion.
“Of course he’s interested. Do you know the last time he invited someone who doesn’t share his DNA to a game?
Never. Because he hasn’t shown any interest in a single topic that isn’t hockey since his br—” He dips his chin and straightens his napkin in his lap.
“Let’s just say it’s been a while. So trust me when I say he is interested. ”
Unwilling to argue with him over something so pointless, I take a sip of my wine.
Cole never reached out after the Kiss. And yeah, that sucked a little, but it’s fine.
Not a huge deal on its own, right? Right.
But the other morning, I saw an article about the growing popularity of alien romances and sent it to him, figuring he’d find it funny.
Thought it was an appropriate way to reach out.
He gave me tickets to a hockey game; I sent him a text about books. Harmless.
Except he ignored the message.
I didn’t even get a stupid thumbs-up or a simple ha ha.
No, I was met with absolute radio silence.
It shouldn’t bother me. It really shouldn’t.
I promised myself I’d never give anyone—especially a man—the power to affect my emotions.
Hence the reason I tend to stick to casual relationships and very rarely allow myself to be deeply invested in the people I date.
With one foot constantly following a new man out the door, my mom instilled in me—incidentally, of course, because she rarely took the time to teach me anything—a sense of self-reliance.
I’ve depended on no one but myself for as long as I can remember.
In fact, I’m probably a little too independent, as illustrated by my ability to move on from a relationship without dwelling on it too much. Case in point: Josh.
I suppose being more hurt by Cole’s lack of response than I am about my ex—who, annoyingly, won’t stop texting me—hooking up with another girl while we were still dating is somewhat alarming.
One stupid Kiss, and my brain is ripping off its yellow caution tape like it’s performing a striptease.
It’s probably for the best that things didn’t go further.
“You don’t believe me.” Logan gives me an exaggerated pout, though the expression quickly morphs into a wicked grin. “That’ll just make it all the sweeter when I prove you wrong. I’ve known Cole for years. Once he figures out what he wants, there’s no stopping him. And he wants you, Maya.”
I don’t bother correcting him. And honestly, if Cole’s looking for a real relationship, he’s barking up the wrong tree.
Am I interested in riding him like a cowboy?
Absolutely. But sex and relationships don’t go hand in hand for me.
Thanks to my mother’s many failed relationships and the unrealistic expectations that romance books have given me, I don’t plan on falling in love anytime soon. If ever.
Ava leans in with a protective look in her eye and steals a sip of my wine. “If a guy doesn’t realize how amazing Maya is right off the bat, then he isn’t worth her time.”
Before Logan can argue with her, the oven timer rings.
I’ve never loved the saved by the bell cliché more than I do right now. I hurry to the kitchen, and Ava trails behind me, leaning against the counter as I take the warming babka out of the oven.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” she remarks. “I want to hear about this man.”
I give her a noncommittal noise in reply. “There’s nothing to tell, Aves. Promise.”
“Then why are you giving me devil horns?” Rather than lunge for the babka, she crosses her arms over her chest. That doesn’t bode well for me. “Are you okay?”
I smooth out my features and twist my lips up into a reassuring smile, despite the slight pit in my stomach. “I’ve got both of my siblings home with me for the first time in months. I’m better than okay, Aves.”