ANNA
The neighbor is either addicted to sex or it’s his job. He’s had someone over every day this week, and while that’s not unusual, the noises we keep hearing and the headboard hitting the wall are.
It’s getting out of hand, and we’re all losing sleep because of it. I can deal with it, but now it’s screwing with Rosie’s sleep and causing her to be moody. Her tantrums were already bad, but they’ve gotten worse.
“I know.” I use the back of my hand to cover my yawn. “I’ll go talk to him again.”
A deep groan rattles her chest, and she pins me with the harshest side-eye. “All you’ve been doing this week is talking to him, and he’s doing jack shit. I say we kill him.”
I offer her a weary smile. “And then Rosie will be without a parent.”
Our eyes drop to my daughter playing on the living room floor. I’m not sure how she grabbed them, but she has my car keys and is playing with them. I should take them away because she could misplace them or they could get lost, but I can’t bring myself to stand from the couch.
“Okay, I’ll do all the stabbing and you help me clean up the mess. I’ve seen enough true crime. I’ll make sure not to get blood everywhere, and we’ll dispose of his body at a pig farm. I hear they eat just about anything.” She sounds excited at the prospect.
“Sounds like a deal to me.” I chuckle and she does too.
“All right, I’m heading out now.” She pushes off the couch and stands, stretching her arms over her head.
“You know you don’t have to leave. You live here. If you don’t want to be in the living room, you can stay in my room.”
It’s Sunday, so Sylas will be here in a few minutes. Maya told me she’ll leave any time he comes over. I already stressed that she doesn’t need to, but she insists.
“I need to get out. I’ve been putting off working out.”
“Look, I appreciate your help with Rosie, but if you can’t watch her anymore, that’s okay. I promise I won’t be upset. I can bring her with me to the bakery. That isn’t an issue.”
“Shut up.” She grabs a pillow and throws it at me. “I love having her with me, so don’t start. I live in Boston; there’s so much to do. I figure it’s time I start getting to know the area.”
“Promise you’ll tell me if—” I stop talking mid-sentence when we hear a knock on the door. I glance in the direction of the door and back at my sister. “If you can’t watch her anymore.”
“You sure you don’t want to talk about what happened last Sunday?” She stares at me empathetically.
After I left his condo last week, I came straight home. I tried my hardest not to look upset, but Maya caught on right away. Still, I played it off like I was fine because what is there to say?
I’m upset because my ex-boyfriend doesn’t trust me enough to open up to me? Sylas is my ex; he doesn’t owe me anything.
“There is nothing to talk about.” I stand, covering my mouth as another yawn escapes me. “I’m just trying to adjust to the new norm. So much has happened and changed. It’s been a rollercoaster, but I’m fine.”
I head to the door and stall before opening it. He’s been texting me every day for updates on Rosie, asking me questions about her, and then he’ll talk to me as if we’re…I don’t know, friends or like what we used to be.
And I hate it because I miss what we used to be. I hate that no matter how much time has passed, part of me aches to be with him again.
“Are you going to get that or just stand there? We don’t have to let him in. We can pretend you forgot and…”
I blink out of it. Those thoughts need to stop. I’ll only be screwing myself over.
I muffle my laugh. “I’m not going to do that.”
I open the door and wish I could shake some sense into my heart. The moment our eyes meet, it thunders and flashbacks appear. Traitorous little bitches. I’d love to slap myself. He’s just a man. The father of my kid, fine, but he’s still a man who looks like—Christ.
“Don’t fuck this up,” Maya warns Sylas as she walks around us.
He grins and those stupid dimples appear. “I promise I won’t,” he says to her while still looking at me.
“We’ll see,” she replies, and then she’s off.
“Hey, Anna.” The smile on his face is dangerous. I’ve seen various ones, but this one is special.
It’s the kind he’d give me first thing in the morning, when we’d make love, when we’d see each other after days of being apart, and when he first said he loved me.
I wish I’d develop amnesia. Knowing those moments by heart, aching to relive them, is the worst kind of torture. I’m not intentionally trying to remember them, but my brain, for whatever reason, is fighting hard to keep the memories alive.
“Hey.” I offer a small smile, giving him space to come in before shutting the door behind us. As I guide him to the living room, I hear something crinkling.
“I brought you both something,” he says, and shows me a large brown paper bag I hadn’t noticed he was holding because I’d been too fixated on his face.
I stop in my tracks, and my brows pinch in. “I don’t need you buying me anything.”
“I couldn’t just bring Rosie something,” he supplies, like that should be common sense.
“You can. She’s your daughter. I’m just the person you share a—”
“Anna.” His jaw tics. “You are the mother of my daughter, the person who gave birth to our daughter. If I want to buy you something, I’m going to do it.” His answer is nonnegotiable.
And again, I hate how memories surface, squeezing past my already weak walls. I’m reminded of when we were fake dating, when he wanted to buy me a candle and paid for my dress that I ended up selling because I desperately needed money.
While I caved easily back then, I’m not going to do that now.
“I won’t accept it,” I firmly reply, propping my hands on my hips.
“No?” A sardonic smirk curves his mouth.
I narrow my eyes at him. “No.”
“You’re really going to turn down Sylvester’s cheesecake?
” He digs into the bag and draws out a plastic container with two large slices of cheesecake and a container that I know without a doubt has a homemade caramel sauce.
“Because if so I can give it to Marc. You know how much he loves Sylvester’s. ”
Sylas and I were strolling the streets of New York when it started pouring out of nowhere. We found shelter in Sylvester’s, a little bakery that has been there for over fifty years now.
While we waited for the weather to clear, we bought a few things. Everything was so good, but our favorite was the cheesecake and homemade caramel sauce. After that date, we went every couple of weeks until he left for Colorado and me to France.
I don’t want it is what should leave my mouth, but instead I say, “I hate you. If you give it to Marc, I’m going to cut you.”
He smiles triumphantly, placing everything back in the bag, and follows me into the living room. “You hate me?” He doesn’t sound offended, but rather amused by my statement.
“Yes,” I answer flatly.
“What else do you feel for me?” The smile in his voice makes my eye twitch.
“Like I want to strangle you if you don’t shut up.”
“I mean…I wouldn’t be opposed to—”
“No, shut up.” My cheeks warm as another memory flashes in my head, something I hadn’t thought about in a while.
My hands wrapped around his neck as I rode him.
I didn’t mean to choke him, didn’t realize how much we’d both be into it until my hands were on him and he was moaning for me to squeeze harder.
“Don’t give my cheesecake away. How did you even get it anyway? ”
He smirks. “I paid to have someone bring it. It was made this morning. So was the sauce.”
Rosie is still playing in the same spot, but when she hears Sylas, her head snaps up and her eyes sparkle. She’s just met him, yet she acts like she’s known him all her life. And he stares at her with stars in his eyes, a deep fondness that can’t be faked.
“Hola!” She jumps to her feet and runs to him.
He drops to his knees as she nears him, but her giddy excitement triples when her gaze veers to the bag he set on the floor.
“Hola querida.” He spreads his arms wide but doesn’t pull her in, letting her decide whether that’s something she wants.
Querida? Cheesecake? Fuck my life, this can’t be happening. Why is he so…so good?
She accepts his embrace happily, but that only lasts for a second before she’s making herself comfortable on his lap, eyeing the bag.
Rosie looks so at ease with him, and he looks like he’s on top of the world.
She’s rambling about her toys and what she wants to do with them. Some of her words aren’t clear, but he nods, listening intently. And when he’s confused, when he can’t understand her, he repeats the word and lets her correct him.
And because Rosie is impatient, desperate to see what’s in the bag, she takes it upon herself to pull things out. Brand-new kitchen toys and pretend food and a tiny bag that holds a little dog.
She loves dogs. Anytime we go on walks, she always stops and stares, and we only pet after we’ve asked the owner if it’s okay. She also barks, but we’re working on that because anytime she sees one, she does so loudly.
Rosie is so enamored with her dog she runs away with it, forgetting everything else and us. She sits where she’d originally been before he arrived.
Sylas picks the rest of the stuff off the floor and stands, chuckling as she starts barking.
“Did I do good?” he asks, giving me hopeful eyes.
Better than good. Please don’t disappoint her, I want to say. “Yeah, but you know, you don’t have to buy her stuff. I promise she’s good with what she has” is what comes out.
“Well, if I buy you something, then I have to buy her something.” He rounds the couch and sets her toys next to her.
I stay rooted behind the couch, and he stands on the other side of it. I’m thankful for the space between us, but he looks like he wouldn’t hesitate to set my couch on fire.
“Sylas, I don’t need anything from you. You’re here for Rosie, remember that. I’ll take the cheesecake this time, but no more.”
“Okay, Anna.” He does nothing but smile at me.
I eye him skeptically. That was too easy. I thought for sure he’d fight me. “You promise?”
“Sure.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” He saunters over to my kitchen and places the cheesecake on the counter. “Where are your small bowls? I’m going to warm up the caramel sauce for you.”
“I can do that.”
He ignores me. “Where are they?”
“Uh, in that cabinet.” I point at the one next to his head on the right.
He grabs one and pours enough sauce to smother my cheesecake in, then heats it up until it’s steaming.
This changes nothing, I think to myself as we sit on the couch and he hands me the dessert. But he stares at me like he’s thinking otherwise.
We’re not getting back together, I tell myself.