Chapter Five
Kayden
Idon’t know why I’m nervous. There’s no reason to be.
I’ve known Caleb all my life. He’s been such a solid presence through every phase of my existence.
He’s been coming and going in my childhood home for as long as I can remember.
He’s tucked me in and read me bedtime stories numerous times over the years when he babysat me.
He’s just Caleb, and still, tonight feels different.
Maybe it’s because it’s the first time Caleb will be in my space, without anyone else here, or perhaps it’s because I’m no longer a kid and he’s my boss.
I feel restless, and I keep tugging at the collar of my loose-fitted sand-colored T-shirt, my chest tight with nerves.
I think I must’ve adjusted the books on my coffee table and rearranged the throw pillows on my couch at least ten times already.
As if Caleb is the kind of guy who cares about throw pillows.
And still, I move the navy blue a little further to the left, closer to the charcoal woolen comforter.
I inhale deeply, my heart racing in my chest, then let out a pathetic squeal when there’s a rapid succession of knocks on my apartment door.
Okay, Kayden Somner. It’s time to calm the fuck down.
I smooth my T-shirt across my chest and adjust my low-hanging sage linen shorts. My palms are clammy, and for a brief moment, it feels like I’m going to pass out. Then Caleb’s deep voice booms through the door. “Yo, Lil’ K! Your handyman’s here!”
Lil’ K.
Caleb’s such an asshole, but I can’t help laughing as I make my way down the hallway.
He grins at me broadly as I hold the door open for him.
“Hope I’m not interrupting something.” He waggles his eyebrows as he attempts to peer over my shoulder.
I don’t know what he expects. A secret lover hightailing it out the window?
I’m on the fourth floor. Not that it matters.
I don’t have a secret lover, or any lover for that matter.
“Nope. Just…” I wave my hand awkwardly. “Just come in. I didn’t hear you at first.”
“Cool. Here.” He thrusts a box of Shreddies against my chest, then winks at me as he toes off his boots. He’s newly shaved, his hair wild and windswept. He looks younger somehow, in a fitted gray tee instead of the button-up he wore for work.
“You’re such an asshole,” I say, clutching the box of cereal against my chest like it’s my most prized possession.
Caleb gasps in mock-horror. “What? You don’t like them anymore? Lil’ K grew out of his favorite cereal?” He reaches for the box like he wants to take it back, but I just shake my head, then walk toward the kitchen, where I place the Shreddies on the small kitchen island.
“I can’t believe you remembered.” I pat the box and memories of mornings in my parents’ kitchen, scarfing down spoonfuls of crunchy cereal with ice-cold milk before school course through me.
Caleb taps his forehead. “Of course I remember. I remember everything. Photographic memory, baby.” A faint blush tints Caleb’s cheeks, beads of sweat coating his forehead.
The day has been as hot as they come, and I changed into shorts the minute I came home.
Caleb’s in a pair of worn jeans, a baseball cap crammed into one of his back pockets.
I love caps. I have an entire collection myself.
It’s become a thing between Emily and me, and she gives me a new one every year on August 12th, the anniversary of when I started taking testosterone.
“Consider it your housewarming present.”
“Wow! So generous!” I clutch my chest, and Caleb tips his head back and laughs, his neck corded and tanned. “You shouldn’t have. It’s too much, really.”
“Hey, those babies are pricey.” He drums the box with the tips of his fingers.
“So this is your way of telling me you’re not paying me overtime after all? Cheap,” I cough into my hand.
Caleb gapes at me, fire dancing in his granite eyes. “Since when did you become such a brat, K?”
I open my mouth to protest, but Caleb leans in, his face so close to mine, our noses nearly brush.
“It suits you.”
I swallow, taking in his face. For the first time in my life, perhaps, I can’t get a read on Caleb. Is he flirting with me, or is this just his usual teasing manner? I can’t tell, and after a few seconds, I’m the first to look away.
Caleb gazes around the kitchen. It’s pretty large for a two-bedroom apartment, but the entire building underwent recent renovations, and Dad was lucky enough to secure me one of the nicer ones.
Caleb whistles, “Nice. So where’s the bedroom?”
His question takes me by surprise. I’m not used to anyone asking where my bedroom is. I’ve never had a boyfriend, and in Boston, I never brought anyone to the apartment I shared with Emily.
Caleb waves a hand in front of me. “Hey, earth to Kayden. The lights? You needed lights in the bedroom, right?”
“Oh, right. Yeah. Follow me.” I lead Caleb down the hallway, past the door to the bathroom, toward my bedroom.
Suddenly, I feel too aware of everything.
How I move, how I look, what he thinks. My throat tightens, and the familiar heaviness in my chest builds.
My body dysphoria is nowhere near as bad as it used to be, but I still experience the odd spell from time to time when I get caught in my head too much.
My thoughts always circle around the same.
Do I walk like a guy? Do I look like a guy? Do I sound like a guy? Can they tell?
My hand shakes as I open the door, but I don’t think Caleb notices my inner turmoil as he moves past me with a “Sweet! You have a fucking balcony, K!” He bolts toward the open French doors and the small balcony that overlooks the dog park across the street, and the beach to the right.
And just like that, my anxiety evaporates.
Caleb turns with a warm smile, his eyes wide and wondrous.
“This place is amazing, Kayden. Just… Wow. I love that for you.”
“Thanks. I don’t know who Dad bribed to get it for me, but yeah…” I bury my hands in my pockets, looking around my unfinished bedroom. “It’ll be great once I’m done.”
“It will.” Caleb walks toward me and squeezes my shoulder briefly. “So, where do you need me?”
“Uhm.”
“The lights?” Caleb looks over my shoulder at some boxes. “Jeez, what’s up with you today? Are you having heatstroke or something?”
Or something.
I try to focus. “Nah, I’m good. Just my new boss running me too hard. A real drill sergeant.” I gesture at some boxes next to the bed, or the mattress, really. “They’re right over here. Maybe you can… you know, help me with the bedframe too. It arrived this afternoon.”
“Sure. Your wish is my command, K. Sorry about your new boss. Sounds like a real douche.”
“Nah, he’s okay once you get to know him.”
“Well, let’s get this fucking show on the road then.” Caleb pushes out his chest, then clasps his large hands together, and I can’t help laughing. He frowns at me. “What?”
“Nothing. Just… don’t ever change, Caleb.
” I take a mental photo of how he looks right this second, standing in my bedroom, his face all honest and kind, his hair teasing his forehead.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he heads toward the boxes next to my mattress and quietly starts unwrapping the boards for the bedframe.
When I attempt to help him, he shoos me out of the room, and I don’t object.
It feels too nice having someone here for me.
For the next hour, Caleb transforms my mess of a bedroom while I start preparing dinner.
I grabbed groceries on the way home from work, and nearly didn’t make it out of the Anchor Point Market, constantly running into people I knew way back when or who know my parents.
It was nice, though. If people found it weird that I’m now Kayden Somner instead of Kaitlyn Somner, I didn’t notice.
I know it won’t always be like that, but today’s been a good day both at work and at the store.
I’m making fish tacos, which just so happen to be Caleb’s favorite.
I blend my own salsa out of green chili peppers, tomatoes, and fresh coriander.
I squeeze in some lime juice too, and soon my kitchen feels like a real kitchen, the scent of spices lingering in the air.
I put on the latest album by my favorite band, The Emberline, and sway my hips to the music.
I hum along to the soft, folky beat and lose myself in preparing the food.
Emily and I used to cook all the time in Boston to save money, but since I’ve returned home, I’ve been eating at Mom and Dad’s place or getting takeout.
It feels good to cook again. To cook for someone.
“Something smells damn good in here.” Caleb grins at me from the door, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He leans his hip against the frame, looking all relaxed and at home.
“Fish tacos. You want a beer?” I gesture toward the fridge as I hold up my sticky hands. “Help yourself.”