12. Lennie
Lennie
V ery begrudgingly, Abe serves us mochi and later I arrive back to a bouquet on my desk.
They’re a beautiful burnt orange and my boss doesn’t bother to hide a smile as she peeks into my office. She hands me a stack of paperwork and wags her brows.
I blush. “They’re just flowers.”
“Uh huh. But from who?”
“Thanks for these.” I hold up the paperwork. She chuckles under her breath and walks away.
To my Leonora. From yours truly.
A sweet scent fills the drab office. I snap a picture and send it to Elijah.
Lennie: Thank you for the flowers.
He calls ten seconds later.
“What the fuck are those?”
“What?” I log back into my computer.
“Who the fuck sent you those flowers?”
My hands hover over my keyboard. “Y-you didn’t?”
“Carnations. You honestly think I’d send you carnations.”
Isn’t that the flower always used at funerals? A pit gnaws in my belly as I eye the flowers.
“The card uses my full name.”
He’s the only one who does that.
Traffic blends together in the background. Elijah must be walking somewhere.
“Nobody signed the card,” I tell him quietly.
“Who brought them?”
“I was at lunch when they came.” Am I going to have to quit my job because of this asshole? “I thought you were going to deal with him?”
Stony silence echoes down the line. A car horn honks.
“I’m picking you up after work.”
“I’m going straight home.” Where I will burrow under my blankets.
“Come downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Downstairs.”
The call drops and I pick myself up. Whatever giddiness lunch with Ren brought, dissipates as I throw the flowers away.
I don’t want to just throw them away. I want them destroyed. What if they were bugged? What if something bad clings to them and now me since I touched them?
Janis would call this paranoia.
Elijah’s wearing a suit and damn he looks good. His hair’s grown out slightly, and he runs a hand through it. One hand is in his pocket and he doesn’t notice me right away. When he does, he swivels on his heels, straightening as I come closer.
It’s midday and people breeze in and out of the lobby. The building’s a hive for corporate America.
I dodge around a group heading to lunch and when I’m close enough, Elijah’s hand snakes out. His fingers grip the back of my head and before I realize it, we’re kissing.
And I mean kissing.
He drags me closer, our chests touching. The spark of surprise melts, his hand cupping my cheek.
This is not the slow and delicate brush of our lips like last time.
It’s hard and demanding. He bites down on my bottom lip, eliciting a gasp, and when my lips part he claims my mouth. Breathless, I let go, leaning into him. Letting him control my mouth.
I think it’ll go on forever. I want it to go on forever. Instead, he pulls away, his fingers still curled in my hair.
“Did you throw away the flowers?” he asks.
I nod. “Uh huh.”
“Carnations, Leonora?” He sounds disappointed in me.
“Out of curiosity, what kind of flowers would you send me?”
A teasing smirk lights his face. “Be a good girl and maybe you’ll find out.”
Oh.
“I have to go to work.” Though if I’m honest, everything’s faded. The people and the building.
“You and this damn job.” He brushes my hair back. “You wore it down today.”
I wasn’t in the mood to follow an elaborate YouTube tutorial this morning.
“Put it in a ponytail.”
“What?”
“Do it.” His voice leaves little room for argument, but I frown.
“Why?”
“Leonora.”
“I don’t have a ponytail.”
His jaw clenches.
“I have to go back.” Mostly so I can hide in my office and find some equilibrium. “I’m going to go now.”
“Leonora,” he says again, a hint of warning in his tone.
I think I know what he wants so I turn back and lift on my toes. I kiss him. Before he can grab me, I hightail it back to the elevators.
The entire ride up, my hand covers my lips. The thought of kissing always made me nervous.
I’m the girl with little to no experience but it was too easy kissing Elijah.
When I get to my desk, I find a stray scrunchie and pull my hair into a high ponytail. Maybe it’s because I’m just not in the mood to work, but I lift my phone. It takes several tries before I find a good angle and I almost talk myself out of it, but eventually, I send the selfie off.
Lennie: Ponytail secured.
Pen Pal: Beautiful.
I bite down on my lip. One word and I’m blushing like a fool.
Tuning out the humdrum of the office, I find an article and send it off to him.
Lennie: Article - 100 Cute Nicknames to Call Your Partner
Pen Pal: What is this woman?
Lennie: Stop calling me that and stop calling me Leonora all the time.
I go back to answering emails, but my eyes keep wandering back toward my phone, willing it to light up with a new message.
Pen Pal: Alright, I’ve got it.
Pen Pal: Marsupial.
I hate this man.
My phone lights up again.
Pen Pal: What do you want for dinner tonight?
Lennie: I can’t do dinner tonight.
Pen Pal: Tomorrow?
Lennie: I can’t.
Pen Pal: We have an arrangement, Leonora.
And considering Leopold hasn’t gone away, I need this to work. I need to use Elijah’s territorial possessiveness to my advantage.
Pen Pal: Thursday night?
Lennie: I have book club.
Pen Pal: Is that what you call going to dinner at Fujimori’s?
He’s known about my standing reservation since he saw me the night Russet met with Ren.
Lennie: See, you already knew I was busy.
Pen Pal: Fine, I’ll meet you there.
My fingers fly across the phone.
Lennie: No!
Pen Pal: I’m wounded, Leonora.
Lennie: It’s girls night.
Dinners at Fujimori’s is the one good thing I’ve got going for me. If Leopold takes that then I’m truly screwed.
Pen Pal: Abe and Benjamin are men.
Lennie: Abe works there and Ben’s dating him so of course he’s always around.
Plus he’s close with Ren.
Pen Pal: And I’m dating you. I’ll see you there.
With mounting exasperation, I type.
Lennie: No.
Lennie: It’s dinner with the girls.
Lennie: I’ll come over after.
The message thread stops.
Until. . .
Pen Pal: The whole night, Leonora.
Those were the terms.
Butterflies erupt in my belly at the thought.
Lennie: Stop calling me by my full name.
Pen Pal: Marsupial.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Nat. The door to her old bedroom is cracked open. She bought property as soon as she graduated from university, opting not to come home like Adeline and me. She doesn’t typically come out this way during the week.
She’s sprawled out on the bed, one arm flung across her face. I creep in and settle beside her.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“I’m fine.” She sounds tired.
“It’s a Wednesday afternoon and your socks are mismatched.” It’s the latter that informs me something is truly off. She sorts her socks into pairs after putting them through the laundry.
“I’m fat.”
“You’re pregnant.”
Mom went to a doctor’s appointment with her last week and they brought back a fuzzy picture of a bean that’s Gia Akatov’s first grandbaby. Everyone is excited if not a little bit confused by her pregnancy status.
I roll onto my side, tucking my arm under my head. “What’s going on?”
She’s so quiet I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. But she runs her hand over her hairline, pushing thick dark locks back as she sighs. “Don’t make fun of me.”
I grow nervous at how shy she’s being.
“I shit my pants last night.”
I try to be a good sister. I really try.
“Don’t make fun of me!” she repeats, flinging her arm back over her face. Her lips wobble and her shoulders shake.
When I wrap her in a hug, I realize the movement is due to laughter.
“I don’t think you’re the first person, pregnant or not, to shit their pants.”
She places her hands on her stomach, biting down on her lip.
“Is everything else okay?” I rub her shoulder.
She nods, but this silence isn’t Nat. She likes discussing the New York Times and the latest financial reports. Lately, there’s less and less talk about the Supreme Court and the bags under her eyes keep getting bigger.
“Will you tell me who the father is?” I whisper.
She swallows, staring up at the ceiling.
It’s the question on everyone’s mind. Adeline’s dramatic about it, but the truth remains that Nat always preferred women. She declared Lia the love of her life when they were teenagers.
Randomly falling into bed with a stranger—a guy no less—isn’t just a swerve for her. It’s a dive off a cliff.
“Have you told him about the baby?”
She sighs, exhaustion lining her face.
“Have you?” I push.
“It’s not what you think.”
I don’t know what to think. “Tell me what’s going on. Do you know the father?”
Her brow knits together. “Of course I know the father.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Is he a friend. Or a coworker?”
She’s in financial planning and works in a fancy corporate office.
“It’s Peter’s.”
“It’s who’s?”
“Peter’s,” she repeats with an imploring expression.
But Peter who?
“Peter.” She lifts her head up, frustrated that I don’t understand her.
“Peter. . . Sablin?” A gasp tears out of me as I pop up on the bed. “Peter Sablin!”
“Shut up!” she warns, sitting up as well.
It doesn’t matter. Adeline barrels through the door. “Peter Sablin!”
Nat throws a pillow at her. I’m not sure when she got home, but Ads is already in a pair of sweats and she jumps onto the bed.
“Peter Sablin!” She shakes Nat by the shoulders.
I tear her away. “Be careful.”
“You had sex with Peter Sablin!” Ads shouts.
He’s a year older than Nat and like our family belongs to the bratva. While he’s friendly, there’s a collected opinion that he’s boring. From a young age, and before it became cool, he wore socks with his sandals and read superhero comics.
Looking back, I can see because he didn’t fit into certain gender norms and never exuded killer instincts like the Zimin boys, we didn’t pay much attention to him.
It’s been ages since I’ve seen him last and who am I to judge his nerdy behaviors? Looking back, if I hadn’t been so shy, Peter probably would’ve been my only dating option. Talk about a missed connection.