Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
AUGUST
Papers are scattered across the desk while lo-fi music plays in the background.
The small trash can next to the couch is filled with fast-food wrappers.
There have been some nights that I didn’t go home, making the couch my temporary bed.
Mom would randomly stop by with dishes of food, and I know that's her way of releasing stress for both of us.
"Knock, knock," Ellie says, peeking her head into the very messy office.
“Hey.” I don’t look up, continuing to rifle through papers on the desk while trying to organize the spreadsheet on my laptop.
"Jeeze. When's the last time you went home?" Milo and Biscuit force the door open as they run into the office.
If there are two things that will stop me from working, it’s those two. I drop to the floor, letting them pummel me. Milo licks my face while Biscuit licks my ear.
A small yelp escapes me as I pretend to let them win whatever it is they think they’re doing to me. Ellie peers into the trash can and raises her eyebrows at me.
"What? I need to eat." I stare back before getting up. Milo and Biscuit take that as a sign to run rampant in the store.
As if on cue, something falls, and I choose to ignore it.
"What happened to the food mom brought for you?" She sits down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other, and starts to pick at her nails.
"I ate it all?” I shrug, wondering what kind of silly question that is.
Ellie looks up from her nails and gapes.
"What?"
"August, that could have lasted you two weeks, at least."
My hands continue to move around the pile until I find what I'm looking for.
Dad said I had to look out for an invoice from one of the vendors.
Why are we still taking checks like it's 1980? I have no idea. Why haven't we updated our systems? Venmo exists for a reason. I think that’s the first thing I’m going to change.
"August?" Ellie says.
"Mhm.”
"Are you listening to me?"
I stop what I'm doing and look at her. There's concern in her eyes, and her head is tilted to the side. I walk around the desk and sit down on the couch next to her.
"Have you been taking your medication?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
"I wanted to come see how you’re doing with work, considering you haven’t been home."
"I'm handling it, E. It’s fine," I bite out without meaning to, then close my eyes and take a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm a little stressed, but it's nothing I can't handle. It's just a matter of getting everything organized."
I'm terrible at being organized. Ellie is a type A, and I'm type Z.
I've always had challenges keeping things organized and remembering where I put things.
I set daily reminders on my phone for appointments, when to take my medication, when to pick up my medication, and even when my haircut is scheduled.
When I can't get my stress under control, that's when my ADHD gets worse. I've learned techniques in therapy on how to control said stress, along with noticing the warning signs when I start to become overwhelmed or overstimulated.
Of course, dealing with a parent who was diagnosed with cancer and then having to take over a business is triggering everything.
"You know you can always ask for help," Ellie murmurs.
I hold back a groan because I know. Everyone is a broken record at this point and I’m about to lose my shit.
“I'm not trying to be mean, but I know how much this place means to you and Dad, but if you ever feel like you're in over your head, it's okay to ask. You have close friends who will help the minute you do."
"Okay, I'll ask for help if I need it."
"Good. Just don't ask me because I'm still learning myself with Honey Cakes."
“Yeah, yeah.” I stand up and stretch my arms, letting out a big yawn.
"Okay...well, if you want to come over for dinner tonight, Rowan is cooking baked ziti. Your favorite."
I narrow my eyes. "Are you trying to bribe me into leaving here?"
She shakes her head. "Not at all."
I exhale. "Alright, you've won me over. What time?"
"Six, don't be late." She points at me.
Our heads turn toward the office door when we hear things getting knocked over. The sound of a mannequin hits the floor, and a small bark from Biscuit echoes.
Ellie looks at me, scrunching her nose before saying, "Sorry.”
Rowan and Ellie’s kitchen smells like heaven. I’m getting mixes of sweet and salty. Earthy and sugary. I’m drinking a beer while music plays throughout the house. The two of them work in sync.
Ellie’s on one side of the kitchen, making caramel-stuffed brownies, and Rowan’s on the other side, working his magic on the baked ziti. Pots and pans clink together. Ellie pours the thick chocolate batter into a glass baking pan, while Rowan sprinkles mozzarella on top of the pasta mixture.
When they switch sides, they do it flawlessly, almost like they’re skating on ice, knowing where the other person is going.
“That sauce smells good.” I compliment Rowan on a small batch of his homemade red sauce, which he keeps on the side for dipping French bread or adding more to the pasta.
He uses a splash of red wine to enhance the flavor and a sprinkle of sugar to balance the acidity. It’s not too thick or too runny, but just right. I’ve already eaten half of the French bread, dipping it in the sauce when Rowan wasn’t looking, only for Ellie to slap my hand away.
The steam rises from the small Dutch oven when Rowan removes the lid, pouring extra sauce on his pasta and grating fresh cheese on top.
“Thanks, man. It’s taken a couple of years to get it down.” He places his bowl on the table and takes a swig from his beer.
“What about my brownies?” Ellie says. “Do you know how annoying it is to make homemade caramel sauce?”
I cock an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask you to make it.”
“They’re for Riley.” She turns back to the counter before glancing back at me. “But I’d still love a compliment.”
I perk at the name that comes out of her mouth. “Riley’s joining us?”
“Yeah, I hope that’s okay. It was last-minute.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I don’t care.”
I care. A lot.
“I just wanted to include her because she’s been taking care of everything with Honey Cakes while I spend time with dad. It’s the least I can do.”
“That’s fair,” I say. “So, it’s just the four of us?”
Ellie turns again to look at me with curious eyes and a silly smile. “Already trying to come up with smartass remarks?”
“Now, why would I do that?” I peek at her over my beer bottle.
“Your friendship, or whatever that is,” She deadpans, gesturing to me in a circle. “It's weird, and I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I. I’m just going with whatever it is she’s doing.”
Ellie mentioned the lunch Riley had with her mom the other day. I’ve never questioned why she still has a relationship with that woman. I won’t understand because I’m lucky to have a mom who gave us what we needed growing up: emotional support.
But sometimes, I wish I could ask Riley if she knows how much her mom manipulates her, gaslights her, and undermines her.
The doorbell rings, causing Milo and Biscuit to break out into a barking fest while running to the door. Biscuit slides on the wooden floor and slips, knocking into Milo’s slide.
“August, can you get the door?” Ellie asks, whisking something in a bowl.
I drag myself from the kitchen chair, pushing up my glasses, and rubbing at my tired eyes.
If I’d known Riley was coming, I would have worn something that doesn’t make me look homeless. But no, I decided to wear sweatpants and a pullover hoodie because I’m going to eat until my stomach explodes. I have no cologne on and didn’t do my hair.
Before I get to the door, I lift my arm up and sniff, hoping I smell fine. Thankfully, my deodorant is strong enough to mask the desperation I carry for her.
It will have to do for now. I don't even know what kind of scent it is. The deodorant stick said ‘Mt. Fuji.’ What the fuck does that even mean? Do I smell like a mountain? I don't know, but it's what I need to work with right now.
Quietly, I clear my throat before placing my hand on the doorknob and opening it. In front of me stands Riley in a similar outfit to mine. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, showing off her little studs that climb up her lobes.
The pink flowers she's holding make her look angelic while the sunset streams down on her. She can wear a trash bag and still look incredible. We stand there for what feels like five minutes, looking at each other.
She looks past me and then back. "So, are you going to let me in or stand here in the cold?"
I blink out of the trance I was put under. "Sorry." I step to the side, gesturing to her with my hand. "After you."
Her gaze stays on me as she walks by, muttering something under her breath that I'm almost positive isn’t a compliment. She smells like watermelon and raspberry, and I want to lick her neck just to get a taste.
I shut the door and follow behind her, admiring her round ass. My mind wanders, thinking about her in yoga poses. I don't know what any of them are called. Except for the downward dog.
The downward dog. Doggy style. Riley on all four of her knees. Her hair in my fist while I pump in and out of her, tell her how tight she feels around my cock while she moans out my name. The heat in my body amplifies at the thoughts while all the blood rushes from my head to my—
My chest collides with her back, bringing me back to reality and away from thoughts I can't be having in public.
"Ow," Riley says, turning around and glaring at me.
"Shit, sorry. I zoned out."
Riley tilts her head, and I know she’s going to poke fun at me. “What were you thinkin’ about?”
“Nothing,” I say a little too fast, making myself come off guilty.
“Really?” She looks me up and down. “I thought I felt a small prick near my ass?”
"I need to go to the bathroom.” I turn around, running up the wooden stairs and almost trip, but catch myself in time before I embarrass myself even more. Something as small as looking at her ass makes my cock strain. Adding how it felt and tasted like kissing her makes it worse.
I peek at Riley before she's out of sight, and before she turns around, I see her smirk at me like she's pleased with herself for what she's just done to me. And I'm not mad.