Chapter 1 #3
Taylor perks up, immediately changing gears.
"Are you going to sell those giant crispy chocolate chip cookies you used to make me?
Because then you'll be raking in millions.
" She spins around the kitchen, looking through my cabinets.
"Please tell me you have some of those somewhere hidden in your kitchen of delights! "
The way Taylor twirls around my tiny kitchen brings me back to a different time—back when Dad and I lived in that cramped apartment above the pawn shop, just behind the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino.
Taylor would stay with us every weekend, but our father would be too busy holding court at every blackjack table up and down the boardwalk to spend time with us.
So we were mostly left to our own devices.
For the first year, she cried nonstop every time she was dropped off, forced to spend time with me and a man she barely knew.
But somewhere along the way, that changed.
By the end of that first year, we could always be found spinning through that messy little kitchen, singing our favorite songs into batter-dipped wooden spoons, and baking the most delicious chocolate chip cookies.
Most days, those cookies were our breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I smile at the memory as I drop some ground turkey into the pot. "Hey, do you remember the taco bandit summer?" I ask.
Taylor throws her head back, shrieking with laughter. "Oh my God, yes!"
The Taco Bandit summer.
It started at the end of sixth grade, when my class took a trip to the local library to sign up for a summer reading program.
As a reward, they gave us free taco and drink coupons from Taco Bell.
When Dad found out, he immediately had an idea.
That weekend, he took me and Taylor back to the library.
The moment we walked in, he scanned the place like he was planning the biggest bank heist, then quickly made his way to the back, slipping behind the bookcases.
We followed, whispering, our footsteps silent against the carpet.
"Here’s what you’re gonna do," he told us, crouching low. The plan? We would distract the librarian by asking for help in the kids' section while he snuck behind the front desk.
We did exactly what he said.
Through the gaps in the bookshelves, I watched as my father ducked low, reached over, and grabbed four entire stacks of those Taco Bell reward coupons. For months after, we lived solely on tacos and Mountain Dew. Dad said it was just like winning the jackpot on a slot machine.
Taylor shakes her head, laughing. "You know, I don't think I've had a taco since then. Even the thought of tacos makes me want to vomit.”
I blink slowly. Wow, really? I still love tacos.
And now she just found the hidden bin of crispy chocolate chip cookies and has devoured a good amount of them. Along with some of the oatmeal raisin. Why am I still cooking this chili?
"These are delicious," she says, her blue eyes dancing with excitement. "You’re going to be rolling in money with the bakery. Then I can move in and live off you like a queen."
My stomach drops. The can of crushed tomatoes slips from my grasp mid-pour, sending a splatter of red sauce across my face, arms, and chest. "Dammit," I yelp, scooping the can out of the pot and tossing it into the sink. I turn to face her completely, my pulse spiking.
How serious is she?
Taylor pauses, mid-laugh, then huffs. "Oh, don't be so sensitive,” she says. “You know I’d help out at the bakery for my queen's share."
My stomach keeps twisting, but I force myself to stay calm.
"It’ll probably be a while before I start seeing any real profits," I begin, but there’s no point in finishing because she's not listening anymore. She's pouring another glass of wine, swaying into the living room as music suddenly blasts from her phone.
I sigh, cover the pot of chili, and lower the heat to a simmer. Every argument and complaint bubbling up inside me gets swallowed back down. She's had three or so glasses of wine already. She's not serious about staying here. She can't be.
"I'm going to jump in the shower. Don't touch the chili, okay?" I call out. "It needs to simmer for a little while."
From across the room, she gives me a sing-song reply, spinning in circles like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world.
God, that must be nice.
She’s still singing when I step into the shower, her voice carrying over the weak water pressure. I try to wash up quickly, but the heat of the water and the smooth scent of vanilla soap make me want to stay until every one of my tightly coiled muscles finally relaxes.
If only Taylor had picked another weekend to visit. If she had just called ahead, I would have explained how busy I was, how much stress I was under with the grand opening looming. I would have—
The sudden ringing of my phone jars me out of my thoughts. I groan, shutting off the water.
As I grab a towel and start to dry off, my phone rings three more times. The apartment is silent now. No more singing.
Weird. Maybe Taylor’s calling to ask when I’ll be done.
But when I glance at the screen, it’s a number I don’t recognize.
I hesitate, then answer. "Hello?"
A voice crackles through the line, low and gravelly. "Hey, Lucky."
I squeeze my eyes shut as the water from my hair drips onto the bathroom floor. I sigh heavily and cringe, pressing the phone tighter against my ear. "Hey, Dad."
"I'm gonna need you to help me out with some more money this week." His tone is flat. Not a request, not even a plea. Just a statement, like he’s informing me of something that’s already decided. Like I don’t have a choice.
But I do. And I can’t help him. I have about two hundred dollars to my name right now.
In the background, I hear muffled voices, the low hum of distant conversation. Dad exhales sharply. “Lucky, listen real close now, okay? I’m just borrowing some money temporarily. That’s all.”
I don't like his tone. It sends a prickle of unease down my spine, like I’m about to become the main character in some twisted Dateline episode.
"Dad, I told you. I can’t." My voice is firm, but my stomach is tight. "I don’t have any more to give you. Now, I have to go. I was in the shower."
"Lucky," he says, his voice darkening. "I just need a moment for you to listen to me, okay? It’s nothing. Nothing big. But I gotta have some money."
I swallow hard.
“One of your ‘nothing’ moments always turns into something huge, Vick.” My fingers clamp around my towel. “I don’t have much left to give you.”
A beat of silence.
Then, his voice drops lower. “Well, Lucky,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna have to come up with something.”