Leah
Against my will, I stepped out of bed and stretched. I felt my bones pop as I leaned over and touched my toes. I didn’t mind the stiffness. It was just a testament to the night that Rocko and I had.
I grabbed my slippers and robe and then headed downstairs to make myself a quick breakfast. Rocko had left a few hours before and left me asleep.
This week, the team started practicing twice a day because the preseason began in just a few days.
I was used to the silence of his house in the mornings.
I had been over here every day for almost two weeks straight, and I was getting spoiled by going to sleep and waking up to him.
Tying the robe tighter, I headed down the stairs to find something quick to eat.
The closer I got to the main level of the house, the stronger the aroma became.
I was confused by the smell, because I knew that Rocko wouldn’t make food before he went to practice.
The sizzling grew louder as I turned the corner and found a woman standing at the stove.
Hearing my slippers, she jumped, startled, and looked at me like I had lost my mind.
“Oh…” she said as I went to the refrigerator and grabbed a smoothie. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.” Her voice held a lot of contempt. It wasn’t that ‘you scared me’ energy. It was more of a ‘what the hell is up’ kind of energy. It had me on edge immediately.
I gave her a good look. She looked a couple of years younger than me. She was pretty though. She had long hair that was pulled back into a claw clip. She was wearing a cropped hoodie and loose-fitting pants. Underneath the hoodie, I saw just the end of a heart dangling from her belly button.
I had never seen her before, not even in the images on his social media.
We'd talked about his sister before, but she didn’t look like the picture I'd seen. She also didn’t look like they could be related, but looks can be deceiving.
So, before I jumped to conclusions, I decided it was best to figure out who she was.
“I’m sorry. Who are you?” I asked politely despite the agitation in her voice.
Her response, the way the frown deepened on her forehead, and the fact that she had the audacity to look at me from my feet to my head like she didn’t owe me an explanation made me put the smoothie back in the fridge and shut it.
I smiled because she had no idea that I’d make her eat what was on the stove while it was still on the burner.
“Is it not obvious that I’m his chef?”
“Is it? I couldn’t tell. You have that stringy ass weave uncovered over my man’s pots, long ass acrylics, and you look like you just came from the gym.” I chuckled.
“Your man?” She scoffed.
She was trying to get under my skin. But I already knew what this was.
The way she dressed, the fact that she was standing here giving me an attitude.
I knew the look of a woman who wanted a man, and if I didn’t, I was staring it right in the face.
She confirmed my suspicions when she responded only to the fact that I said he was my man, but ignored that I had just questioned her professionalism.
“Yes. Do me a favor and go ahead and leave, before I call security to escort you out. You’re fired. We’re in California; I’m sure I can find any random in athleisure wear to overseason that stuffed chicken.”
“I’ve been this man’s chef for four years. You cannot fire me.” She scoffed, testing my patience.
“I absolutely can fire whoever the fuck I don’t want in my house,” I responded. The moment I had to practice my grounding exercises was the moment that I knew she had better leave, and fast.
“Your house?”
“Mi casa bitch. I live here now… toodaloo. Goodbye. Sayonara.” I said as she turned off the burner, grabbed her purse off the counter, and headed toward the front door with an attitude.
When she left, I took the pots of half-cooked food she had left, filled them with cold water, and put them in the trash. We no longer needed her services. She didn’t have an apron, a hair net, or measuring cups. Nothing. Just attitude, and parsley. Good riddance.
I went upstairs and grabbed my phone before going back down so I could read the menu on the fridge for his meal prep today.
I ordered all the groceries he requested and also grabbed a few things I liked.
If I was going to be spending as much time here as I was, I had to get some real food.
Not this clean-eating, low-carb, sports regimen he was on.
I was fiending for some potato chips or some candy like a crackhead. He had nothing sweet here.
After I placed the grocery delivery order, I went back upstairs to throw on my own loungewear so I could cook his meals for the week before I drove back home. Daya had been texting and calling me nonstop.
She worked nights, so she would be asleep preparing for her shift or already at work when I came home and grabbed a change of clothes. She said she needed to lay eyes on me, and I knew she meant it. I wanted to finish the food early enough to get home before she left.
The groceries came surprisingly quickly, and I put everything away. I had snacks galore, and I knew that Rock was probably going to talk shit about me ordering it, but I didn’t mind.
I also ordered some flavored drinks because this water wasn’t going to cut it.
It was 10 a.m., and I was so sugar-deprived I caught myself eating a peanut butter cookie while I cooked his meals.
I spent the next two hours baking chicken, fish, and shrimp. I made mashed potatoes, broccoli, asparagus, and brown rice. By the time I waited for the food to cool and plated everything up, it was a little after noon.
I heard the front door open, and I thought it was the chef. I had taken it easy on her earlier. Now I was sweaty, and I’m sure the smell of food was stuck to my hair and clothing, because I had to do her job. So it wasn’t the right time to test me.
But it wasn’t the “chef”; three other women came in with cleaning supplies. Then I remembered he told me that he had cleaners come through once a week.
They each gave me a different version of a greeting. I wasn’t insecure at all. They were pretty, but the difference between them and the “chef” was that they didn’t seem bothered by my presence, even if they didn’t expect it.
“Hey,” I said as I walked back into the kitchen for one final inspection. To clean the area that I had used and make sure everything was turned off.
I wasn’t going to kick them out. While my mother had certainly taught me cleanliness, this was a lot of house, and I wasn’t going to be the one to say I could clean it. So, I made a mental note to be out for a while so I could stay out of their way.
I headed home, dreading the drive I knew would take up most of my day. I wasn’t going to make it back home until 3 p.m., and depending on how long Dayari and I spent together, that meant that I wouldn’t be back in Santa Clara until probably 8 p.m., or later.
When I made it home, Dayari’s car wasn’t even parked in the driveway.
I took out the phone and called her.
“Where are you, Daya?” I asked as soon as she answered.
“I just woke up and wanted to go get a pedicure before I start my shift tonight.”
“That sounds good. I’m at the house. I’ll meet you there. Tell Sarah to hold a spot for me.” I said as I ran inside to shower really quickly and swap out my bag of clothing.
I tried not to leave my things at Rocko’s house because, at the beginning, he was very clear that he didn’t want to live with anyone just yet, and he’s still adamant about that.
Yet, every day we talk, he says he wants to see me later, and it ends with me spending the night at his house.
I think he’s opening up to it on his own.
But I didn’t want my things lying around his house to be the reminder that he’s slowly starting to give me everything that he claimed he didn’t want.
For now, I’d play by his rules and take my things to and from his house instead of just leaving them there or creating my own space for them.
It took me about thirty minutes to gather more clothes, take a quick shower, and then head to the nail salon with Daya.
When I walked in, she turned towards me and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
I went over to the chair that she was in and hugged her. We didn’t hug often, but I could tell that she was worried about me.
“You look like you’re glowing.” She noted.
“I am,” I said as I searched the less-than-crowded salon for my favorite nail tech.
She came from the back, fresh towels in hand, ready to give me the best pedicure of my life.
I sat in the chair next to Daya and put my feet in the bowl.
We talked the entire time, laughing in sync at random jokes, and I knew everyone in the salon was tired of us. I missed her bad; this was the type of thing that we normally did at home, when I lay across her bed.
After her pedicure, she still sat in the seat until Sarah finished mine. I paid for our visit, and then we headed outside.
“You want to grab lunch really quick?” she asked.
“Do I? I could take a seafood boil. I need some sodium in my life. I’ve had enough bland food to last a lifetime.” I scoffed.
She turned to me.
“So now we’re keeping secrets. You’re really not going to tell me who this mystery man is?” she asked.
“I told you his name is Ricardo.”
“And I’ve felt like that was a lie. A black man named Ricardo?”
She made me laugh so hard that I snorted.
“Girl. Yes. You have my location, so you have his address if anything goes wrong. But I feel like it’s just something I want to protect right now. I don’t need the negative thoughts surrounding it before it grows.”
She watched the smile on my face with a skeptical look.
“I don’t have any. But I guess I understand.” She nodded and opened the door to the seafood restaurant two doors down from the nail salon.
Once we finished eating, I checked my phone. No messages or calls from Rocko, which was a little unlike him, but I knew he was likely busy. It was almost six, which meant that I wouldn’t make it back until 9 p.m.