Chapter 11 - June
June
Whenever I take a sleeping pill, I’m always groggy and irritable the next morning. For the first time, I awake refreshed.
I glance at my bedroom window and my good mood dims when I remember last night’s events. Will the police find the asshole who broke into my apartment?
The officers who showed up last night were understanding, but I sensed they aren’t going to treat my situation with urgency. No surprise. In a large city, the police would have a lot of cases to deal with.
A delicious scent floats through my bedroom, distracting me from worry. My stomach grumbles. It must be nice for whoever is going to enjoy the source of that smell. I’m stuck with microwaved oatmeal for breakfast again.
I get out of bed and head for my bedroom door, then pause. Oh, right. Malcolm spent the night. If he hasn’t left already, he’s probably in the living room. I look down at my tank top and underwear. I should wear something a little more appropriate.
After I put on a pair of shorts, I head to the living room. The pillow I lent Malcolm is on top of the neatly folded sheet on my loveseat, and I hear the familiar hiss of something frying. What a pleasant surprise. That tasty scent is coming from my kitchen.
I find Malcolm standing by the stove, scrambling eggs. Strips of bacon lie on a plate lined with a paper towel on the counter. Both of us freeze when our gazes meet, the egg’s gentle hiss filling the silence.
Seeing him reminds me of the hug last night. Fresh embarrassment courses through me. I will never get over that I did something so cringey.
Wait, I remember something else. I dreamt about him! It was my first dirty dream in a long time. It felt so real. He was on top of me and he growled something in my ear.
I want to fuck you so bad.
My face warms and I avert my gaze to the bacon. Maybe I need to make an appointment with my old therapist. There’s something wrong with me. I developed a crush on a man I’ve always seen like an uncle and I’m having sex dreams about him too.
“Slept well?” he asks, stirring the eggs with a wooden spoon.
“Yeah.” Too well. Instead of having bad dreams like I usually do, I had a naughty one about him. “What about you? Was the loveseat comfortable?”
“I slept on the floor.”
He doesn’t say anything else. I’m a little confused by his terse reply, so I change the subject.
“Last I checked, there wasn’t any bacon or eggs in my fridge.”
“I went out and got a few things. I wanted you to have a proper breakfast before you left for work.”
I smile. “Aw, you’re the best. It’s been a long time since anyone made me breakfast.”
He returns my smile. “I like taking care of you.”
Dammit. When he says stuff like that, he’s just making the wrong feelings I have for him grow stronger. He knocks the spoon against the side of the pan, shaking bits of egg loose.
“These are done. Grab some plates.”
He plates the eggs and bacon, and we take our meal over to my small dining table. While I butter a slice of fresh bread, he pours hot water from the kettle into cups with instant coffee.
I fork some of the eggs into my mouth. They’re soft, and the onions, black pepper, and basil make them flavourful and delicious.
“Wow, these are really good. Way better than how I normally eat eggs.”
“How do you eat them?”
“Shake a little salt on them and cook them in the microwave.”
He pauses eating and gives me a horrified look.
“That’s a crime and you ought to be arrested.”
I laugh. “I’m a lazy cook, OK? I hope my future husband doesn’t expect a tradwife, because he’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“I doubt it. Any man who gets to call you his will feel like the luckiest bastard on the planet, sweetheart.” He moves on before I can recover from the glow inside me. “For a second there, I thought I wouldn’t be able to make breakfast. I had to dig around in your cupboards to find that pan.”
“Yeah, that’s Penny’s pan. She forgot it when she moved out. I only use my instant pot and microwave to cook food.”
“So you never use the stove?”
I shake my head. “It’s just there for decoration. You saw what happened the last time I used one.”
He doesn’t respond right away, but his eyes hold understanding.
“June, you were only a kid,” he says in a gentle voice.
“A stupid one.”
“No. Being stupid is choosing to do something when you know it will have bad consequences. But you didn’t know. Your parents hadn’t taught you about it yet. Lots of adults don’t even know that throwing water on a grease fire only makes it worse.”
I chew on a strip of bacon as I remember that evening. Daphne and Nathan were with their friends. I was supposed to go to a sleepover but I had a stomachache. Since Mom was on a night shift, Dad was supposed to stay with me. He left, saying he’ll be back in a minute.
Eventually, I got hungry. I waited for Dad to come back and make me something to eat, but minutes feel like months at that age. I went to the kitchen to make myself some French fries. I’d watched Mom make them before and thought I could do it too.
Except, I left the oil on for too long. When I put the frozen fries in, there was a loud, angry hiss. Hot oil spattered everywhere, and flames shot up from the pot.
Panicked, I filled a bowl with water and tossed it onto the fire. Instead of putting it out, I made it worse. The flames ballooned and latched onto the wooden cupboard.
I froze up, watching the fire spread in seconds. A fire marshal had come to our school once and taught us what to do in case of a fire. I forgot everything I’d learned and ran down into the basement to hide.
I was so scared. All I could think about was how I would be in huge trouble once Mom and Dad got home. As the fire grew and flooded the house with smoke, I realized my parents being mad wasn’t the scariest thing. I was going to die.
Then Malcolm was there, rushing down the basement stairs, scooping me into his arms, holding me tight.
It’s OK, Jujube.
I’ll get you out of here.
“Dad would’ve known if he’d been there.” I fail to mask the bitterness in my voice. “He was supposed to be there for me, but he left. Good thing you showed up or I would’ve been ashes.”
“Thanks to your mom.” Malcolm’s expression turns pensive. “If she hadn’t called me—”
“She called you because she couldn’t get a hold of Dad when she tried to check up on me.” I scowl. “You want to know why she couldn’t reach him?”
I open my mouth to say the rest, then snap it shut. Malcolm stares at me.
“I know why.”
My eyes widen. “You do? How did you find out?”
“He told me.” He sips his coffee and sets down his cup. “He said he suspected you knew too.”
Before Dad left me alone that evening, he was on the phone with a woman who didn’t sound like Mom.
I can come over, but it’ll have to be quick. My daughter’s sick.
I didn’t know what it meant at the time, but I had a feeling I shouldn’t tell Mom because it would make her angry at Dad. As I got older, I figured out what that call meant, and I’m still not over his betrayal.
My father left me home alone while I was sick, sneaking off to cheat on my mother. In his absence, I almost died.
I sip my coffee, then stare into the brown liquid.
“I never told Mom. I didn’t want to cause more trouble after burning down the house. I’ve always felt like I betrayed her too by keeping Dad’s secret all these years.”
“You don’t have to feel that way,” he says, his tone consoling. “Your mom knows what Paul did. Just before I enlisted, your parents went to marriage counselling. Nicole was going to leave your Dad but he begged her for another chance.”
“I never knew that. They must have done it in secret.” I bite my lips together. “It was pointless because Dad has had other affairs. Mom stays with him for some reason.”
Malcolm taps his finger on the table in thought before he speaks.
“Your grandma used to call Paul greedy when we were kids. The nights I stayed over, I remember he used to look at what’s on my plate at dinner time and complain I got more food or something better than he did, even though it was the same damn thing.
” He lets out an amused huff, then shakes his head.
“It’s unfortunate he still has that mindset, never satisfied with the good thing he has right in front of him.
” He fixes his gaze on me. “I’m not like that.
I never take my eyes off the prize. And when I win it, I’m not letting go, no matter what. ”
My stomach flips and my heart beats a little faster. His words and meaningful stare are putting wrong ideas in my head.
His eyes are on me.
Am I the prize?
No. That’s impossible. I’m his best friend’s daughter. Eyes on the prize is just a figure-of-speech too. Once again, I leapt to wild and totally incorrect conclusions.
Malcolm stands and gathers up our empty plates and cups. He takes them to the sink and washes them. I watch him for a moment, liking how he looks at home.
My gaze drifts to the clock on the wall and I stiffen. I’m going to be late for work if I don’t leave in the next twenty minutes.
I hurry to the bathroom for a quick shower. There’s a pinkish purple blemish on the inside of my right thigh, but I’m too rushed to give it much thought.
When I’m dressed and ready to go, I find Malcolm sitting in the loveseat. He stands and hands me a clear plastic baggie with a sandwich inside.
“Put it in the fridge so it keeps until your lunch break.”
He drove two hours to take me home, spent the night to keep me safe and ease my fear, made me breakfast in the morning, and made me lunch too.
No-one has went through so much effort for me ever since I left my parents’ house. He wasn’t lying when he said he likes taking care of me.
I resist the urge to hug him. It’s hard because I really want to. The last time I did that, I made things weird. I thank him and take the sandwich, slotting it carefully inside the side-pocket in my handbag.
“Do you need a ride to work?” he asks.
I should say no so I’m not taking advantage of his generosity, but I’m greedy for the last moments left to enjoy his company before he leaves the city.
“I’d love that. You have a day off today?”
“No, my job started an hour ago.” He smiles when my eyebrows lift. “It’s OK. I called ahead and told them I’d be late.”
“Thank god. I didn’t want to be the reason you got fired.”
He chuckles, then his expression turns serious.
“I want to run something by you before we leave.” He pauses. “You said you were struggling with the rent for this place. What if I helped out by moving into the spare bedroom?”
“Oh. Wow.” I blink, processing his offer. “What about your job? Your commute will be ridiculous.”
“I’m a subcontractor. I can move around. The company I subcontract for has work sites in the GTA.”
Why am I hesitating when the decision is a no-brainer? I’ll save a lot of money and his protective presence will be a huge peace of mind. I wouldn’t have to worry about any assholes climbing through my window with an ex-military roommate around.
I know why I’m debating this. There’s been a weird vibe between us since we reconnected.
Also, I kind of… sort of… probably have the teeniest, tiniest crush on him, which made me give him a creepy hug. Worst of all, I had a filthy dream about him where my twisted brain made him say he wanted to fuck me.
It feels like it’s not a good idea for us to live together. Alone.
He lets out a short laugh. “Your face says you don’t like the idea. And that’s fine. It was just a suggestion.”
“No, I like it a lot, actually.”
Saying that fills me with conviction. I’m worrying over nothing. Inappropriate energy, feelings, and dreams are meaningless and temporary. What’s truly wrong are actions. Malcolm and I will never go that far.
I give him a huge smile and stick my hand out.
“Welcome to your new home, roommate.”
Satisfaction gleams in Malcolm’s eyes as he takes my hand and shakes it.