Chapter Five
Chelsea
Challenge: Spend a day eating vegan
On the following Thursday, as Elizabeth and I were walking toward the downtown mall together, my phone buzzed. Her new job had weird noon-to-midnight hours, so she was trying to squeeze in her editing work in the morning at the library.
She’d been monologuing since we left her house. “I’m way behind on deadline for that book on Proust. I didn’t think this job would take any more time than bartending had, but I’m exhausted in a way I didn’t anticipate.”
“Hold up.” I stopped to read a text from an unknown number.
I’ve got an idea for how to help you with the list.
Can I bring you something?
I stared at it, deciphering it for a long moment before I connected the dots. I hadn’t added Bas’s number to my contacts back when he’d scrawled it on a Post-it in his kitchen, and when he hadn’t called me in nearly a week, I’d sort of decided he’d lost interest after all.
“The eagle has landed,” I said.
Elizabeth craned her neck to read. “Wow. I can’t believe you gave him your number. Are you going to tell him where you live, too?”
“Ha.” There was no way I would tell some guy where I lived. I was nowhere near that trusting. How can you cut someone dangerous out of your life if they know where to find you?
Still. The dinner Bas had cooked me had been one of the most delicious meals I’d had in recent memory. And the company had been surprisingly entertaining. He’d charmed or stunned me into giving away a state secret. I instantly regretted giving him my number and braced myself for a barrage of u up? texts, but he’d shown serious restraint. Or maybe he really didn’t care either way.
Now I was intrigued by what he might want to bring me.
I’m on my way to work. Can you meet me at the coffee shop?
To that I got a heart emoji.
Great. I’d be on edge all morning, thinking about him.
“Are you smiling?” Elizabeth asked.
I pressed my lips together. “Nope.”
“It figures you’d be the one to keep a guy’s interest. It’s like how cats always settle on the person who hates cats.”
I slid my phone into my bag, recalling how Evan had finally reached out to her, only to warn her he’d taken a job in town. “I honestly thought Evan was interested.”
“He was. Just not in me.” Her scowl made her look more irritated than hurt, but I could hear it in her voice, how her throat constricted as she swallowed down the rejection. “Apparently, he thought he’d gone home with the person I was pretending to be.”
I scoffed. “I call bullshit. You came clean about the prank as soon as we left the bar, and he seemed to roll with it. Was he willfully delusional? Or is this more reverse gaslighting?”
“I guess he heard what he wanted.” She let out a ragged breath.
“Wow.” I shook my head. I’d been so convinced he was in on the joke. “And he blames you?”
“He thinks he went home with a total stranger.” She looked both ways before stepping into the crosswalk. “I guess it’s weirding him out. I told you that night it would be a bad idea.”
I hurried across the street after her. “So he doesn’t even want to see you? Maybe get to know you? That’s fucked up.”
She shrugged. “My theory is he wants to be free to play the field here, and that was an easy excuse to let me down.”
“Sounds like something I’d do,” I tried to joke. Elizabeth didn’t need to be mixed up with the male equivalent of me. “Maybe you dodged a bullet.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s been here all week, and I haven’t heard from him or seen him, so it’s best I just put him out of my mind.”
Her bravado wasn’t the least bit convincing, and I was angry with Evan for writing her off without finding out what a gem of a human she was, but she could do so much better. “Well, it’s his loss.”
She paused and shot me a puppy-dog look. “I thought we’d had a real spark. More fool me.”
I laid a hand on her arm, pulling her in for a hug. “You didn’t imagine it. He was super into you. Who wouldn’t be? But he isn’t worth it if he can’t get past a misunderstanding.”
A trembling laugh shook her as she broke away. “At least his job must be at a different station. To think, last week, I’d sort of hoped we’d be working together.”
“Oh God, yeah. That would have been hella awkward.”
As we reached the coffee shop, Elizabeth hitched her computer bag up her shoulder and asked, “Can you spot me a coffee for my walk? I’ve got to wake up so I can turn the edits in on this book before I head back to the news station where I can find new and creative ways to fuck up.” She flowed into the shop ahead of me, still talking.
I clocked in, slipped on an apron, and squeezed behind the counter to begin a dreadfully boring eight-hour shift. Elizabeth hung out with me long enough for me to make her a freebie latte, grumbling about the job she’d only just started. I was tempted to ask if she’d like to trade places, but I sent her off with a Biscotti and an admonition to give the job a chance. “You’ve got this. You once convinced a stranger he knew you in high school.”
“Too soon, man.”
She pulled open the door right as Bas stepped through. He moved back, arm bracing the door open for Elizabeth, and exchanged a friendly greeting with her. Elizabeth glanced back at me with a wicked grin, and Bas’s eyes shot in my direction. I waved, eager to see what he’d surprise me with.
He waited in line, then plopped a plastic box on the counter, peeling back the lid as he narrated. “It’s a vegan pita—roasted red pepper falafel with tahini sauce.” He’d wrapped it in parchment paper.
I didn’t mean to, but I exclaimed, “Oh my God. I love you. You’re the best.”
I waved Natasha over to man the register and slid the box down the counter so I could investigate. It smelled freaking amazing. “Nom.”
It was hard to remember why I didn’t normally encourage this level of attention when he set another Tupperware bowl down. “And roasted potatoes in a ladolemono sauce.”
“Ladolemono?” I echoed, probably butchering it.
“It’s Greek. Made with lemons and olive oil.” He dragged his teeth across his lips, like he had more to say but wasn’t sure. “Lemons are…”
“What?”
He huffed out a breath with a laugh. “Well, lemons symbolize love, fidelity, and good luck. Also, they’re very delicious.”
“So when life gives you lemons?”
“Squeeze the day.” He rolled his lips into his mouth, fighting back a laugh.
I stepped back, pointing at him accusatorily. “You set me up.”
“I’m sorry. I only have pickup limes.”
“Stop.” I glanced at Natasha, who was working the register, to see if she was laughing at this, but she just looked haggard. I needed to get back to work before Todd reprimanded me again.
I lifted the two containers so I could move them to the fridge. “Thanks, Bas. This is above and beyond.”
“When do you get off work?” he asked, and I sighed. I thought he’d understood I wasn’t capable of giving him whatever it was he seemed to want from me.
“Bas, I appreciate this gift, but—”
He held up his hands, all innocence. “It’s just that I’m making salted-caramel banana pudding. I’d really love a guinea pig. And if you wanted to check off that vegan day, I can feed you dinner.”
Elizabeth and I were getting so close to adding potential vacation spots across the ocean. I’d never been to Europe. It was a dream.
Secretly, I loved having an excuse to say yes to spending more time with Bas, even if it was scary to let him insinuate himself into my life.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “No pressure, but have you tried the Thai peanut noodles?”
I hadn’t. “Are they new?”
“Something I’m testing out.” His mouth curved up, like he thought he was coaxing me into a decision I’d made when he asked me when I got off work. “Along with a coconut curry soup.”
Fuck me. “I get off work at six.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. I’ll meet you here.” With a wave, he headed out the door, and I apologized to Natasha as I got back to work, buoyed by a flicker of anticipation I ought to have quashed.
It was dangerous, this game we were playing. Bas had an easygoing charm that made me want to let down my guard, but I’d been sucker punched by preening men before.
One of my earliest memories, when I was nine, was the day my dad came home from work, celebrating a raise or a bonus. He picked me up and kissed me and said, “Chelsea, how would you like to go to Disney World?”
I could picture my mom twisting a dish towel in her hand, worrying. “Wayne, how can we afford that?”
My dad pulled out a wad of cash and let it fly. I ran around picking up fives and tens, laughing. It looked like play money. I’d never seen so much in my life. It seemed like a fortune. Disney had been a child’s dream I’d never even allowed myself to entertain.
Dad stood there like a hero. I ran over and hugged him, burying my face in his stomach, lavishing him with love. I was so happy.
That was the first time I remember him ever shoving me. Not hard. He knocked me away with the back of his hand and said, “Jesus, Mel. You’re raising a cocktease.”
I didn’t know what that meant. I thought it was a kind of dog for years. But the words stuck, and one day I understood them.
Of course, we never went to Disney. That promise had been completely empty, calculated to win him momentary praise. Maybe he’d actually wanted to make us happy. I never knew if he intended to follow through. He came home the next week with a widescreen TV. I would have loved that TV if I hadn’t known what it had cost me. I was nine, though, and naively asked him, “What about Disney, Dad?”
He was showing off the TV to his friends. They were drinking and snickering. He puffed up his chest and said, “Disney is for princesses, Chelsea.”
They all laughed at that.
I went to my room, pulled my Jasmine dress off the hanger, and stuffed it into the trash. My mom came up later and rocked me. I remember she said, “Hush. Hush,” but I wanted to scream.
I wanted her to scream, to stand up for me, for her. To walk away. She never did.
He did a couple of years later—for a few days that first time. He didn’t leave us for good until much, much later.
The first time, I felt nothing but relief, but my mom lost herself in depression and frantic attempts to chase him down and try to bring him back. I never knew what promises she made to him, but he came back, worse than before, like he had her at a total disadvantage and knew it.
That was when he started in on me. She might have protected me before, but she caved into herself. I think she regretted bringing him back. Maybe she’d convinced herself she couldn’t live without him, but we couldn’t live with him, either.
It scared me that love could blind someone to their own better interests. Part of me couldn’t forgive her for not being the one to leave him. She should have taken me and gone somewhere safe. But she stayed.
I never wanted to be that weak, to need someone until I couldn’t separate myself from him. To be at his mercy for my happiness, and to open myself to such grief when he eventually disappointed me.
But this was all Old Chelsea terrain, of course, the knee-jerk self-protection and fear. I wanted to fight against my natural reaction, prove to myself I could take a risk. So that’s why I said yes to Basil’s invitation.
When I got off work, I discovered him waiting outside, bottle of wine in hand. “Change in plans.”
“Is this a bait and switch?” I said, pulling my coat on. November had finally decided to make its presence known.
“Sort of.” He started walking, and I began to follow even though I had no idea where we were going. “But not like you think.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Do you trust me?”
What an odd question. Logically, I shouldn’t. Not yet. But I did, and somehow had since the first night we met. Maybe that was how murderers got away with it, though. “Up until you try to load me into a white panel van.”
He laughed. “I bet if that van was stocked with tiramisu, you might think about it.”
He wasn’t wrong. “So what happened with the market kitchen?”
“I got in trouble, and I just needed to get away.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Ryan, my manager, started a new protocol, and I can’t seem to adhere to it. And now I have to go back tonight and redo a bunch of orders. I’m so tired of that little dictator.”
I’d never heard him so off-kilter. He usually exuded an unflappable optimism. I kind of liked flustered, ruffled, bitchy Bas.
“Do you want to call this off? Rain check?” I’d be disappointed if he did. The only thing getting me through the afternoon shift was the promise of experimental Bas food.
“What? No way. This is the only thing that’s gotten me through this day,” he said, like an echo of my thoughts. “You’re gonna cheer me up.”
It surprised me that anyone thought I was capable of cheering them up. I was usually the grumpy one. In fact, my parents had called me Lucy, as in Charlie Brown’s Lucy, when I was a kid, and not because of my hair.
“Todd,” I said.
“Todd?”
“Todd’s my little dictator. I’m too old to be scolded for messing up an order.”
He nodded. “We should stage a coup.”
“Overthrow our managerial overlords?” I laughed at the image.
“See? You’re cheering me up already.”
“Sometimes I wonder what I’m even doing with my life.” I couldn’t figure out how he got me to share thoughts normally reserved for Elizabeth. “You’re at least creating something original.”
“I hear you’re an artist.” He leaned into me. “Maybe someday you’ll show me some of your work.”
I loved that he reminded me of that. I wasn’t an artiste , but I did create original work. And one day, maybe I could make that my entire identity, instead of wasting away steaming milk.
When he turned off the pedestrian mall onto a side street, I said, “So where are we going?”
“Actually, we’re here.”
Here was a fairly nondescript building I’d never even noticed before. I went in as he held the door open for me, instantly overwhelmed by a mix of aromas and the sounds of voices and clattering.
Bas waved at a woman at the front desk as he ushered me through. “Hi, Fiona. Told you I’d be back.”
Then he led me through to an enormously busy restaurant kitchen. “What is this?”
“It’s a shared space. I’ve rented a side kitchen.” He wound through the open area, around stainless steel counters, and led me to a tiny room with food preparation already underway.
“Thanks for standing guard, Jess,” he said to a girl standing over a soup pot. “I can take over.”
“Smells fantastic,” she said. The beads adorning her long dreads swung as she turned and gave me a once-over. “You’re a lucky girl. Whenever Bas tests out recipes, we all hope to be his guinea pigs.”
Jess left us alone, and I moved around, taking in the places set on the stainless steel, complete with two wineglasses and the bottle of Riesling. Bas turned the gas on under a saucepan, and I just watched him, quietly going about his business, stirring a soup that began to emit the smells of coconut and spice. How had I landed a front row on his cooking show?
Could there be anything sexier than a man who could cook?
I settled onto the stool. “Please don’t tell me you’re coconuts for me.”
He burst out laughing, and I had to smile, too. It chiseled at the ice in my heart whenever he laughed like that. He was just too easy to like. So, so dangerous. He’d been too clever, creating this loophole. This wasn’t a date. Hell, it wasn’t even a restaurant. It was a no-man’s land, and he’d tricked me right into his trap.
He poured me a glass of Riesling, saying, “I’m gonna get jalape?o business in a minute.”
“Oh God,” I said, laughing until he carefully set down a bowl of soup before me. It smelled deliciously of curry and coconut. A plate of the promised Thai peanut noodles soon joined the table, and my God, I could taste the aroma. I suspected Bas could make tap water flavorful.
As he sat and picked up his spoon, he said, “So Evan is staying with me this week, or until he finds a place. He took a job over at the news station.”
“Don’t I know about it.” Elizabeth had been blowing up my phone all day after he showed up at her newsroom today. Bas looked at me quizzically. “Didn’t he tell you Elizabeth works there, too?”
“What?” He snorted. “Small world. I haven’t talked to him today. I was going to suggest we get the gang back together again. What do you think?”
It was so weird that three weeks ago, we didn’t know each other, and Bas was talking about a reunion. “I think it might be too soon.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t push it.
I took a bite of the noodles and changed the subject to our dinner, leaning into the pretense that I was a guinea pig. I didn’t have to lie at all. He was so good with food, it made me wonder why he was working in a grocery store kitchen. But I didn’t know him well enough to ask such a personal question. Still, it saddened me to think of his talent going to waste.
None of my business. If he was happy, that was all that mattered.
He cleared the plates, brought me a cup of coffee, and plated the salted-caramel banana pudding. When he set it before me, I thought I might drool. I’d grown up on banana pudding, and it was a comfort food. “My mom used to make this for me.”
“Yeah?” He tasted a bit. “What do you associate it with?”
I scooped some and licked my spoon, moaning as the sweet pudding coated my tongue. His eyes followed, like he’d rather be licking me. “It’s a good memory. It was a summertime treat. Makes me think of evenings out on the back deck, sticky hot, swatting at gnats.”
“That’s a good memory?”
“How did you spend your summers? I bet little Bas was a hottie.”
He flicked his eyes away, and I laughed at how fun it was to compliment him. He always looked so pleased. “I spent my summers doing a shit-ton of chores, washing cars, mowing lawns.”
“For money?”
“Sometimes, if I was lucky. Usually as punishment.”
“No.” The spoon froze suspended in midair. “You were a troublemaker?”
“A little bit. My parents can be overbearing.”
“At the end of the day, I bet they love you very much.”
“Yeah, they do.” He pursed his lips. “But, even though they mean well, they often leave me feeling like I can never measure up. It makes me afraid to even try sometimes. Getting to second place has never felt like a victory.”
“They push you too much?”
“I know they mean well, but God, they expect so much from me. My brother, Nicky, does everything right, and I do everything wrong.”
“Poor Bas.” I gave him an exaggerated pout.
He smiled. “On the other hand, I’m the baby, so I’m kind of spoiled. No way my brother could have wasted his life in a kitchen.”
“Is that how they see what you do?”
He frowned, and it was the first time I’d seen a black cloud cross his face. He exhaled. “It’s pretty much how I see what I do.”
I’d fallen right into this personal conversation, but I discovered I cared. I wanted to be the one who cheered him up. “Well, I think what you do is magic. What’s your brother do that’s so important?”
“He’s a surgeon.”
“Oh, right.” He’d told me that last week. “Surgery’s overrated. I bet he can’t make macarons.”
Bas laughed, and I felt lighter for having cheered him up. “Nicky would never.”
“See there? You’re way more evolved.” As I said it, I wondered about how true that was. I didn’t like how easy it was to like Bas. My hard-wired instinct was to pull up the drawbridge, protect myself behind my walls, but he was like water flowing, so calm and quiet, seeping in like a trickle turning to a flood. If I didn’t start bailing, it would be too late to push him back out. “And this banana pudding is proof there’s a god.”
He turned his smile to full blast. “Thanks. You have no idea how much it has meant to me to be able to share this with someone who appreciates it. It’s healing a long-neglected part of my soul.”
Drip, drip. Everything he said or did was eroding the walls Old Chelsea had carefully constructed. They were there for a reason. They kept bad guys out. But try as I might, I couldn’t cast Bas as a villain.
He took another bite of pudding, looking like he was feigning indifference. “Did I see something about a picnic on your list?”
That was indeed one. “You have a good memory.”
“I remember the food ones.”
“Of course you would.”
When he said, “I’ve got another idea to help,” old habit made me want to say, “No, thanks. Let’s call it a day.”
But I’d come this far, and Dr. Rubin told me to let success be my motivation. So I made a joke. “You are single-handedly going to launch me to France.”
“Is a trip to France what you get for completing the list?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and cradled his coffee mug, blowing into it before taking a sip.
“I’ll never complete the list, but points unlock destinations.”
“How many points do you need for France?”
I ignored the coffee and reached for my wineglass. “Something like fifty between the two of us.”
“And how many do you have?”
“Maybe thirty-four?” Then I recalled the vegan day. “Or thirty-five, thanks to you.”
“How many points to go to Greece?”
“God, I wish.” I’d dreamed of traveling to the Mediterranean since I’d been able to spell it.
“Yeah?”
“It’s on my bucket list. Have you ever been?”
He barely shook his head. “My extended family always shames me for failing to visit them.”
“Why don’t you?”
He stared into his coffee, and I realized this must be a loaded question. “I see my uncle and yia yia periodically. Do you know how often I heard, ‘Oh, Basil, you never visit us. You live so far away. I’ll be dead soon.’ My uncle has this hotel restaurant in Vouliagmeni, and they’re always nagging at me to go over and visit.”
“Seriously? Where’s that?”
“It’s near Athens. Can you imagine? My mom, who thinks Charlottesville is on another planet, wants me to move to Greece. Just like that.” He exhaled an adorable, long-suffering sigh.
I couldn’t believe he was scoffing at such an opportunity. “Take me!”
“You want to run away to Greece with me?”
“I’d jump on that invitation in a heartbeat.”
I was one glass of wine away from jumping on him . He kept revealing these parts of himself that made me wonder where he’d been all my life. I wanted to touch him, to taste him again. “You’ve got something,” I lied, “right here.”
He leaned in as I reached over to run my thumb across his lower lip. His tongue darted out to assist, brushing me, and I just froze, looking at him. It was no great hardship to gaze upon Bas. My palm settled against his cheek, the smooth bronze skin roughened by day-old scruff. He had such complex eyes: gentle but fiery, dark but full of light. And the way they looked at me now, curiosity vying with desire, made me want to climb over the table and straddle him.
His hand wrapped around my wrist, and he turned into my hand, pressing those perfect lips against my palm. Such a small touch, but the butterflies it loosed traveled down my belly and fluttered between my thighs. I pulled my hand back, grabbed my wineglass, and downed the rest of my drink to smother them.
I expected him to reach over and try again. At the very least, he’d ask me what the hell was wrong with me, sending mixed signals. What do you want? The trouble was I didn’t know, and I’d just made things awkward.
But he didn’t do either of those things. As if nothing had happened, he said, “So how about it? Saturday morning, all four of us on the UVA Lawn.”
“For?”
“The picnic.”
Oh, right. Clever. He had no idea how much Elizabeth loved an excuse to hang out on the Lawn in the fall. “I don’t think she’ll go if Evan will be there. Things are kind of awkward between them right now.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So let’s not tell them.”
“What?” I leaned forward, like I hadn’t heard him right. “Are you suggesting we trick our friends into spending time together?”
He tilted his head. “Are you going to tell me you’ve never played a trick on anyone?”
I sort of loved that he’d come up with it. And yes, Elizabeth and I fucked with each other on the regular. Please see: the night we met these two guys. But I knew that, despite her protests to the contrary, she really liked Evan, and I didn’t want to make a bad situation worse. Or give him another chance to use her and throw her away.
“I can’t promise to produce her, but I’ll get a read on the situation and decide from there. Okay?”
He had that mischievous look that always reminded me of the first night we met. “I’m already preparing the menu.”
“Because of course you are.”