Chapter Eleven #2
“But he doesn’t scare me or anything necessarily,” I add, lifting my shoulders. “He’s just…a lot. Maybe if he gets scared straight and does some sort of mandatory sexual harassment course, things will be better. I don’t know.”
It’s the best I can offer her right now.
Thankfully, she accepts it. “Okay then. I’ll talk to a few more people and figure it out. Thank you for being honest with me.”
I stand and go to the door.
“Oh. And, Winnie?”
I turn to her.
“You’ll be expected to go to this weekend’s event at the food bank with Mr. Moskins,” she informs me, not looking up from her computer. “I confirmed with his agent this morning.”
I don’t know if the tingly, fluttery feeling in my stomach is good or bad. But something tells me I’ll find out on Saturday.
*
Kourtney passes me the plate of steaming food before dropping into the spot beside me on the couch. She props her feet up on the coffee table with a groan of relief. “It feels so good to sit down. I’ve been prepping my classroom for the new school year and chasing Luca around all day.”
I don’t bother asking where Brad is because I don’t really care. It’s nice to spend time with just her and Luca. It means we can eat on the couch and put something trashy on the TV that usually involves finding love behind walls or the lives of Utah wives.
“He’s got a new fixation,” she tells me with her mouth half-full of the rice she stuffed in it.
My eyebrows go up. “What is it now? I thought he’d just gotten interested in car washes. I even bought him that toy where the cars change colors in cold water.”
Kourtney loads one of the streaming services and starts searching for our show. “He still likes car washes, but he’s more interested in how vending machines work. He asked for one for Christmas this year.”
I snicker. “A vending machine?”
“He doesn’t even care if there’s candy in it,” she retorts, face scrunched at the thought. “Or soda. Or anything fun. He just wants a plain old vending machine so he can figure out how it functions.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I love this kid,” I muse, snorting at the idea of him with his little toolbox that I got him last year for his birthday, and taking apart every mechanism inside.
Luca—sweet, smart Luca—is on the spectrum. He’s always been a brilliant kid, but he’s had a struggle with reading social cues. But he’s truly one of the kindest souls I know. And when he loves, he loves hard.
“So, are you going to get him one?” I ask, poking my pork chop with my fork. “Because if you’re not, I’ll find a way.”
She eyes me. “How? By stealing one? Do you know how expensive those things are? I had to Google it. Go on. Guess.”
I don’t. “There is one at work that nobody uses because the only things left in it are trail mix and strawberry Pop-Tarts.”
I’m not sure who is supposed to stock it, but they’ve neglected it all year.
My sister is contemplative. “I liked the strawberry ones.”
I don’t comment on that because then I’d have to point out that she’s always had bad taste in things. Like men. “I’m just saying, we could probably figure out how to take the one from work. It’s in an alcove, but—”
“We’re not stealing a vending machine,” she says, laughing as she tosses a piece of carrot at me. “Those bitches are heavy, and we have no vehicle to transport something that size.”
She’s totally considered stealing one. “I guess you’re right,” I mumble defeatedly.
When I glance down at where Luca is sprawled on the floor, I see him hyper-focused with his blue headphones on and his iPad in his hand. He’s watching a YouTube video on machine mechanisms, looking fully enthralled by whatever the narrator is saying.
“See?” Kourtney says.
I nod. “He could be into video games,” I point out. “Or saying six-seven and laughing hysterically, even though nobody knows what that even means.”
A scowl that reminds me a little too much of Moskins appears on her face. “Don’t get me started. The number of eleven-year-olds that I’m going to hear that from this year is going to drive me mad.”
I do not envy her.
“So, what’s going on in your life?” she asks me after we turn on an old season of a reality show we love. “You haven’t said much since getting here.”
Damn her for being perceptive. “I don’t have much to say,” I lie, not sounding very convincing to myself.
I could tell her about my recent revelations regarding my coworker, who still hasn’t returned. Or the fact that my other coworker is mad at me for it. Or probably the juiciest update in my life, which is that I had an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced for once.
But I do not divulge any of that to her, because then she’d ask for details. And I wouldn’t be able to tell her for two reasons.
One being my NDA agreement.
And two being that I don’t want to tell her.
Kourtney isn’t usually one to judge. She’ll be the first one to tell you when she’s done something stupid. That doesn’t mean I want to admit I made a bad decision that has eaten me up since it happened.
I’ve been thinking way too much about how Moskins’s thigh felt against me. How heat spread throughout my body. How badly my nipples ached as I got closer to the edge.
It’s been a long time since anyone has touched me, and he barely did. Maybe I should be embarrassed by how easy it was to get me off. One kiss, one touch, and I was detonating.
And since then, it’s been a recurring thought I can’t get out of my head, no matter how hard I try. Then I wind up with a hand between my legs and very dirty thoughts replaying in my head.
“Spill,” Kourtney demands, pausing the show and turning to me with suspicious eyes. “You’re all flushed. What happened?”
Why do I have to be so obvious?
“I’m not,” I squeak.
“Win,” she says slowly, “you are a terrible liar. Do us both a favor and stop doing that because it’s cringey.”
I frown because she’s right. I’ve never been good at lying. One look from our parents as a child, and I would break. I hated disappointing them, and they knew it. Apparently, I haven’t honed that skill all these years later.
But I really, really don’t want to tell her about what happened.
“Winnie,” she says expectantly.
I weigh my options. If I don’t tell her something, she won’t let it go. Then it’s going to be a long night. A painful one. I’ll have to excuse myself early, which means going back to my apartment and sitting in silence.
“Winter!” Kourtney bellows, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Get with it. What aren’t you telling me?”
So much.
I’m not telling her so, so much.
And I feel bad about it because she’s always been there for me when I needed her. But I don’t need her right now. Not when it means coming clean about what I did with a married guy.
We’re not together like that, Moskins told me.
Do I really believe him? Emaly certainly doesn’t seem heartbroken over his transgressions. It would make more sense if they had some sort of…arrangement.
Oh my God.
Oh. My. God.
Am I part of some sort of arrangement between them? I’m trying not to judge, because to each their own, but what the actual fuck? Maybe this is a game for them. Maybe they’re in on this together.
Kourtney hits me in the face with a couch pillow, and I almost spill my dinner all over the floor. “Hey!” I whine, steadying my plate. “That was rude.”
“Ignoring me is rude too,” she counters unapologetically.
Fair point.
I go with a half-truth. “I think I may have accidentally gotten my coworker fired. Well, not me directly. But my client did. And it’s made work a little…” I think about all the dirty looks Farrah has shot me this week. “Tense.”
Anger instantly takes over my sister’s face, like she’s ready to fight for me without any more context. “Did they do something to you?”
Her mama bear energy is coming out, which warms my chest. “Cody—”
She groans at his name. “The guy you went out with? You said there was no policy against dating coworkers. Why would he be fired?”
“There isn’t,” I relay, scratching the column of my neck.
I never told her that he’d still been hanging around and acting weird.
Then she would have murdered him. Or done inhumane things to his favorite appendage.
I’d hate for her to be punished for protecting me.
“But he’s been persistent, and I’ve been persistently bad at telling him to fuck off because I was trying to keep the peace. ”
You know, so things don’t get weird at work like they have been. Clearly, a failed attempt that was all for nothing.
I rub a hand down my face. “I know it’s partially my fault for not being more direct with him, but—”
“Fuck that,” she spits out. “This is a grown-ass man, Win. He’s more than capable of making his own choices. He knew you weren’t interested and didn’t care. If he gets fired, that’s on him.”
Logically, I know she isn’t wrong. It’s what Janel said too. And if I bring it up to Moskins tomorrow, if I gather the courage to, then he’ll say the same thing as them. “I don’t like being the reason someone may lose something they’ve worked hard on.”
Being responsible for life-changing events places a heavy burden on people’s shoulders.
If I lost my job, what would I do? Where would I go?
I have bills. Rent. Student loans. I’d have to default or pause my payments.
Then interest would only rack up what I owe, and I’d be double-screwed.
I’d probably have to move in with Kourtney, which means hearing Brad bitch about there being no privacy.
“I don’t want to put somebody at a disadvantage where their life turns upside down,” I murmur, staring at my food.
My sister’s hand is gentle when it touches mine.
“This is nothing like what happened to our parents, if that’s what you’re thinking.
You went out on a date with someone who’s too arrogant to see his own faults.
You didn’t get behind the wheel of a car.
Cody is the one responsible for his own demise, just like Adam Burgess is responsible for what he did to Mom and Dad.
Don’t blame yourself. They wouldn’t want that for you. ”
Hearing that name sends shivers down my spine. For months after the accident, I’d had nightmares of squealing tires and sobbing screams, even though I wasn’t there. I would picture our family’s car being hit, then the person responsible speeding away.
Seeing Adam Burgess in court didn’t help. Kourtney told me not to go, but I wasn’t about to let her go alone. We’d both lost people, and I was going to face the person who caused it and be strong like she was.
That name…I haven’t let it infect my life in a very long time. I’ve refused to acknowledge it after it did so much damage. This is the first time I’ve heard her speak it in years.
My appetite wanes, which is sad because I rarely have full meals like this.
“Tell me you know I’m right,” she insists. “If you still feel bad for what happened to Mom and Dad, I need you to know it’s not your fault. Just like your coworker being a seedy motherfucker isn’t.”
I know there’s nothing I could have done to stop what happened.
If I’d gone with them, I would have simply been victim number three.
Kourtney would have lost everyone. Our grandparents on both sides passed away from a mixture of old age and illness, and we never had a lot of contact with aunts and uncles.
We’ve heard from some of them on and off over the years, especially right after the accident, but even that fizzled out as time went on and they stopped feeling guilty about our parents’ deaths.
Finally, I nod. “I know it isn’t my fault.”
“Good,” she says firmly. “I hope Cody loses his job. Guys like him skeeve me out,” she replies nonchalantly, pointing to my food. “Now eat before it gets cold.”
I roll my eyes at her motherly tone. “Yes, Mom.”
She flips me off.
I blow her a kiss.
Luca sits up, turns to us, and says, “I changed my mind. I want a claw machine for Christmas instead. Look how cool they are inside!”