The proposal, p.17
The Proposal, page 17
“You’re not good. I brought you some water.” Taking her hand, I wrapped it around the cup.
She gulped it down like she hadn’t had a drink in weeks. The top buttons of her top had come undone. One of her shoes was on and the other was against the wall. Her skirt had ridden up, nearly over her ass.
I focused on her eyes. “This should make you feel better.”
She made a murmur of appreciation and opened one eye, squinting at me. “You’re being so nice.”
“You’re hurting. I’d be an asshole if I didn’t help you out. I’m not all bad, Zara.”
“You’re not bad at all. Actually—” Her eyes bulged and she shoved her head deep down in the toilet bowl.
It seems her body had a visceral reaction to paying me the slightest compliment. I stepped out of the bathroom, turning to the only other door in the hallway.
She needed to get out of her work clothes and into something that made puking from the bathroom floor a little less terrible.
If her living room was a disaster, her bedroom was the rubble of a bombed-out city. How the hell did she live this way? There were clothes everywhere. On the bed. Scratch that, it wasn’t a bed, it was a mattress on the floor. On the floor.
On top of a dresser that gave the Leaning Tower a run for its money, cups covered every surface not covered with clothes. Some were half filled with water, some completely empty, but it was like once they came into this room they were never allowed to leave.
I approached a pile of laundry cautiously. With another tentative sniff test, I found a clean t-shirt and pair of flannel pajama pants.
Her latest bout finished, I stepped back into the bathroom, which was the only clean spot in her whole apartment. Sticking my arms under hers, I helped her off the floor.
“Rinse out your mouth and we’ll get you changed.”
She didn’t even fight me. Her forehead rested against my shoulder. That scared me. How bad did I let her get before taking her to the hospital? Her skin was clammy but cool. Usually after eating something bad, you bounced back, but the hotdog from hell had done a number on her. Fear rode me hard that the evil dog had done something beyond food poisoning.
Doing most of the work, I unbuttoned and peeled her shirt off, keeping my eyes averted as much as possible. It doesn’t mean I didn’t get an eyeful. The plain black of her bra did nothing to take away from the perfection that was her breasts. The perfect overflowing handful.
Snap out of it, Leo. She’s puking. Don’t be an asshole.
There wasn’t a barbed comment or threat from her. Only a moan every so often and the smallest bit of assistance in getting her clothes off and the pajama pants on. I tugged the top over her head and her hair fell over her face like a curtain. I brushed it away, letting my touch linger on her cheek.
“Is that better?”
Her eyes fluttered open and I got a half nod before she flung herself back at the toilet.
Holding her hair back, I rubbed up and down her spine. There was a stack of black hairbands on the counter. I took one. Gathering her hair up, I looped the band it and put it up into the world’s worst ponytail. It would have to do.
While she rested, I crossed the hallway back into her bedroom and shoved everything off the bed. Shuffling clothes out of the way of the closet door, I found a set of neatly folded sheets on the top shelf. It was like she was allergic to anything neat and organized. I shook the sheets out and quickly made her bed and swapped out the pillow cases.
A trashcan by the side of the bed and corralling the clothes into a pile beside the door, and the room was ready for her.
She rested with her head against the toilet seat with a soft snore from her lips. Her cheeks were rosy and flushed as I helped her up and to the sink to brush. With one swish of her mouth while she was practically still asleep, I lifted her up into my arms.
The short trip stretched on for way longer than the eight steps it took me to get to her bed. She was nestled close, her long limbs dangling from my hold, but it wasn’t awkward. Her cheek rested against my shoulder, with her Dr. Seuss hairdo courtesy of me.
I set her down and she curled into a ball, clutching her stomach. Tugging the blankets up over her, I pushed the trashcan right against the side of the bed.
“Zara.”
She moaned in acknowledgment, keeping her eyes closed.
I sat on the edge of the bed. It dipped under my weight and she rolled closer. Flexing my fingers, I pulled her hair out of her sloppy ponytail. A brush teetered on the edge of her sock-covered night stand. I grabbed it and ran it through her hair.
“There’s a trashcan right next to you.”
Another whimper.
“I’ll put your hair up, so it doesn’t get in your way.” Dragging it through her sun-kissed waves, I slipped the hairband around my wrist.
Her lips parted and she shifted her head to the side, so I could get to the rest of her hair, all without opening her eyes like even the dim light from the hallway was too bright.
Each pass of the brush seemed to relax her more. She wasn’t the tight ball anymore, more curled up on her side pressed against my thigh like she might be if we shared a bed.
If I hadn’t run into her that day on the street, how would things be different between us? What would working together be like if we weren’t constantly butting heads and planning on working against one another as soon as possible?
I brushed her bangs back from her forehead to feel her temperature in case it wasn’t food poisoning, but a sudden and vicious bug. Still fine, and she was less clammy. Her room was still a disaster zone, but at least her bed didn’t look like a tornado had ripped across it. The rest of the room, however…
I stood and she grabbed onto my arm.
“Don’t leave.” She opened her eyes and held onto me, her fingers weak, but determined.
“It’ll be okay. I won’t. I’ll go out into the living room and work on our plans for next week.”
She nodded and tucked both hands under her face.
On the way out, I gathered up all the clothes I saw in a bundle with the old sheets. I closed the door behind me and took stock of the rest of the apartment.
I’d start working on our plans, but first I’d pick up a few things.
23
Zara
A knocking invaded the blackness of my sleep. Slowly, I woke up, rolling over on my side. My stomach ached. Not like before, when I’d blasted into my apartment like a rocket set to explode, but my muscles were sore. The driving, twisting pain that had made me want to slam my eyes shut and never open them was gone.
The insistent knocking continued, only it wasn’t the door. Climbing out of bed, I stared down at the comfy pajamas I thought I’d lost months ago. The warm flannel pants and t-shirt weren’t what I remembered wearing to sleep.
Something was off.
My leg banged against the trashcan beside my bed. Thankfully it was empty, not filled with whatever had shot out of me from the pits of spoiled food hell.
I took two steps and it dawned on me.
My floor was spotless.
There wasn’t an article of clothing anywhere. It wasn’t just the floor that had somehow received a makeover. My dresser no longer tilted at an odd slant that made it impossible to fit the drawers in it—and every drawer was closed. It looked like the day I’d found it on the curb and not how it had ended up by the time I pushed and shoved it into the elevator and into my bedroom.
Memories from my arrival to my apartment flashed back to me. Leo asking if I’d been robbed. Had I been robbed? Why the hell would they have wanted my hand-me-down clothes?
I wished I’d kept a baseball bat or something in my room for protection—not like I’d have been able to find it. I flung open my closet door and grabbed one of my heels, all of which were sitting nicely in a row with my other shoes along the back wall.
After two more steps, it dawned on me.
A robber wouldn’t straighten my shoes. Had Leo dropped me off and let Stella into my apartment to take care of me? Embarrassment burned my cheeks. I’d managed to divert every opportunity for her to come inside, but I guess if there were one time for her to do it, it would be when I was puking my brains out for hours.
I set the shoe back in its place. All my suits were hung up in the closet. How long had I been out?
Walking to my dresser like I’d expected a maniacal jack in the box to pop out, I tugged open the drawer. My shirts were neatly folded and organized by color. In the next drawer, my jeans and pajama pants were folded the same way. Bracing myself, I pulled on the top drawer. The bundles of fabric were dropped inside, not meticulously transformed into origami swans.
Of course she’d do this. Everything about her apartment screamed PTA mom who’d make everything from scratch, including decorations for the school dance. I’d owe her after this.
The knocking continued and I walked out into the hallway. Metal on metal clanged behind the slatted accordion door next to me. I yanked open the lid half expecting to find a serial killer, not the overstuffed load of laundry I’d been jamming in there for weeks. Everything was bunched up on one side. I shifted things around, including a handful of my underwear, and closed the lid. It rumbled back to life without any more knocking. I jumped back when the dryer buzzer went off. This was The Twilight Zone crossed with a slightly disconcerting fantasy I’d often had of waking up and finding everything magically done for me.
Stella had outdone herself, and the pit in my stomach opened even wider. What had she thought when she’d walked in here and seen the way I lived? I could never face her again. I’d have to leave and come back to my apartment only when I knew she wouldn’t be awake, or was watching wrestling. Why’d she have to be so nice? A whole case of Tastykakes were in her future to make up for this, and I’d set them down on her doorstep under the cover of night.
The front door swung open.
“Stella, you didn’t have to—”
Only it wasn’t Stella.
“You’re awake.” Leo smiled, walking in with his arms full of brown paper grocery bags just like in the movies. He kicked the door closed and dropped the key ring on the kitchen counter before unpacking the bags.
“And you’re here.” I stepped out into the living room, acutely aware of how disheveled I looked, how run down I felt, and the fact that my breath could peel the paint off a car.
He pulled open a cabinet and stuck some boxes inside before closing it again. “I stepped out for a bit for supplies.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know, but you needed it.” He nodded toward the ramshackle shitstorm that was my home.
Tears threatened at his attempts to get this place in order. It’s why I’d left it like this too long. Can’t look at it if you never turn the lights on, or aren’t here for longer than it takes to get a little sleep and do it all again tomorrow. Anything was better than facing it. But no one was supposed to see this. Hell, I hadn’t even let Stella in here.
A scream of ‘just leave, don’t look at the shambles’ caught in my throat. “I don’t need or want your help.”
“Good thing I don’t listen, right?” His smile and his eyes didn’t hold a hint of pity. “Because you’re getting it.”
“Leo…” Misery leached from that one word. It didn’t even come close to when I’d said it with my head plunger-deep in the toilet.
He pushed ahead with his kitchen organization. “Let me help.” Turning his head, he braced his hands on the counter. “Please, Gingersnap.”
Only, this time when he called me that it didn’t make me want to rent a car exclusively to run him over with it.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
His hand froze halfway to the drawer beside the stove. He hung his head for a second. “Maybe things got off to a rocky start. We’re both coming at this from opposing sides, forced to work together, but we don’t have to fight. We can do this together, beat Oren & Co. at their own game, and figure out what we do about Winthorpe once they’re out of the picture. Maybe we can find another way and actually be friends.”
I crossed my living room and fell in step beside him, helping him put away the dishes he’d obviously cleaned last night, and unpack the groceries he’d bought this morning.
Squatting, I stuck the package of paper towels under the sink and leaned on the open cabinet door. “You even cleaned under the sink?”
He shrugged. “It needed it. I’ve got the rest of this. There are bagels and bacon in the bag on the counter. And some chocolate croissants. They’re fresh.” He ducked his head. “I figured I owed you.”
This swell of emotions was too much after everything that happened between us. Chocolate croissants. He’d remembered.
“You need to hydrate and have something to eat. How’s your stomach?”
I stood and dropped my hand to my no-longer-churning stomach. “Completely chili dog free and no longer pissed as hell at me for eating poison.”
“I warned you.” He opened another cabinet.
“Trust me. I won’t forget anytime soon.” I dug through the bags, setting everything out on the counter. Half a dozen bagels. Three types of cream cheese. A couple bagel sandwiches. And a big bottle of orange juice.
“What bagel and cream cheese did you want?”
“I can make it.”
I sawed mine open. “I know. But I want to.”
He chuckled. “Everything, with the Philly cream cheese.”
“On it.” I set out his bagel and poured us both a cup of OJ.
He finished putting everything away.
Picking at the seeds on my plate, I took a bite of my bagel now that he was no longer distracted by putting away the multitude of groceries he’d bought.
“So…” Leo rocked back on his heels with his gaze roaming my apartment and his hands in his pockets.
I picked at the sesame seeds on the top of my bagel, unable to hide the heat of embarrassment burning in my cheeks. “How’d I end up living in such a shithole?” I chanced a glance up at him.
He leaned against the counter, trying to keep his face neutral.
I scrubbed my hands down my face. “It’s a long story.”
Picking up his plate, he took a bite of his bagel and stood across from me in the cramped kitchen. It had never seemed too small before, but with Leo standing there, it suddenly felt undersized.
Trying to think of the best place to start, I sipped on my juice, trying to buy myself a little more time. “When I left college, I didn’t have many friends. Other people moved away or moved in with their college roommates, keeping the party going, but I didn’t have that luxury.
“I had a roommate. Technically, a roommate, but…my name is on the lease because I didn’t want to be at someone else’s mercy once I finally had my own place. She was a friend of a friend in college. And we lived together perfectly fine for the first year. We never fought. She was quiet and kept to herself and I was working all the time. Everything was kept clean and we’d set up a schedule to split the household duties.
“Things were going so well, I signed another 2-year lease at the reduced rate and things were perfect. Until she got a new boyfriend. You know how some people live a sheltered life in high school and go buck wild in college? This was her delayed version.
“He was her first real boyfriend. Things were off immediately. Stuff would go missing. Things were broken. I’d come home after a late night and there would be a hole in the wall or they’d be having sex on the couch. And I didn’t miss how she’d fallen behind on rent. The joint account we deposited our rent and utilities had been overdrawn and I’d had to pay the fees. Finally, I told her it was enough. He wasn’t allowed to come over anymore. The next night, I came back here and the place was trashed.”
Talking about it even now brought the tears back. I blinked them away. This had happened over a year ago. I should be over it. How not over it I was could be seen all over my still-trashed apartment.
“Most of my stuff was taken or destroyed. I called the cops, but—” I shrugged. Walking into my apartment after a long night of work had been one of the worst moments of my life. I’d finally started to feel like this was my real home. I’d been so proud, scouring flea markets and secondhand shops for fun or unique accents to make the apartment mine. And someone I’d trusted had dismantled it in a matter of hours.
Cleaning up everything I could, I’d fallen asleep on my comforter on the floor, since my mattress had been wrecked. Shredded, with springs bursting through the foam and fabric. Bits of glass from the busted light bulbs and dishes were all over it, like they’d taken special joy in making it unsalvageable.
My tears had blinded me as I swept up the broken glass and shattered plates, sneaking everything out after the cops had taken my statement and made their report.
Leo ran his hand down my arm. The comforting gesture was almost a step too far in pushing me into blubbering territory.
“They caught them.” A chunk of bagel met an unfortunate end from my poking and prodding finger. “But junkies aren’t notorious for taking care of their stuff, and they sure as hell don’t take care of other people’s stuff.”
She’d at least left my picture of me and Ty his first day at The Mercerville School. It had been a portrait taken by a photographer on move-in day. The frame was shattered and the corner ripped, but I still had one reminder of why I couldn’t give up.
“I bought a new mattress and found the rest of furniture you see here.” I couldn’t even look at it. My neck was on fire like I’d been out in the blazing sun for hours. Lawn furniture held together better than what I had. Another reason heading home after a long day of work didn’t hold the same charm to me as it might for others.
But owning nice stuff was another opportunity for it to be taken away. Even if I had the money, buying new things would’ve put me on edge, afraid it would disappear in a snap. “After that, I couldn’t really look at the place. It brought back too many bad memories. All the little touches I’d put into making this my home had been taken away from me.”
