Ryker just grunts an affirmative. Easton says, “That’s fine,” but Zack asks, “Lasagna?” with a hopeful tone.
The wistfulness in his tone makes me chuckle so I say, “Sure, I can do lasagna.”
Minutes later plates are empty and goodbyes are said and it’s back to just me and Chloe in the room. I blow out a breath and start filling the dishwasher with their plates. That went better than I hoped it would. It’s day three and I think I’m finding my groove here. I dry my hands with a dish towel and get lost in thought. I fled in the night with Chloe six days ago with next to no money and no prospects for somewhere to live or make money. There was no world where I thought just a few days later I’d be living in a mansion with three men. It’s almost too good to be true. I chew on my nails as nerves flutter. I need to do everything right here. I can’t give any of them a reason to ask us to leave. I…we need this place, need this job, if we have any chance to start building some kind of secure future for ourselves. Everything needs to be perfect. I need to be perfect so they have no reason to be disappointed in my work or my behavior. It has to be perfect.
Chloe chirps that she’s done eating so I clean up her area and then get her set up with some easy school work. I notice a small spot of oil on the backsplash so I get the scrub brush and cleaning spray from under the sink and start scrubbing. I’ve made it down to the baseboards with my scrub brush when the doorbell chimes, bringing me back to my feet.
I look around nervously but other than Chloe bent over her workbook, there’s no one but me to answer it. I’m the housekeeper! It’s my job to answer the door! I tell myself to get my feet moving. My hand is reaching for the knob when a lash of fear seizes me. What if…what if it’shim? What if he’s found us? The bell rings again causing me to jump slightly. Damn it! It’s nothim! I brace myself and slowly pull the door open a crack to peek out. Of course, it’s nothim! It’s a delivery man. His arms are full of boxes so I pull the door wide open and offer a tentative smile.
“Morning!” He says and hefts the boxes higher. “Where do you want these?”
“Oh, um, you can just set them inside, right here,” I tell him and move out of the way so he can stack the boxes in the large entry.
He adds the second stack to the first pile and I’m about to close the door when he says, “Be right back!”
There’s more? It’s none of my business but I still can’t keep myself from leaning over slightly to read the shipping label. All these boxes are for Ryker. I chew on a nail, wondering if I should start carrying some of them to his rooms when the delivery guy comes back pushing a dolly stacked high with more boxes. I move out of the way as he flashes me a smile.
“One more load should do it,” he tells me. “You guys must read a lot!”
He laughs and then pushes the empty dolly back out the door for the next stack. As I wait for him to come back, I try and remember the last time I read a book just for fun and come up blank. I used to devour books when I was in high school but the only ones I’ve read since Chloe was born were children’s books or cookbooks to make sure the meals I cooked for him would meet his high standard. I get a pang of longing for the days I used to get lost in an amazing story like I used to do.
“There ya go! That’s the last of it. Enjoy!” The driver tells me, tips his hat to me, and leaves. I shut and lock the door behind him, stare at the stacks of boxes for a few minutes and then go back to the kitchen to plan dinner.
I let Chloe have a break from schoolwork and set her up with a My Little Pony episode. I worry about her not getting enough exercise or social activities as I start pulling out ingredients to prep for dinner later. I can assemble the lasagna now and put it in the fridge so all I’ll have to do is pop it in the oven later. A flutter of nerves hits my stomach when I can’t find any of the flat noodles I need. I look three times for a box and even check the fridge for fresh ones and still can’t find any. My heart rate kicks up as panic starts to take hold. He asked for lasagna. I said I could make it. Oh, God! I need noodles! My eyes flash around the kitchen. What am I going to do? I said I would make it! I feel a slick of sweat raise on my back as a surge of fear takes hold. My eyes hit the clock as I twist my fingers. Okay, I have time. I can get noodles. It means I’ll have to leave here. Go to the store. That brings on a whole other surge of panic causing me to dig my nails into my palms.
A glance at Chloe shows me she’s oblivious to my mini meltdown and still entranced by prancing ponies so I take a few deep breaths and force myself to walk, not run like I want to, out of the kitchen and down the hallway to Zack’s rooms. He’s the only one here I can ask permission from. I hover in his office doorway wringing my hands and chewing on my lip. His fingers are flying over the keyboard in front of three huge monitors and I feel physically sick at the idea of interrupting him. The tiniest whine escapes from me causing his head to whip around. His eyes go wide behind his black-rimmed glasses at seeing me in his space and then he swivels his whole chair around to face me.
“Avery? What’s wrong?”
My voice is choked as I blurt out, “I-I have to go to the store! Just there and back! An hour…no half an hour. I promise!”
“Hey! Whoa!”
He snaps out causing me to flinch and tremble even more and then he’s throwing up his hands as if to ward me off.
“Breathe, Avery, breathe!”
I squeak out, “I’m sorry!”
He lifts a hand to rub over his mouth and when I see pity fill his eyes, I duck my head down and fight the burn at the back of my own.
His voice is softer when he asks, “Can you give me an hour? I’ll take you. I just need to wrap this up first.”
My shoulders come up as I tense further. I’m inconveniencing him. Taking him away from his important work. This just gets worse and worse.
“Sweetheart, tell me what you need?” He asks softly with a plea in his tone making my eyes dart up to meet his.
Concern and compassion are all I see and it makes me feel worse for some reason. This is a nice man looking at me and I’ve projected a reaction from a not nice man onto him.
“N…Noo-dles.” I whisper brokenly. Confusion crosses his face so I take a shaky breath and try again. “You wanted lasagna…I…I don’t have the right noodles.”
Understanding washes over his expression and then a small smile lifts his lips. “Oh! That’s actually a good thing.”
I blink a few times. “It is?”
He starts nodding. “Yeah, I was just thinking about how long it’s been since I had spaghetti. My mom used to make these huge spaghetti dinners on Sundays and we’d have it for leftovers for like three days. I love spaghetti leftovers!”
Some of the tension starts to drain away from my body as I start nodding.
