Kaikissed me.
And even wilder, he told me to talk to Garrett about it.
Like that’s a normal sentence.
Likeanyof this is remotely normal.
How on earth am I supposed to walk up those stairs, see Garrett, wave, say hi, and then tell him,Hey, your partner kissed me in the kitchen. How do you feel about that?
Once I get into the house, it’s marginally warmer, but not warm like the house across the road. I should probably search up how to bleed radiators or check boilers or however this house is heated.
Instead, I find myself tempted to research polyamory, and how it works out in the long-term when a woman stumbles into a relationship with two men who are already…well, together.
I drop my keys on the little table in the hallway, and the familiarity of aging floorboards and flaking wallpaper grounds me. It still smells like my nanna’s house, and I hate the idea that, by renovating, I’ll slowly but surely remove almost every sign she was ever here at all.
I walk down the hall to the bathroom, and steam fills the tiny shower stall as I crank the tap to full heat. The tiles on the wall are cracked but clean. I made sure of that the very first day after Kai helped me remove the fence posts.
Peeling off my clothes, I catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. My body is looking a little fuller now that I’ve stopped going without food to remain as skinny as possible. My skin is clear because I’m taking better care of it. I can’t count the number of nights I would simply sleep in my makeup because of where I was or who I was with.
Grudge used to love seeing tear track marks down my face. For a moment, I wonder if he loves seeing the same thing on Lucy’s face, but I realize none of that is my business.
“You’ve changed, Isla,” I say to the girl in the mirror. “You don’t have to go back there.”
When I step under the spray, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath since Kai’s lips touched mine.
“Stupid,” I mutter, dragging my fingers through my hair. Because feeling anything for a biker is foolish. Feeling something for two bikers is a death wish.
I place my hands over my face and press the heels of my hands to my eyes.
But I need to know if you wanted me to kiss you.
The two of us agreed we’d both like to explore this with you.
He said the words so casually. Like hearing that both of them liked me didn’t knock the stuffing right out of me.
And Garrett. Oh, Lord. How do you find the words to tell someone you kissed their partner?
I soap myself thoroughly, rinse, and then turn off the shower. As I do, I wonder if there’s a way to keep the two things separate. There are two men across the street that I have growing feelings for, who both seem to like me. Maybe we could date. Hang out. Take things at the kind of pace normal people carry out relationships at.
Then, there’s the club I want no part of. I know there are some old ladies who are classed as civilian wives. They have no connection to the club, at all. Could that be me someday?
By the time I’m dried off and dressed in clean yoga pants and a fresh long-sleeved T-shirt, my breath has steadied, and my hands no longer shake.
For the next hour, I need normality before I head over to check on Garrett.
First, I make some calls to some roofers. I hang up the phone on the fourth builder in frustration. How can new roofs be so expensive? And why do I have to wait seven weeks until the first roofer is free?
I give up on that and throw myself into dealing with the kitchen.
“Hey,” I say toward the camera on my phone. “So, today, I’m gonna begin cleaning out the kitchen. Some would probably call this an embarrassment. From its yellowed cabinets that were installed in the seventies to the peeling laminate counters, it is in definite need of resurrection. But to me, it’s also the place where my nanna made every meal I ever ate here. She taught me to make pastries and deep-fry food. I sat at that table and did homework while she rustled up a snack for me. My childhood was bumpy, but here was calm. And that’s what I want to recreate with what I do here.”
I press pause and take a breath. Thinking about the safe haven my nanna created for me makes me swallow hard. I was nine when she realized I was becoming more withdrawn, how Iflinched around some of my mother’s friends. She swooped in, even though she couldn’t afford a second mouth to feed.
But there’s work to be done for this place to become mine.
I set my phone to record a time-lapse, grab a trash bag, and start clearing clutter away, one cupboard at a time. I toss things that have gone out of date or are in cracked and damaged packaging. Once done, I give the inside of the cupboard a thorough scrub and then put the things I’m keeping back inside.
The piles for the garbage and donation grow. I mean, how many casserole dishes and baking sheets and lead crystal vases does one girl need?
