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My cell phone rings. I glance at the screen and read Front Desk.
“Is the sushi here?” she asks. “They know to send the food up, right?”
I nod. “Jimmy is working the front desk tonight. He’ll sign for the delivery and bring it up. But he always gives me a call first.”
The elevator opens and Jimmy places two bags in the foyer. “Have a good night, Mr. Black,” he calls as the door closes.
Kayla’s off the couch and running for the food as if she hasn’t eaten in days.
“Whoa, K—”
Cleveland barks, followed by Ava and Luna. Soon all of the dogs are chasing Kayla.
“You can’t leave the bags on the floor,” she says, lifting
the take-out. “They will tear into the food. I’ll let Jimmy know when we take the dogs out later.”
I follow Kayla to the dining area. While she sets out the food, I pull a cold NYC micro brew can and a bottle of white wine from the fridge. I drop the beverages on the table and return to the kitchen for glasses, tripping over a line of water bowls in the process.
“It’s going to be an adjustment, having all of us stay,” Kayla says. She already has her chop sticks out and separated.
I open my beer and take a long sip while she divides the sushi. “I can handle dog bowls in the kitchen. It will be harder for you.”
Her ex might not live on my street, but I know the memories follow her when she’s in Manhattan.
“I’ll manage,” she says.
“You’ll tell me if that changes.” I break apart my wooden chopsticks and select a piece of dragon roll from the plastic tray.
She focuses on dividing the pickled ginger into six equal pieces and placing them on her sushi. “You’ll know before I do I think.”
I nod, seeing the truth in her words. There are different kinds of abuse. I learned that as a kid. Another person does not need to hit you to make you hurt. I remember wishing sometimes that they would use their hands instead of their words.
But I’ve locked the past away. Sometimes I forget that Kayla’s pain is still raw. I saw what was happening to my best friend before she even realized herself. Stripping away a person’s confidence hurts just as much as a slap to the face. From an outsider’s viewpoint, the pain seems trivial, and overblown.
That’s how the bully wins. Whether they are kids ganging up on the weakest in the class, foster parents trying to bury the truth, or husbands who treat their wives like a piece of property. Sometimes the only way to fight back is to walk away and reinvent yourself.
“Thank you for doing this,” I say.
She waves away my gratitude with her chopsticks. “I haven’t done anything yet. Aside from letting you buy me sushi.”
“That’s part of the deal.” I draw an avocado roll closer, before Kayla devours the whole thing. “If there is anything you want to do while we’re engaged—”
“I’ll make a list.” She reaches over and takes a piece of avocado roll from the container. “Are there any limits?”
“Not unless you want to break the rules,” I say.
She shakes her head. “I meant can we rent a private jet for the weekend.”
I knew what she was asking. But I heard the word limits, and just for a second I thought of Kayla’s breasts. I wondered what would happen if we crossed that line.
I never will.
The silent promise pushes away any thought of breaking the rules. I have one best friend. There is one person on this earth who knows me inside and out. I won’t sacrifice that for anything.
My phone buzzes, interrupting my internal debate. I pick it up and scan the screen. “Margaret,” I murmur, answering the call. “What can I do for you?”
“Gavin,” she chirps. The woman’s high-pitch tone tricks even the best reporters into believing Margaret’s a flighty lightweight. But I know she’s a warrior. Her deceiving voice is one of the many weapons in her arsenal.
