A practical, bronze metal light fixture hangs over the island, and I do a little twirl before reaching the refrigerator, laughing under my breath. It’s nice to be able to move without bumping into something. The only thing this kitchen needs that would make me go from an impressed nod to fanning myself in heat would be some backsplash. Backsplash is hot.
Reaching into the refrigerator, I pull out the ground beef, butter, and mozzarella, kicking the door closed with my foot as I turn around and set everything on the island. I pick up the two onions I left on the counter before and bob my head to the music, sliding and swaying, as I grab a butcher knife from the block and start chopping both into the thin slices.
The music in my ears builds, the hair on my arms rises, and I feel a burst of energy in my legs, because I want to dance, but I won’t let myself. I hope Pike Lawson is okay with 80’s music in his house from time to time. He didn’t say he didn’t like it in the theater, but he didn’t also bank on us living with him.
I stick to lip syncing and head banging while I form five large patties in my hands and start to add them to a clean pan, already heated and layered with melted butter.
My hips are rolling side to side when I feel a tickle making its way around my waist. I jump, my heart leaping into my chest as a gasp lodges in my throat.
Spinning around, I see my sister behind me. “Cam!” I whine.
“Gotcha,” she teases, grinning ear to ear and jabbing me in the ribs again.
I pause the music on my phone. “How’d you get in? I didn’t hear the bell.”
She walks back around the island and sits at a stool, resting her elbows down and picking up an onion ring. “I passed Cole outside,” she explains. “He told me to just come in.”
I arch my neck, peering out of the window and seeing him and a couple of his friends circle my grandma’s old VW that Cole’s dad paid to have towed here since it doesn’t run right now. I couldn’t leave it at the apartment, and Cole looks like he’s finally making good on his promise to fix it, so I can have a car.
The sizzle of the meat frying in the pan hits my ears, and I turn around, flipping the burgers. A speckle of grease hits my forearm, and I wince at the sting.
I know Cam’s here to check up on me. Old habits and that.
My sister is only four years older, but she was the mom our mom didn’t stick around to be. I stayed in that trailer park until I graduated high school, but Cam left when she was sixteen and has been on her own ever since. Just her and her son.
I glanced at the clock, seeing it was just after five. My nephew must be with the sitter by now, and she must be on her way to work.
“So, where’s the father?” she asks me.
“Still at work, I suppose.”
He’ll be home soon, though. I transfer the burgers from the pan to the plate and take out the buns, opening up the package.
“Is he nice?” she finally asks, sounding hesitant.
I have my back turned to her, so she can’t see my annoyance. My sister is a woman who doesn’t mince words. The fact that she’s guarding her tone says she’s probably having thoughts I don’t want to hear. Like why the hell am I not just taking the higher-paying job her boss offered me last fall, so I can stay in my apartment?
“He seems nice.” I nod, casting her a glance. “Kind of quiet, I think.”
“You’re quiet.”
I shoot her a smirk, correcting her, “I’m serious. There’s a difference.”
She snickers and sits up straight, pulling down the hem of her white tank top, the red, lace bra underneath very well visible. “Someone had to be serious in our house, I guess.”
‘In our house’ growing up, she means.
She flips her brown hair behind her shoulder, and I see the long, silver earrings she wears that matches her glittery make-up, smoky eyes, and shiny lips.
“How’s Killian?” I ask, remembering my nephew.
“A brat, as usual,” she says. But then stops like she remembers something. “No, wait. Today he told me that he tells his friends I’m his big sister when I come to get him from daycare.” She scoffs. “The little shit is embarrassed by me. But still, I was like ‘Whoa, people actually believe that?’” And then she flips her hair again, putting on a show. “I mean, I still look good, don’t I?”
“You’re only twenty-three.” I top the burger with shredded mozzarella, add another patty, and top that, as well. “Of course, you do.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She snaps her fingers. “Gotta make that money while I can.”
I meet her eyes, and it’s only for a moment, but it’s long enough to see the falter in her humor. The way her bemused smile looks like an apology and how she blinks, filling the silence as her awkward words hang in the air.
And how she pulls the hem of her top down to cover as much of her stomach as she can in the presence of her little sister.
My sister hates what she does for a living, but she likes the money more.
She finally turns her attention back to me, her tone sounding almost accusing. “So, what are you doing, by the way?”
“Making dinner.”
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “So not only do you not cut loose the male you’re with, but now you’re waiting hand and foot on another one?”
I place a couple onion rings on the first double cheeseburger and top it with a bun. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
I glare at her. “We’re staying here—in this fabulous neighborhood, mind you—rent-free. The least I can do is make sure we keep our end of the bargain. We clean up and share some of the cooking duties. That’s all.”
Her right eyebrow arches sternly, and she crosses her arms over her chest, not buying it. Oh, for crying out loud. I actually think we’re getting the better end of this bargain than Pike Lawson, after all. Central air, cable and Wi-Fi, a walk-in closet…
I reach over the counter and pull the blinds up, barking to get her off my back, “He has a pool, Cam! I mean, come on.”
Her eyes go wide. “No shit?”
She pops out of her chair and scurries over, peering into the backyard. The pool is perfect. Shaped like an hourglass, the multi-colored tiles on the deck are Mediterranean-style, and it has a walk-in entry with a mosaic floor. Cole’s dad must be still working on it because there’s a display on the far end of the pool with flowerless flower beds and spouts for mini waterfalls that aren’t yet running. There’s a table and chairs placed haphazardly around the perimeter, and the rest of the grassy backyard has various lawn furniture not yet set up in any discernable way. A table umbrella lays to the right, next to the hose, and a barbeque grill sits covered with a tarp to the left.
My sister nods approvingly. “This is nice. You were always meant to live in a house like this.”
“Who isn’t?” I shoot back. Everyone should be so lucky.
Although it still feels wrong being here. I care a lot about Cole, though, and I’d rather be with him than at my dad’s.
I finish up the burgers, while she turns around, gripping the counter at her sides and stares at me. “You sure all he wants is a little cleaning and cooking?” she presses. “Men, no matter the age, are all the same. I should know.”
Yeah, you can shut up now. I can take care of myself. If high school boyfriends and working in a bar haven’t taught me that by now…
But she speaks up again, moving into my space and stopping me. “Just listen to me for a second.” Her tone turns firm. “It’s a nice house, a safe neighborhood, and yes, you can save up a little money. But you don’t have to stay here.”
“It’s not Dad and Corinne’s, so there’s that,” I argue back. “And I can’t stay with you. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t be on the couch in everyone’s way and be able to study with a four-year-old trying to be a kid in his own house.”
I have a summer class on Thursdays, so I need some space to work.
“That’s not what I meant,” she quickly retorts. “You could’ve stayed in that apartment. You could’ve afforded it.”
I open my mouth but shut it again, turning around to slip the burgers into the oven for a few minutes.
Not this again. When is she going to give it up?
“I can’t, okay?” I tell her. “I don’t want to. I like my job, and I don’t to work where you work.”
“Of course, you don’t.” She gives me a bored look. “It’s beneath you, right?”
“That’s not what I said.”
I don’t think less of my sister because of her job. She feeds and clothes her kid. She swallowed her pride and did what she had to do, and I love her for it. But—and I would never say this to her face—it’s not a career she would’ve picked for herself if she’d had other choices.
And I’m not out of choices yet.
Cam has been dancing at The Hook since she was eighteen. At first, it was just a temporary job to get through her boyfriend leaving her and to support their son. But juggling college and her child became too much, and eventually, she quit school. It was the plan to get back on track once Killian started kindergarten, but that’ll be soon, and I don’t think she has immediate plans to quit anytime soon. She’s gotten used to the money.
And nearly a year ago, her boss offered me a job bartending there, and she’s been on my ass to take it ever since. I could make more than enough to support myself, after all, and maybe not have to take out so many student loans, either. A few years and that’s it, she’d said. I’d be out.
But I know bartending is just the job her boss gets girls to take while he works them over to get them to start dancing on stage.
And I’m not doing that. I’m not watching my sister do that every night, either.
My body is private. It’s personal to me and whom I want to show it to. I’ll stay at Grounders, thank you.
“I’m fine where I am,” I tell her. “I got this.”
She sighs. “Alright,” she says, giving up for now. “Just be prepared if this doesn’t work out, okay?”
This, meaning Cole and me living in his father’s house.
I move around her to pull some lemonade out of the fridge and suddenly hear the low rumble of an engine growing closer. I stop, peering toward the window, and see the corner of a black truck pull into the driveway. The same ’71 Chevy Cheyenne I rode in after the movie the other night to get Cole at the police station.
My heart thumps in my chest, but I ignore it and quickly close the fridge.
“His father’s home,” I tell her, grabbing her purse on the counter and shoving it at her. “You need to go.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t my house,” I bite out, pushing her toward the laundry room and the back door. “At least let me wait a week before I impose on his space with all my friends.”
“I’m your sister.”
I hear a car door slam.
I keep pushing her out toward the back, but she’s digging in her heels. “And you better keep me posted,” she says. “I’m not letting you let some beer-bellied, middle-aged pervert who was only too happy to let a hot pair of teenage thighs move into his house start demanding a little extra from his new tenant.”
“Shut up.” But I can’t help laughing a little.
Yeah, he’s not beer-bellied, middle-aged, or a pervert. I don’t think, anyway.
She turns around, jabbing me in the stomach playfully and lowering her voice to a deep, husky tone. “Come on, honey.” She squirms up to me, trying to wrap her arms around me seductively. “Time to work off your rent, baby.”
“Shut up!” I whisper-yell, laughing and trying to nudge her out of the kitchen. “God, you’re embarrassing. Get out!”
“Don’t be scared,” she continues, pretending she’s some creepy old guy as she slobbers up her lips and tries to get a kiss from me. “Little girls take care of their daddies.”
And she mock thrusts into me, jutting out what beer belly she can muster with her twenty-two-inch waist.
“Stop it!” I plead, flaming with embarrassment.
She paws me up and down my hips, smiling as I try to shove her out of the kitchen.