Malcolm stretched out his arms wide. “Hundreds of ways! You could cube it and put it on a pizza or slice it and put it on fish or make a smoothie or—”
“I’m sure he gets the idea,” Carissa said.
“Miss Carissa makes a pineapple cake that will make you lick your lips until they’re numb.”
“And now we’ve taken up enough of his time,” Carissa said nudging Malcolm’s arm. “Come on. I have to finish my shopping.”
“Bye,” Malcolm said.
When they were far enough away, Carissa said, “You are sure in a chatty mood today.”
“I was just trying to help him,” Malcolm said checking the aisles for the next item on the list. “He seemed nice.”
Nice?
“He’s anything but nice.”
“How do you know?”
“I told you, I work with him, remember?”
“Maybe if you make him your peanut butter cookies, he’ll be nicer to you.”
“I don’t need him to be nice to me.”
And the last thing she’d ever do was cook for him.
***
So, she could cook
, Kenric thought with a smile as he set his shopping bag in the trunk of his car and closed it. For some reason he liked the thought of her cooking. He could use a nice home cooked meal, but knew that wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t cook and none of the women he dated did either. Most of his meals came out of a restaurant kitchen or was created at the hands of a personal chef. Not that he could complain. The food was always stellar, but one thing he missed as a boy was the intimacy of a specially prepared meal. At times he envied those who talked about their grandmother’s chicken chowder or an aunt’s roasted potatoes with chives. He wanted to know what food tasted like when it was made with love. What it was like to eat fresh food prepared just for him in a simple kitchen.
Kenric settled inside his car. The closest he’d come to having the feeling of a home cooked meal was the summer he’d turned eight. At their family vacation home, he’d met the first chef who hadn’t gotten angry when Kenric snuck into the kitchen—a habit he’d started at age four—to watch him work. As long as he stayed a safe distance away, the chef—a big man with a bushy mustache and skin the color of pressed olives—let Kenric watch him chop, slice, fillet, broil and simmer. Kenric watched the chef as if he were a magician as he took ordinary objects and turned them into beautiful dishes. He loved the bright reds, orange, purple, greens and blues of the varied fruits and vegetables he would see lined up on the kitchen table and counter. He loved the savory aroma of onions sizzling in a pan or the light steam rising from a cherry pie cooling on the table. Once, he’d let Kenric crush fresh mint leaves and he still remembered the lingering scent on his fingers. However, once his mother found him hanging around the kitchen she put an end to his escapades.
But by then the kitchen was no longer just a curiosity for him, but a special place. It stirred up something in him he’d never managed to recapture. He knew it was a silly notion to try, but he couldn’t stop himself. Over the years, he’d gotten rid of three personal chefs because their austere, almost clinical approach to food annoyed him. He envied Malcolm’s joy as he recalled Carissa’s cooking, because for a brief moment in his life he’d wanted to know what that sensation was like. And now that eagerness had returned. He wanted to know what Carissa’s baked trout and pineapple cake tasted like, and her…
He shook his head determined to halt his dangerous thoughts. He turned on the ignition and put his car in gear. No, he knew better than to let his mind wander into dangerous territory. Carissa York was not on the menu.
***
“You don’t have to help me put things away.”
“That’s okay Miss Carissa I like to help.” Malcolm glanced at the clock. “Man, it’s almost lunch time. I wonder what Mom’s made. I don’t think she went grocery shopping yet.”
Carissa grinned, catching the not too subtle hint. “Okay, you finish putting things away and I’ll start lunch.”
She cooked up a quickie casserole, consisting of cheese and bacon strips with diced potatoes
.
As she was putting the dish on the table, her cell phone buzzed. She grabbed it and saw a text message from her sister-in-law who lived two floors up. She was almost eight months pregnant. When she saw the message, her heart stopped. It said:
COME QUICK!
Carissa raced up the stairs, wishing she’d kept up her fitness workout; Malcolm following close behind. She knocked on the door to her sister-in-law’s apartment, then turned the knob. It easily opened in her hands although she’d told her sister-in-law to keep it locked. “Lina?” she said rushing into the living room. She looked around the exquisitely decorated apartment. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call the ambulance?”
She heard the toilet flush and then Lina came into the room. “Sorry I kept you waiting. I swear I have to pee every hour. One sip of water and it’s Niagara Falls.”
“But what’s wrong?” Carissa asked, surprised by her sister-in-law’s calm behavior.
She blinked her pretty, naturally long lashes. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You told us to come quick,” Malcolm said, voicing Carissa’s irritation.
“I didn’t tell you to come. Why are you always together?” She grinned. “Does someone have a crush?”
“Leave him alone,” Carissa said. “Now tell me what’s wrong?”
She headed for the kitchen. “I made some coleslaw the other day. I wanted you to have it before it spoiled.”
Carissa gritted her teeth. Lina had done this to her before and she was annoyed that she’d fallen for it again. And she kept falling for it. These incidents were only getting worse and more frequent the closer it came to her due date. She’d had Carissa scrambling to her room the first day she was no longer able to see her feet after sending a text that said:
OH NO!;
the day she’d dropped the TV remote and accidently kicked it under the sofa and couldn’t reach it; the day she sent a text that said ‘
BIG NEWS
!’ when she’d found out she was having a boy instead of a girl and burst into tears.
She’d warned her to stop, but every time Carissa got a text she still came running. “How many times have I told you not to send me panicky messages like that? I thought you were in serious trouble.”
“I’m sorry.”
And she knew Lina was sorry, at least for the moment, but they rarely lasted. Carissa’s brother, Glenn, liked to spoil her and it was easy to see why. She was as perky and cute as a cheerleader with eyes as adorable as a kitten. She’d secured a major status coup by being the first one, on either side of the family, to bring in a grandchild so she was doted on from both sides. Yet all the attention didn’t seem to be enough.
“Did you ever read the story of
The Boy Who Cried Wolf
?” Malcolm said.
Lina took a seat on the lush leather couch. “The boy who cried what?”
“You’re playing with fire,” Carissa said determined to be more direct. “One time you’re going to call me and I may not come because I won’t believe you.”
“I wasn’t lying I didn’t…wait, where are you going?”
Carissa put her hand on the doorknob. “I have to reheat Malcolm’s lunch.”
“Isn’t he old enough to make it himself?”
He shot her an ugly look.
“It’s just that you’re a busy woman,” she added. “It’s not like you still have to babysit to make money.”
“I’m not babysitting,” Carissa said.
“I help her out,” Malcolm said clearly offended.
Lina flashed an indulgent smile. “Sure you do, honey.”
He narrowed his eyes and gripped his hands into fists.
“We’re going,” Carissa said.
Lina shook her head. “No, don’t do that.”
“Why not? And you’d better not mention that damn coleslaw.”
Lina covered her ears and winced as if in pain. “There’s no need to swear.” She let her hands fall to her lap. “It’s just that you both just got here and I’d hate for you to go so soon.” She sighed dramatically. “Glenn is away and I’m so bored. Oh, wait, there is something I wanted to show you.” She stood and started to lift up her blouse.
Carissa quickly covered Malcolm’s eyes. “What are you doing?”
“I want to show you some artwork silly. I’m not doing a striptease.”
Carissa slowly removed her hand from Malcolm’s eyes and they both stared at the landscape painting on Lina’s belly.
“I wanted to show you before I washed it away. He’s a top local artist. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
The painting was nice, but Carissa had seen better work at a yard sale. She didn’t even want to ask how much Lina had paid for it. “You could have just taken a picture.”
“Pictures aren’t the same, what do you think museums are for?”
“And you are my living masterpiece,” a new voice said.
They all turned and saw Glenn closing the door.
Lina beamed. “Oh baby you’re so sweet.”
“Not as sweet as you.”
He grabbed her and they started to kiss, looking like the perfect couple they were. Her fine good looks matching his strong, handsome features.
Malcolm made gagging noises and Carissa agreed. “Let’s go,” she said under her breath.
The couple had moved into her building because Glenn wanted Carissa to keep an eye on Lina and the rest of the family agreed, although she couldn’t understand why. Lina had two sisters of her own, but when Glenn asked she’d said yes. She now regretted the offer to help.
Malcolm headed to his apartment.
“Where are you going? Don’t you want lunch?”
“I can make it myself.”
She grabbed the back of his shirt. “Don’t listen to anything Lina says. I like your company, okay?”
He looked at her unsure. “You mean it?”
“Yes. If I can get rid of Morris I’d have no problem getting rid of you, if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”
Malcolm made a low hissing sound then pumped his fist in the air.
Carissa looked at him confused. “What’s that for?”
He looked at her and shook his head. “Nothing. Come on I’m hungry,” he said before she could ask him why he suddenly looked so pleased.
***
Carissa enjoyed her lunch with Malcolm and the following day decided to treat herself to a celebratory break-up dinner for one when the doorbell rang. She looked at her spicy baked shrimp dinner, hoping it would keep, then walked over and opened the door.
“Were you really angry with me the other day?” Lina asked.
“Yes.”
She patted her stomach then said in a baby voice. “Little York doesn’t like when Aunty is mad at Mommy.”
Carissa shook her head. “Please don’t do that.”
“Am I forgiven?” she asked inviting herself inside.
Carissa shut the door behind her. “Only if you promise to stop doing that.”
“I promise.” Lina turned and looked at herself in the hallway mirror Carissa had hanging by the door. “Oh, I hope I get to keep them.”
“Keep what?”
“My breasts. I mean, look how nice they are. The belly can go, but these babies can stay forever.” She lifted them. “Aren’t they magnificent?”
“Hmm.”
“Want to feel them?”
“No.”
“Come on, don’t be shy.”
Carissa held up her hands. “I’m not interested.”
“Aren’t those Morris’s things?” she asked looking at a box stuffed with his clothes and other items.
“Yes.”
“Are you finally moving in with him?”
“No, we broke up.”
Lina’s mouth dropped. “Why?”
“It just wasn’t working.”
“Oooh your mother isn’t going to like hearing that.”
“That’s why she doesn’t need to know yet.”
“Are you thinking of freezing your eggs?”
“What?”
“I mean you’re already in your thirties, you don’t have much time left. I told you we should have gotten pregnant at the same time. Wouldn’t that have been fun?”
No it would have been a nightmare.
She pointed to the kitchen. “I really need to—”
“Oh you poor thing,” Lina said, taking Carissa’s hand and patting the back of it. “Two divorces and a long term relationship that’s ending, you must feel so alone. But you don’t have to envy me. I know my life looks perfect.” She paused. “And basically, it is perfect.” She couldn’t help a tiny grin. “There’s no need to lie. But if you need me to help you find a good man, I will.”
“I’m fine.” First Ashley and now Lina, why were people suddenly so interested in her love life? Weren’t their lives full enough? Why did they need to mess with hers? And as glowing as Lina’s life looked and in most ways it was—she had a good job, a loving family, a doting husband and soon would be the mother she wanted to be—Carissa knew there were small cracks in their marriage that Lina didn’t know she was aware of. It was Carissa who twice had to help her younger brother when Lina’s spending had gotten them into trouble.