This is my chance. I’ve found my in.
As I approach, Nina removes herself from his wandering arms—the fool—and moves on to chat with Mimi by the bar. With no new potential victims near, Max pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins to scroll.
You like to flirt, Max? Get ready to meet your match.
With every step closer I take to him, my stomach flips and flops around in anticipation. I’m excited! Finally, I reach his side and gently clear my throat. He glances up at me with his brows raised before looking back down at his phone. “Hey, Helen. How you doin’?”
My smile falters.
Helen? Really?
Well…not a good start.
He continues to play around on his phone, brows drawn as I speak, “Uh, it’s Helena, actually. Anyways, I was wondering if you’d like to have a drink with m—”
Before I can get another word in, he mutters, “Cool. Nice to see you again, Helen,” then he walks away, never taking his face from his phone, leaving me standing in the middle of the courtyard, mouth gaping. I blink as a frown overtakes my face. I try to make sense of what happened here. The serial flirt, the man who flirts with anything with a pulse, anything that moves, did not flirt with me.
Hmmm. If my calculations are correct, that would deem me undesirable.
Embarrassment flows through me, heating my cheeks. My embarrassment quickly turns to forced disinterest. I turn my nose up and stand taller. That’s fine. He doesn’t have to like me. Sometimes people just don’t like other people. It happens. It’s all good. And, hey, this is a good thing, I think. I mean, I sure as hell don’t hold a candle for Max Leokov.
Not anymore.
Chapter One
Helena
“Helena, mail!” my father shouts from the kitchen.
I jump up from my laying position and bounce off my bed. My feet try to move quicker than physically possible, causing my sock covered tootsies to slip and slide on the floorboards. A casualty is made quickly. My knee slams into my nightstand so hard the photo frames on the top fall over and the half-full glass of water topples, spilling aqua all over my open textbook.
Gasping with wide eyes, I clutch at it, willing the pain away, but the agony continues, stronger than before, and in a moment of clarity, I think to myself, This is it…this is how it all ends.
Okay, so maybe I’m a little dramatic, but damn, that hurts!
Oh, dear God. Will the pain never end?
My throbbing knee numbs, and I know it’ll have to go. I’ll likely be the only nightstand amputee. Just another statistic. I crawl over to my bedroom door and lie dying in the open doorway. I call out to the only person who can save me. “Ta, help!”
There’s a moment of silence before my father’s heavily accented voice calls back, “No.”
I’d like to say he’s a terrible father and he wants me to die, but he’s a great dad. Maybe a tad dramatic (hence my own dramatics), but a great dad. And I may have claimed death being on my door a few times before. Once or twice. But this time, it’s actually happening. My vision starts to darken. I see the light. “Ta, help me! I’m fading fast!”
My father sighs long and hard. “What happen this time? You get a paper cut, or plug your toe?”
A disgruntled expression crosses my face, and I use my elbows to elevate my body into a semi-sitting position. “Firstly, old man, it’s stub your toe, not plug your toe. You need English lessons. Secondly, I stubbed it really bad that time. It was hanging by a thread! If I didn’t use the Band-Aid when I did, not even a plastic surgeon would have been able to save my pinkie toe.”
My father’s chortle fills the kitchen. “Yes, my English is no good, but you, my sweet, are a hurt in my butt.”
I try really hard not to laugh, but he’s adorable sometimes. “It’s pain in the ass, Ta! God!”
Flipping over, injury forgotten, I calculate this being the three-hundred-and-twelfth time I’ve cheated death by injuries caused by my clumsiness. I use the term clumsiness loosely. Sometimes my body just thinks it knows what its doing, brain be damned. My body seems to come with an auto-pilot function other bodies don’t have. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just an added extra.
I stand, and using the wall for stability, I limp into the kitchen, where my father doesn’t even look up from the newspaper he’s reading to see if I’m okay from my near-fatal fall. Scowling, I say way too loudly, “I’m fine, thanks! No, I’m okay; I don’t need an ice-pack. God, you’re such a great dad, though. Father of the year strikes again.”
Dad closes his eyes, sighs, then looks heavenward, thanking God for such an awesome daughter, I’m sure. He should be thankful.
I’m the shit.
My limp suddenly gone, I move behind him and wrap my arms around his neck, resting my chin on his balding head. “One day, I’m actually going to die from a stubbed toe, and when I do, you’re going to have to explain to the doctors who run my autopsy why there were so many prior stubbed-toe incidents you never reported. You’ll probably get grilled for it, or even go to jail for neglect.”
My father wheezes out a heavy laugh, and kissing his cheek, I take the letter on the table and open it. Leaving it folded, I make my way to the fridge and pull out a bottle of apple juice.
As I sit at the table, my father asks, “How is Natalia?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. She’s been busy lately. No time to talk, really.”
He frowns. “Find time. Nina calls every day. You call her. Today.”
I unfold the letter and begin to read. The more I read, the more my heart races. My eyes widen, I begin to read faster. As I reach the end of the letter, a smile spreads across my face. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Nat.” I slide over the letter. His eyes skim the contents, face devoid of expression. I add, “She’ll have company soon enough.”
My father reads out loud, “Center of Physical Therapy. New York.”
Throwing up my hands, I whoop and yell out an excited, “Yeah, baby! I’m going to New York!”
He slumps back in his chair and mumbles sadly, “Why you all leave me?”
Reaching across the table, I take his big hands in mine and rein in my excitement. “It’s not like I won’t ever come home, Ta. This is a great opportunity. We talked about this.”
“I know.” Sitting straighter in his chair, he utters confidently, “You will learn, and work, and you will someday win a big award, because you are so smart.”
For a man who doesn’t speak English well, that compliment hits me hard. I blink away tears and mutter softly, “Thanks, Dad.”
The back sliding door opens and my mother walks inside holding a bag full of groceries. As soon as she sees my father and me together, she looks down at my hands covering his, our faces sad, and she drops the bag of groceries with a gasp. “Someone died?!”
Okay, so maybe dramatics come from both sides of the family.
I release my father’s hand, stand, and make my way over to my mother with the letter. I hold it out for her to read. She takes it with shaking hands, expression petrified, before she reads it over. She whispers, “New York.” Then she cries. And laughs. And cries again.
She pulls me into a firm hug and rocks me. “Oh, baby. This is wonderful. This is exciting!” My throat tightens with emotion and I close my eyes, just letting my mom hold me, ‘cause sometimes, the warmth of a mother’s hug is all a person needs. She kisses my temple. “You’re going to do great. Now, call them and accept the position before they give it to someone else.” I open my eyes to look at my miserable father and hesitate. Mom whispers, “He’ll be fine. I promise.”
My mother has always been my biggest fan, a number one fan to all us girls. She is a firm believer of following your dreams, wherever they might be. She kisses my head once more before releasing me, turning me, and slapping my butt to get me on my way. I chuckle, take the letter, and make it back to my room without any toe or knee casualties. I pick up my cell from my desk and dial the number on the let
ter. “Hi, I’d like to speak to a…” I quickly scan the bottom of the letter for a signature. “…James Whittaker.”
A mature voice answers, “What was your name, ma’am?”
“Helena Kovac. He’ll be expecting my call.”
“I’ll just put you on hold a moment and make sure he’s in.”
“No problem.”
I’m put on hold. I close my eyes and nod my head to the song playing, and just as I’m about to belt out the chorus to the power ballad, the line clicks over. A deep but kind voice greets me, “Miss Kovac. James Whittaker here. Please tell me you have some good news for me.”
A wide smile spread across my face. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
He chuckles. “Top student in your class. I should be thanking you for the opportunity. But please, the suspense is killing me.” I like this man already. “Will you accept the position? I know it’s a move for you, but we’ll be happy to help with moving costs and such, as well as temporary housing.”
That’s definitely good to know. “I want this position, Mr. Whittaker. My sister actually lives in New York, so I don’t think housing will be necessary.”
The smile in his voice makes me smile harder. “Please, call me James. And this is great. I’m so glad to have you on-board. As soon as you email through your acceptance of the job offer, we can get moving.” He pauses a moment before asking cautiously, “How soon can you start?”
Today is Tuesday. I think for a second.
How long will it take to pack up my life and start over?
“Is Monday too soon?”
James lets out a chuckle. “Heck no.”
This is happening. It’s really happening. “I can’t wait.” I really can’t.
He responds, “You just get yourself down here. We’ll take it easy that first week, ease you in, then schedule in some clients for you. How does that sound?”
I near-whisper, “Amazing.”
“Well, if you need anything, anything at all, just call. I’ll give you my private extension, as well as my cell number.” He rattles of his private numbers before speaking quietly, “I know what it’s like to be new in town. Five years ago, that was me, so I’m going to make sure your transition is as painless as it can be.”
Wow. That’s so nice. I love my new boss! “Thank you, Mr. Whitt—” I quickly catch myself. “Thank you, James. I’m looking forward to a change in scenery.”
“See you Monday.”
I hang up and thank God my new boss isn’t a mean old asshole. Still holding my cell in my hand, I press number 2 on my speed-dial. She answers within seconds, “Hey, bitch, I was just thinking of you.”
I snort. “Oh yeah? Let me guess…you saw a woman with a beard and it reminded you of me?”
“Moldy cheese, actually.”
I laugh before sobering. “Nat, the reason I called—”
She gasps, “Someone died?!”
I shout an exasperated, “No one’s dead! Jesus C! What is it with this morbid family?”
Nat returns, “You went all serious on me. What was I supposed to think? You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry. I just need to ask you a favor is all.”
Silence...then suspicion lines her voice. “Which is?”
I try to keep the smile out of my own. “I need you to find me an apartment.”
I can almost see the confusion on her face. “Um, sweetie, wouldn’t that be easier for you to do, seeing as I don’t live in California anymore?”
I sigh. “I suppose so.” I pause a moment. “Of course, I don’t need an apartment in California. I need an apartment in New York. My new job is in New York, so finding an apartment in California would just be silly.” I grin. “Howdy, neighbor!”
A gasp, then a quiet, “Shut. Up.”
“I will not.”
Then louder, “You shut your lying whore mouth right now!”
A startled laugh bursts out of me. “Well, that got serious fast! No, no joke. I’m moving to New York and I need a place to stay. Like, soon…ish.”
I hear the shock in her voice. “How soon?”
“Like, Monday-soon.”
Another gasp. I hear slapping and a male voice mutter ‘Ouch’, and I just know she’s got the excitement slaps, Asher being the likely victim of the assault. “Oh my God, this is so awesome! I can’t believe you never told me you applied here, you lying sack of shit!”
We both laugh. My sisters and I talk to each other as if we hate each other, but the truth is, we love each other very much. We just have a weird way of showing it.
Excitement takes over. “We never found someone to take over the lease from my old apartment, so I guess we’re actually going to be neighbors. Real neighbors! Oh my God, we’re going to have so much fun! You can come here all the time, and we’ll eat together and cook together, and have sleepovers!” She gasps, then shouts, “We are gonna have so much fun!”
I bite my lip over my smile.
Monday can’t come soon enough.
Chapter Two
Helena
Four days later…
Taping up the last of the boxes, I look around my room. It looks so…bare. The walls are bare. The floor is bare. The bookshelves are bare.
My room is naked.
I don’t know how I feel about that.
If the pang in my chest is anything to go by, I’d say it makes me sad. This room has been mine from the day I was born. I played in this room, grew up in it, sought comfort, and hid away from the world in here.
This room has been good to me. I’m going to miss it.
Now, all that’s left of it are the eight boxes on the floor. I’ve organized for movers to come this afternoon. I was pleasantly surprised when I found out my new workplace would cover the entire expense. Asher called yesterday to let me know the apartment was getting a spring clean by all the girls and would be ready by Monday. Nat also let me know it had most of the furniture still in it from when she lived there, so I won’t need to spend a lot to set myself up.
I offered to pay for the extras in the apartment, but Nat refused while using a ton of cuss words. But, of course, I argued, which made Nat use some nastier words. Suddenly, Ash took the phone and simply said, “You aren’t paying for shit, girl. You just get your ass down here. You wanna thank me? Feed me.”
There really is no arguing with Asher. He’s firm like that.
A final sweep of my room reveals one last thing I need to do, but I’m torn. My Johnny poster still hangs behind the door.
It’s time.
But I’m not ready.
It’s time. He’s had a good life. Let go.
Brain is right. It’s time. I need to let him go.
Walking to the door, I stare into Johnny Depp’s eyes and my gut sinks. “I’m sorry. You’ve been a good imaginary boyfriend, but I’m a grown-up now. There’s no room in my life for a boyfriend. Not even an imaginary one.” But he just stares at me. “Don’t look at me like that.” But he does. He’s torturing me.
I sigh tiredly and rub at my forehead. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Please, Johnny. It’s over.” I’m getting a headache. I take my time pulling him down with the utmost care, rolling him up and putting a rubber band around him. I hold him in my hands and walk him over to the recycling bin. I lift the lid and put him in. I slowly close the lid and turn around.
My mother stands there, looking from me to the bin. I nod solemnly and whisper, “It was time.”
She smiles and shakes her head, and with a heavy heart, I let my first love go.
***
Ten minutes later…
My sock-covered feet slip around on the kitchen tiles. Hyperventilating, I open the cupboard under the sink and dig through the recycling ‘til I find him. I clutch Johnny to my heaving chest and turn to find both my parents having coffee at the dining table. They eye me with worry.
“I thought I could do it.” I clutch Johnny harder. “I can’t do it. He’s coming wi
th me.”
As I walk back to my room with Johnny in hand, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I’m sorry, Johnny. Let’s never fight again.
Chapter Three
Max
My leg bounces hard and fast under the dining table.
I’m nervous.
I sip at my coffee as my eyes dart from Nik to Tina. I watch them eat their breakfast, wondering how the hell I broach this subject. Tina eats her oatmeal; she must feel my eyes on her, because she looks up at me mid-bite. Her eyes widen and she mutters slowly, “What?”
I quickly avoid her gaze and shake my head. “Nothin’.”
Sip your damn coffee and keep your eyes down.
And that’s what I do. I avert my gaze so much that I look directly down into my coffee cup.
Nik’s foot nudges me under the table. Brows raised, I look up at him. He carefully folds the newspaper before putting it down, eyes narrowing at me.
Uh oh.
Nik leans back in his chair, when suddenly, he starts to smirk, his dimple, almost identical to mine, cuts into his cheek.
And I sweat. “What?”
He jerks his chin at me. “You’re acting weird. I mean, you always act weird, but now you’re acting weirder.” Tina looks over at me and nods gently.
“Am not.”
“Are too,” my brother argues.
“You’re going senile in your old age.”
Nik’s eyes widen. He’s a little sensitive about his age ever since he found a grey hair. I know it’s not a big deal. It’s natural. People eventually go grey. But the hair…
It wasn’t on his head.
He leans over and snarls, “Yo’ mama.”
I grin. “She’s yo’ mama too, and I’m telling her you said that.”
He opens up his arms, taunting me, “Do it. I’ll tell her the real story about the dried basil leaves in your sock drawer.”
The motherfucker. “It was yours! I was hiding it for you!”