Page 54 of Little Secrets
There seems to be no choice but to go with it. If it were anyone else, she would have been grateful for the neighborly gesture. But it’s not anyone else, it’s Ted, and she’s painfully aware that a pair of her pink lace panties are sitting right on top of the pile of clothes in the washer. She jabs at the button for the normal cycle, then slams the lid shut. The washer starts.
“Thank you.” She forces a smile. “I owe you three twenty-five.”
She attempts to move past him, but Ted is still standing in the same spot, and he doesn’t budge.
“No worries,” he says. Then he smiles, a second too late, and itlooks as forced as hers feels. “Maybe give me a coffee sometime if I come into the Green Bean. What days do you usually work?”
No way in hell is Kenzie telling him anything about her work schedule. She hates that he even knows where she works at all, and she’s not even sure how he found out.
“We, uh, we get in trouble at work if we give people free stuff.” It’s half a lie. They only get in trouble if they get caught, which they don’t, because they all do it. Hell, giving free coffee to your friends is half the fun of working there. Favors curry favors. But Ted isn’t her friend. “I’m happy to stick the money under your door.”
“That’s not necessary, Kenzie,” he says, and his dead eyes reveal nothing. She can’t tell if he’s being friendly, or if he’s insulted that she won’t tell him when she’s working. She doesn’t like that he calls her Kenzie. It makes it seem like they’re friendlier than they actually are. He should call her McKenzie, if he calls her anything at all. “We’re neighbors. We should help each other out. Besides, I’m older than you. If we were, say, dating, I would always pay, right? That’s what you like, right? Older men who pay for everything?”
Kenzie stares at him, but he just stares back. It’s impossible to tell if he’s being serious. He doesn’t blink, and his voice is devoid of inflection. She doesn’t know whether she should laugh off what he said, react indignantly, or ignore it.
“Thanks again, Ted.” With no other choice, she takes a big step to get around him, and hurries out of the laundry room, grateful her long legs can take the stairs two at a time.
She’s out of breath when she reaches her apartment, half expecting Ted’s hands to grab her from behind before she can close and lock the door. In forty minutes, she’ll have no choice but to go back down to get her wet sheets and clothes and move them over to the dryer. With any luck, Ted won’t be there anymore.
Feeling both depressed and frazzled, Kenzie pokes through thefridge, past the containers of leftover Thai and pizza (both Ty’s), until she finds a six-pack of Smith & Forge hard cider in the back. She plops onto the sofa, taking a long sip as Buford jumps onto her lap and settles in. She clicks into the Postmates app and orders food, using a credit she has on her account due to a mixed-up previous order.
It takes twelve attempts to get a cute selfie of her and Buford on the sofa with her cider, captioned,No place I’d rather be. It’s a bullshit sentiment. She’d rather be anywhere but home alone with her cat, feeling the way she feels, but she manages to post it just before it’s time to switch over the laundry. Seeing the likes and reading the comments eases her anxiety at having to go back down to the basement. Compliments from people she doesn’t know might be superficial validation, but hey, they’re better than nothing. Her photos of Buford are always popular.
In the end, though, none of it means anything. Even the Postmates delivery guy who brings up her California rolls and fried rice seems to feel bad for her when she opens the door in her sweats, holding her cat.
“Party for one, huh?” he says with a rueful smile.
Perhaps it’s time to reconsider her life choices. If she doesn’t, she may very well die like this, drinking alone in her shitty apartment, with only her cat to bear witness to the last moments of her life. And Buford will probably eat her face after she’s dead, since there’ll be nobody home to feed him.
By the time Kenzie finishes the last cider in the fridge, she’s drunk and stalking Marin Machado’s Instagram page, something she’d always promised herself she wouldn’t do. Her heart sinks when she sees the most recent photo.
Marin is in Whistler, British Columbia. With Derek.
Whistler is a five-hour drive from Seattle, and at some point earlier today, Marin and Derek were standing at the top of a mountain.The photo, posted a few hours earlier, shows them dressed head to toe in ski gear with their arms wrapped around each other. The caption reads,We needed this.
The picture has fifty likes and four comments.
furmom99:Good for you!
hawksfan1974:Pow day! Tear it up!
sadieroxxx:You guyyyys! So happy to see this! <3 <3 <3
steph_rodgers89:You finally got Derek to take a vacation… you’re a superhero, MM! lol
Oh god. Oh my god.
Kenzie scrolls through more of Marin’s posts. They’ve been in Whistler for the past three days, which explains why Derek’s been AWOL. He’s inCanada. Onvacation. With hiswife. Based on the hashtags, they’re staying at the Four Seasons. They’ve gotten couples massages. They’ve been eating steak and lobster. They’ve been drinking Champagne by the fire wearing bathrobes. And not sparkling wine, either, but actual fucking Champagne. From Champagne, France.
Because it’s their twentieth wedding anniversary.
This is why he ended it with Kenzie. Derek is rekindling things with his wife. Which means there’s no place for Kenzie in his life anymore.
Kenzie stares at her phone, her gaze fixed on one comment in particular. It was posted under the first Whistler picture, three days ago.
furmom99:When you back? We should do coffee!
marinmachadohair:@furmom99 Sunday! And yes we should! I’ll text you after the weekend! xx
