“You know,” she says, hands on her hips, “Guys like Charlie don’t grow on fuckin’ trees, baby girl.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Justine.” I slam a can of ravioli into the basket. “You don’t even know him.”
She shakes her head. “I got eyes, and I know enough to see you’ve got your head stuck in a cloud of frosting. Don’t let that one slip away because you’re too busy planning what color to paint your damn cakes.”
“Cookies, by the way. And, yes, I’m stressed about the contest, okay? And I’m not interested in Charlie.”
“Kara.” She slaps her hand down on the counter just as the intercom drowns out her words. Sniff’s voice booms over us, calling Justine to the office. Her face drops. We exchange a quick look as she tightens her apron and walks toward the dark little cage where our boss spends most of his time.
Justine’s only gone about thirty seconds, but when she returns she’s red and biting her lip and looks ready to laugh any second.
“What happened?” I whisper.
“That fucker,” she whispers. “Told me if I drop another f-bomb at the checkout stand I’m a goner.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Sniff pops out from nowhere and I hope he didn’t hear Justine. I can’t work here without her.
“Kara, did you get on those go-backs yet?” He asks me, eyeing my basket.
“I’m just doing it now. I—”
“Well get on with it then. I don’t pay you to stand here and gossip with Justine. That yogurt in the basket can be saved if it gets to the dairy case now, so get a move on.” He folds his arms and sniffs three times.
I swear under my breath and grab the basket, which I then drop by mistake. I hear the clink of broken glass, but ignore it despite the trail of juice leaking from the jar of olives. Maybe someone will slip on it and sue Crockett’s. Better yet, maybe Sniff or Jason will bite it.
I’m relieved I don’t have to talk to Justine anymore because it’s over with Charlie before it even started. I try to think of how his eyes looked before he kissed me, and how it felt to have his lips on mine but I can’t. I’m wrecked and destined to be alone because I can’t stop remembering.
Time has moved on. Kellen died, unforgiven, but I’m still thirteen, stuck in that memory. I’ve forgotten so much about that period of my life, but not that day. Not that night. It’s still razor sharp. Every detail, like it happened yesterday. So I can’t even tell Justine why Charlie and I are done.
I decide my workday is over, and I leave my go-backs in a basket on the floor in front of a shelf of condoms and pregnancy tests. Fuck Sniff and my job.
When I grab my time card, something falls to the floor and I stare at it, like it is shattered glass and I don’t know where to start cleaning up.
I pick up and rip into the blue-gray envelope with droplets of purple and bloody-red fibers.
I’m thinking of the things I’ll do when I finally get you alone.
I don’t punch out; instead I sneak out the back door through the stench of celery and sour milk, and past the dumpsters where Charlie kissed me.
June: Thirteen-Year-Old Carrot’s
SummerFunBefore High School
When I get to the bottom of the basement stairs, I almost crash into Nick. He’s holding another beer. “Hey there! Where are you going?” He wraps his free arm around my back, rubbing up and down.
“Um, I’m really sleepy, from the pool, and babysitting last night. I think I better get to bed. Goodnight.” I yawn.
“Okay then.” He smiles down at me while he sets the beer down on the shelf next to him.
Nick wraps both arms around me and pulls me close. He squeezes me, lifting me so my feet aren’t even touching the ground and all I notice is how he smells a little more like beer than he did before. He kisses me again and it’s not as sweet as the first time. His mouth feels colder and he tastes like beer.
He pulls away and sticks his face under my chin, into my neck. I have to bite my lip not to giggle. “I’m going to stay until Kellen and Tad come back with my keys. Probably not a good idea to tell anyone about this, about what we’ve been doing okay?”
I nod. And he sets me down. Grabbing his beer, he goes and flops down on the loveseat.
I run up to my room, practically flying upstairs on these new feelings. I try to focus on the first kiss, not the last one. In my head I practice what I’m going to say to Gaby as I pick up the phone. Jen hasn’t even been kissed like that! Unless she’s holding out on us. When I scroll through the phone for Gaby’s number, I remember that I’m still pissed at them for how they treated me at the pool. I need to wait until tomorrow. For more impact. It’s not like I’ll ever forget.
16.
Do not overmix.
..........................................................
Six days pass before I see Charlie again. He washes dishes without his usual humming, singing, or dancing. This time I don’t go over and say hi. I haven’t been in the mood to bake or decorate and if I’m not ready for the contest by now then I’ll never be. I haven’t gone anywhere except school and I try harder than ever not to walk anywhere alone, especially at school, which is hard when Noelle isn’t with me.
Today I delivered a forged note to the attendance office.
Please excuse Kara McKinley through next Tuesday, as she’ll be attending a funeral with her father in Wisconsin.
God bless,
Meg McKinley
Now I’m in the café kitchen, listening to the ping of the sprayer on dishes as I grab some things I need for the contest. Mom is out on errands. All week I’ve had to sneak around, grabbing things here or there so as not to raise her suspicions. I hope Charlie isn’t so pissed at me that he would tell her before I sneak off to California.
After stowing what I need away in the apartment, I head back down to the café.
Hayden sits at his usual table.
I haven’t seen him since the night at the bar. He’s bent over his laptop; I’m hoping I’ll be able to sneak past without him noticing. My palms are damp and it’s feeling harder to breathe. I take a quick glance around to see that no one looks my way, and try to time it so that when I pass by his table I’m preoccupied fighting with the zipper on my hoodie.
“Is that how it is now?”
My face heats up because I know he’s talking to me, but I pretend not to hear him as I let the door shut behind me. Maybe he’s regretting kissing me. Forget the kiss. I’m remembering him at the Moon Bar. My shift starts in twenty minutes. For once I’m thankful I have to work.
I head over to Hill Kitchens and go right for the baking aisle. I sift through pans, Silpats, and rolling pins and of course, their to-die-for collection of sprinkles. They’re ridiculously overpriced, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t resist them.
My breath catches when I see the poster advertising the Snowflake Sugar Cookie Bake-Off. I feel a flush of both excitement and terrible fear. I can’t wait to go. Can’t wait to get away from Seattle and Charlie and Mom and Kellen and Hayden and my stalker. But I’m scared of traveling to California alone. I was so confident and sure of myself, buying my plane ticket and forging Mom’s signature, but now I’m scared of everything falling apart. Now I know just how much of a dream it really is.
JUSTINE’S SLATHERING ON LIPSTICK
when I get to Crockett’s. She doesn’t look like herself at all—no other makeup or fancy hair or anything.
“Why are you here, Justine? It’s your day off.”
She smiles sweetly at me and still looks beautiful even without all the makeup. “Hey, sweetie, nice to see you. Got called in. Two checkers out sick.” She sighs and caps her lipstick before tucking it back into her apron. “I could use the extra money anyway.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Sniff and Jason walking toward us. They are laughing over something and then Sniff pats Jason on the back. I hear him say, “No problem, I’ll take care of it.”
I turn so I can go lock up my bag, but Dickhead trots over, like he can’t wait to tell me something.
“Kara,” he says. “You’re filling in for Jason tomorrow. Be here at seven thirty.”
With that he pivots and walks away but I follow him into the produce section. “I can’t. I have plans,” I announce to his back.
He turns and sniffs. “Kara, I’m sorry but I need you here.”
“But I asked for these days off when you hired me, remember?”
“Things have changed and now I need you to cover for Jason. He’s going out of town. Last minute.”
I feel my insides boil. “I have a plane ticket.”
“Kara,” he replies. His hands are on his hips and he’s looking up at the ceiling now, sniffing of course. “Be here tomorrow at seven thirty or I will fire you.”
My whole body shakes with anger. I inhale fast and let it out even faster, and louder. My face heats up and I think I might be sick. “You asshole,” I whisper.
Sniff glowers at me and doesn’t seem to care that every eye in the produce section watches us. “What did you say?”
I look at his shoes and my heart pounds. Don’t cry! God, I want to cry.
My total dickhead of a boss stands with his legs apart, arms folded and stares at me. So I suck in another breath before I yell, “I have a plane ticket and you’re giving Jason the day off? Are you kidding? You are a fucking asshole!”
I turn around, swinging my bag over my shoulder as I run, my heart pounding like I sprinted a mile. When I’m finally back in my own head, I realize that I ran straight back to the stockroom, rather than out the front door. My face reddens again because how stupid am I?
Then I hear some laughing way down the hall, and a “Holy shit!” I slide out the backdoor and find myself at the spot by the dumpsters where Charlie kissed me. I keep moving. I pick up my pace. When I run around the corner, I almost knock into Jason, who’s leaning against the wall smoking. I force an exaggerated sigh and move on, not wanting to give him one second of my time. But then I change my mind and whirl around.
“You’re a dick, Jason, you know that?”
Sniff’s protégé gives me a half-lidded stare and blows smoke at me. Gone are the smile and that sickeningly friendly way he has about him when we’re in Crockett’s.
I want to say more but won’t waste my breath on a loser, so I go sit on the bench at the far corner of the lot where Justine usually takes her smoke breaks, hoping she’ll come out.
I feel like crap. I planned on quitting after the contest, but I kind of like earning money that doesn’t come from Mom’s hand. I never wanted to quit before because then she’d be suspicious about it, or worse—she’d make me work in her Jesus café.
I’m not a quitter. But maybe I am.
Seven-Year-Old Carrot
Dad and Kellen are in the garage where he’s teaching her to paint. I am sort of hiding from them behind the workbench. I want to learn, too.
“Okay, you’re getting the hang of it, Kell Bells.”
The support beam is in front of me. On our birthdays Dad makes us stand against it and he sticks his flat carpenter pencil on top of our heads so he can mark the beam with how much we’ve grown. I touch the spots where Dad has written our names.
“
Kell Bells, age eleven
.” That was her birthday last month. All the way down the beam are places Dad wrote: Kell Bells, ghost phase, or princess phase, or Elmo phase.
Kellen has numbers for every birthday. My last number was when I turned five. Now I’m seven. Maybe I should remind him to measure me.
For Dad my sister is always Kell Bells, and I’m always Kara. Just Kara.
I peek out around the beam and Dad sees me.
“Hey baby girl, why don’t you run along and see what your Mom is up to?”
“She’s at the store.”
He smiles and nods and goes back to Kellen. I want to paint so bad. My teacher always tells me I’m a good painter.
Dad always shows Kellen how to do everything.
I shuffle over to watch a little closer. They are painting new lattice for the porch. Kellen takes her time and goes back and forth with the brush while Dad smiles. “Good girl. Keep it right with the grain, you’re doing great!”
Kellen dips again and drips paint all over the floor this time, and on Dad’s shoe. She looks up quickly at him.
“It’s okay,” Dad says. “We’ll clean it up later.”
“Can I try?” I whisper. “I wanna paint.”
“Baby girl, this is Kellen’s job right now. Maybe when you’re older, okay?”
The paint is so thick and glossy and pretty and I want to stick my finger in it. It looks like melted ice cream, even though it smells stinky.
“Kara, go check on your mom.”
“I told you, she’s gone!”
Kellen ignores us. She dips the paintbrush again and brushes the extra on the edge of the can before smoothing the luscious paint over the wood he taught her to sand last week.
“Dad, please?”