2. STUCK

CHAPTER TWO

KENDALL

STUCK

I’m so fucking tired when I walk through the front door of our two-bedroom house a little after eleven at night that I barely have the energy to kick off my shoes. But then smell of fresh cupcake hits my nose. For a second, I just stand there, confused. The house is usually quiet at this hour, especially lately. Mum has been sleeping more since starting chemo, and I’ve gotten used to coming home to dim lights with the television murmuring softly in the living room, and her curled beneath a blanket even when she insists she isn't tired.

Tonight however, the kitchen is glowing and it looks like a fucking bakery exploded in it. That, or Santa came early this year and rained cupcakes on us. The counter is covered with trays of cupcakes in every flavor imaginable-vanilla, chocolate, lemon, strawberry, red velvet and even salted caramel. You name it. Some have little swirls of buttercream piled impossibly high. Others are decorated with tiny flowers or berries. There must be hundreds of them.

Mum is standing in front of the oven in her old apron, pulling out another tray. As though sensing my presence, she looks up and smiles.

“Hi, honey.”

I stare at her. Then at the cupcakes and back at her.

“What is happening here?”

She laughs softly, setting the tray down.

“I was thinking maybe I could add something new to the menu.” She gestures towards the ridiculous mountain of cupcakes. “You know, take advantage of the tourist season while it's still here.”

My stomach twists and  I swallow hard, forcing the bile back down. How the fuck am I supposed to tell her that we're drowning? That every new idea she has costs money we don't have? That the ingredients sitting all over this kitchen probably cost more than I can afford to spend on groceries this week?

That there is a creditor calling me every fucking day because I'm paying almost three thousand dollars a month toward a debt I can barely keep up with? Then there's the bank loan and the interest alone feels like it's eating us alive.

And for what?

The catering business barely turns a profit anymore. Some weeks, we're lucky if we get a handful of orders. Yet here she is, standing in our tiny kitchen with flour dusting her cheek and hope shining in her eyes like everything can still be fixed if she just works hard enough.

I can't bring myself to take that away from her. At least not tonight. I've watched her suffer through weeks of chemotherapy and to mention, I know the surgery her doctor recommended could give her a real chance, if only we could afford it. That's the part I can't stop thinking about.

Money.

Everything always comes back to fucking money. My entire life has somehow become a collection of numbers that never add up. I look at her and my chest aches. After Dad ran off with his mistress when I was in fourth grade, Mum poured everything she had into making sure I never felt like I'd been abandoned.

She was working as a nurse then, picking up extra shifts whenever she could, and somehow still found time to build the home-catering business from nothing. I remember coming home from school and finding her exhausted at the kitchen table, calculating ingredient costs while I did my homework beside her.

Maybe that's where my love for cooking came from. Watching her turn nothing into something by just taking a few ingredients and create something beautiful. She paid for my ballet lessons even when they cost more than we could reasonably afford and found time to sit through every recital, competition and rehearsal.

When I was accepted into Juilliard on a scholarship, she cried harder than I did. Even more so when I finished the program at the top of my class. I performed the Nutcracker to standing ovations and for a brief, shining moment, my entire future seemed mapped out in front of me. The biggest ballet companies in the world wanted me. Then I enrolled in culinary school because I thought I could build something of my own someday, perhaps help mum run the catering business.

But then Mum got sick and so I walked away. Just like that. The ballet shoes went into a box and the acceptance letters went into another. Culinary school became another unfinished thing I don't like thinking about. I tell myself I don't regret it. And some days, I almost believe myself.

“Do you want to try one?” Mum's voice pulls me back to reality.

She's holding out a cupcake, her expression hopeful. I look at her. At the tiny smile she's trying to hide and I know I can't tell her tonight. Especially when she looks like some life has slipped back into her.

“Sure.”

I force a smile and reach for it just as a knock sound at the door.

Mum glances toward the hallway, “I’ll get it.”

“No.” I put the cupcake down. “I've got it.”

I walk toward the front door, wiping my hands against my jeans. The moment I open it, the smell of weed is the first thing that hits me, my gaze registering Derek. He's standing on the porch beneath the weak yellow light, his eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. He looks really high.

Again.

“What the fuck is this I'm hearing?” His voice is already aggressive.

I step outside and quietly pull the door almost closed behind me. I don't want Mum hearing this. The last thing I need is her worrying about me when she should be focusing on her health. She is very much delicate.

“About what?”

His jaw tightens and he looks he might snap in half, “That my woman is going to be fucking some rich dude on a boat this Saturday?”

I stare at him, “What?”

“Yeah.” He laughs bitterly. “You think I wouldn't find out?”

His gaze travels over me in a way that makes my skin crawl, “Your friend put your name on some roster, and the guy running the thing has a friend I know. So what the fuck, Kendall? You're going around spreading your legs for some rich asshole now?”

My hands curl into fists, “First of all, we're broken up.”

“No, the fuck we are not.”

“I caught you kissing another girl at a party again, Derek. Last week.”

He shrugs like we're discussing the weather, “So?”

“So I ended things.”

He only rolls his eyes.

“And second, I'm going as part of the waiting staff. I'm serving drinks. That's it. So, unclog your brain and leave me the hell alone.”

His expression changes and the lazy amusement disappears. He steps closer, his taller frame towering over me in that intimidating way that has been making my skin crawl lately.

“First of all, she was some desperate bitch. It was just a kiss.”

I stare at him, wondering how he actually sounds bored. As if the fact that I caught him cheating is an inconvenience he's already forgotten.

“You're mine, babe.” He says.

“I'm not yours.”

He steps closer until I have nowhere to move without backing into the door, “Yes, you are. Without me, Stiller would be taking everything from this house.”

My heart drops. Because he knows exactly where to hit.

“That loan?” he continues. “Yeah. It's getting fucking massive.”

I don't answer.

“Without me, you're dead meat.” His voice drops, “And so is your fucking mum. You know Stiller doesn’t play,”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid. He leans closer, close enough that I can smell the weed on his breath, “So the next time you think about going against what I want…” He pauses, his eyes hold mine, “I won't be so nice.”

Then he steps back. Just like that, he turns and walks down the porch steps, leaving me standing there beneath the yellow light with my heart hammering against my ribs. I don't move until I can't see him anymore. The night suddenly feels colder despite the summer heat. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the empty street.

He's right about one thing. Stiller is someone you don’t play with. But for a second, standing there alone in the darkness, I wonder how the hell I ever let myself fall in love with a man like Derek.

Maybe I was lonely. Maybe I was exhausted. Maybe after Dad left and Mum got sick, some part of me desperately wanted someone to take care of me too for once. And in the beginning, Derek did.

He was sweet and always remembered little things. He brought me coffee before rehearsals and waited outside ballet practice with flowers. He made me feel protected when my world was falling apart. I don't know exactly when that boy disappeared.

Maybe it happened slowly but I was too in love to notice it at first. One criticism at a time over a dress I wore. One angry outburst after I said something in front of his friends that he didn’t like.

One apology.

One broken promise.

One boundary crossed.

Until the man who once made me feel safe became the person I was afraid to leave. And no once could help. Not even the cops could grant me a restraining order. Apparently, I had to prove beyond reasonable doubt that I was in danger around him. And the safest option for me, became to remain with him and try to shove everything down, while hoping for just one chance to leave this town for good. Just one stroke of luck.

I look back at the house.

Through the window, I can see Mum moving around the kitchen, still arranging her cupcakes. She looks happy. I take one shaky breath. Then another and make myself a promise.

I'm getting out.

Somehow. Before Derek destroys the little life Mum and I have left. Even if I have to sell every piece of myself to do it.