Anna
Setting my Kindle on the table, I get off the couch and head into my kitchen. I have a craving for chocolate milk—something that started in the second trimester of my pregnancy and never went away even after I gave birth.
Maybe a chocolate chip cookie wouldn’t be bad either. In my opinion, a person can never have too much chocolate.
I step into the kitchen. Before I can even turn on the light, though, I’m cursing as my socks instantly get soaked by water.
I slap at the wall switch. When the light clicks on, I gape at the good inch of water that covers my entire linoleum floor. Suspecting the dishwasher as the culprit since I had just started it about half an hour ago, I snap my gaze that way, dismayed to see a steady rush of water coming out of the bottom and spilling onto the floor.
“Goddamn it,” I exclaim as I rush toward the dishwasher, my thick socks now weighed down by the water that has soaked into them.
I snatch the door open to halt the cycle. For some reason, though, that doesn’t stop the flow of water. I have officially exhausted my entire knowledge of how water moves through a machine.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter as I scramble into the living room, sloshing water everywhere to grab my phone. After I pull up the superintendent’s contact information, I stab hard at the number. It’s the first time I’ve had to call him since moving in. When I get his voicemail, I growl in frustration.
I leave a screeching, slightly hysterical message for him to please come to my apartment and help me turn the water off. The minute I disconnect, I’m calling Cage. He’s the one who had tinkered with the damn thing already, so he should know what’s wrong with it.
I get his voicemail also. “Cage… damn it. Now is not the time to ignore me. I have a slight emergency over here… like water all over my kitchen from the dishwasher you supposedly fixed for me. Call me. Now!”
Those last words were snarled as I disconnect the phone.
For a moment, I decide to just give up. I’m going to end up flooding my apartment, probably cave in the ceiling on the one below me, and I accept that outcome. Mentally, I start preparing what to say to my poor neighbors who live under me.
But then inspiration strikes. Once again, I pull up the contacts on my phone.
Malik answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”
I take a deep breath, then let it out. Even trying to sound calm, I can totally hear my voice quavering. “Um… my dishwasher has flooded my entire kitchen, and it won’t stop leaking water. I pulled the door open to stop the cycle, but it won’t stop gushing out.”
If there’s ever a testament that Malik is the type of man who can remain steadfast and calm in any situation, it’s in the way his tone changes to comfort me. “It’s not a problem, Anna. Easy fix. There will be a water shut-off valve under your kitchen sink. Just open the cabinets and look under there. The valve will be vertical. Just turn it to horizontal until the water shuts off.”
“Okay,” I whisper, tears now pricking at my eyes. I slosh through the water, my socks now starting to come off and hang around my heels, flapping in the front like long flippers.
I open the cabinet under the sink, bend, and peer under there. All I see are half-a-dozen bottles of household cleaners, a spare roll of soaked paper towels, and my dishwasher detergent.
The tears really threaten to spill. For the first time in a while, I think… I can’t do this without a man in my life. I need Jimmy, and it’s unfair I don’t have him.
But then… I spy it, right against the back just behind the U-bend of the water pipe. The valve is exactly as Malik said it would be, and I reach in to turn it to the horizontal position.
Immediately, the rush of water silences. When I hopefully cast a glance over, I see it has blessedly stopped coming out from the bottom of the appliance.
“That worked,” I exclaim gleefully as I straighten.
Malik chuckles. “Awesome. Now, if you’ll text me your address, I’ll come over and see if I can figure out what’s going on with it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I say, miserably examining all the water.
“Text me your address,” he repeats firmly. “And might I suggest gathering all your towels to start sopping the water up?”
“Okay,” I murmur, giving in. All too easily, I’ve rolled over and accepted Malik’s help to come over and help me mop my floor. So much for the independent woman who can take care of herself in any situation thrown her way.
♦
In fifteen minutes, Malik knocks on my door, the benefits of being fairly close to Jameson without actually living in the bad area of town. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and he’s carrying a small toolbox.
He holds it up with a grin. “Wasn’t sure if you had tools, so I snatched this from the common area at Jameson.”
I wave him in, suddenly aware I’m already in my pajamas and it’s only seven on a Saturday night. Fortunately, my pajamas consist of yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. It’s one of the few I kept of Jimmy’s, and it still smells like him no matter how many times I’ve washed it. I managed to ditch my sopping socks and slip on a bra before Malik arrived, so I’m decent at least, but there’s no getting past the fact I’m completely lame.
“Avery sleeping?” Malik asks as he surveys the kitchen.
I’d managed to get the water cleaned up, but now a pile of sodden towels is in a massive heap on the floor. Because I have an efficiency washer and dryer, it’s going to take me at least five loads to finish them all.
“Yeah,” I say as I shut the door. “Luckily, I had just gotten her down before I found this catastrophe.”
Malik makes a sound of acknowledgment deep in his throat before going right to the problem. “Have you had issues with the dishwasher before today?”
“Oh, yeah,” I mutter as I lean against the counter to watch. “Supposedly, Cage fixed it when he was here last week.”
“Well, let me take a look,” he says easily. “If it’s something I can fix, we can get your water turned back on at least.”
Malik sets the toolbox on the counter, then pulls his hoodie over his head. As he lifts the heavy material, it causes the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath to rise. An expanse of tanned skin and a muscled back are exposed before it falls back down to cover him up.
Even in the last week and a half since Malik returned, he’s filled out quite a bit. It’s mostly obvious in his face, especially since the dark circles under his eyes have receded. I know he’s been packing in some calories so he can overcome his deficit, but there was no mistaking the outline of his rib cage in that brief glimpse. In a few more months, though, I expect he’ll have most of his brawn back.
“Wouldn’t happen to have a beer, would you?” Malik asks as he tosses his hoodie on the counter.
“I most certainly would,” I say with a smile, moving to the fridge to retrieve one. I twist the cap off, toss it in the garbage, and hand it over. He takes a long swig before setting the bottle near his sweatshirt.
He opens the door of the dishwasher, then commences to work on it.
I watch for a while, asking a few questions, but he has no answers for me. After he removes the entire lower basket and starts dismantling the drain, I decide to go ahead and drink the chocolate milk I’d been craving earlier. While I’d love a beer, too, I don’t drink if there’s a chance I’ll have to feed Avery within a few hours. Given she’s hungry often, it’s not worth the risk.
As I’m draining the last of my milk—having taken a decent amount of teasing from Malik over my choice of drink—Avery’s cry rings out from her bedroom.
“A mother’s job is never done,” I quip, then tell Malik, “There’s more beer in the fridge. Also some leftover pizza if you’re hungry. Feel free to help yourself.”
“Got it,” he grunts as he works to unscrew something in the bottom of the machine.
Leaving Malik to his repair job, I go into the little nursery I’d set up and decorated myself. I turn on a small lamp on the dresser before leaning over the crib. “Who’s a hungry little princess?” I coo.
Avery answers me with a lusty cry, her little fists balled up and waving.
“Patience,” I remind her in a lilting voice, reaching under my t-shirt to unsnap my bra. My nipples actually tingle when she cries, a response that took some getting used to as a new mom.
I pick Avery up and carry her to the rocking chair in the corner, slowly lowering down into it. I’ve become adept at breastfeeding, and so has Avery. Her cries cease as she recognizes the movement—the way I shift, lift up my t-shirt on one side, and put her into position. She easily finds my nipple, tiny palms pressed to my skin, and starts to suckle.
Leaning my head against the padded top of the chair, I start to gently rock her as I hum a lullaby. Avery’s such a good baby. This will be her last feeding tonight. She’s actually starting to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, something my body greatly appreciates.
A shadow passes across the doorway, and I lift up to see Malik there.
“Oh, shit,” he says abruptly, spinning to give me his back. “Sorry… I didn’t know you’d be… um…”
I chuckle, glancing down at Avery. There’s very little of me exposed, but I’m sure he didn’t realize that in the brief glimpse he got when he walked in.
“It’s okay, Malik,” I say on a laugh. “I’m covered, and I’m doing nothing more than feeding my daughter. Not a big deal.”
Hesitantly, he turns. While I’m mostly in the shadows, the glow from the lamp reveals his embarrassed expression slowly disappearing as he takes Avery and me in, realizing there’s truly not much to see.
“Is my dishwasher toast?” I ask.
“Actually, no… I fixed it, but you’re going to need a new seal on the drain. I’ll pick one up for you tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I don’t mind,” he replies, leaning against the doorjamb.
I consider this because I don’t want to feel indebted, but I’m also extremely appreciative of the help. “How about I cook you dinner tomorrow in exchange?”
“Deal,” he replies. I’m surprised when he moves into the nursery, then lowers to sit on the floor. He leans against the dresser, crossing his long legs at the ankle. Nodding at Avery, who’s starting to get a full belly, he asks, “Does that hurt?”
“Not so much,” I say.
“Is this weird? Me sitting in here while you breastfeed your daughter?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Oddly, it’s not.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs with a pensive look. “Weirdly, it’s not for me either.”
It hits me a bit like a sucker punch, coming out of left field, and I wonder how I hadn’t realized it before. Malik and I have actually bonded on some plane that transcends basic friendship. I’ve always had the feeling he was important to my life somehow. It’s why his capture had been so consuming for me. Truly, it was one of the reasons I wanted to come work at Jameson.
The need to have Malik be okay would always reflect on my own ability to be okay in turn.
And, unknowingly, I think it ended up forming a unique bond between us. To my surprise, it appears to go two ways.
I decide it’s the perfect opportunity to try to push some boundaries. “How are things going with Corinne?”
Malik shrugs. “It’s going. We’ve only had a few sessions, but she’s easy to talk to.”
“Yet, I still get the distinct impression you don’t want to talk about it.”
He smiles faintly as he nods. “Men never like to talk about their feelings. Didn’t you know that?”
I can’t help but laugh because Jimmy had been just like that—always trying to be so tough. “Boy, do I ever know that.”
There’s a long moment of silence before he says, “I’m an introvert.”
“I can see that,” I admit.
“I was always the type who enjoyed being alone,” he continues. “I mean… I have friends and enjoy being around them, but I was never one for big social events, you know? I like small gatherings. Meaningful talk.”
I don’t say anything, because I sense there’s more to his story.
There’s a slight pause as his gaze drops to his hands, which are folded in his lap, before he looks back up. “From the moment I was taken—through beatings and torture and threats of death—the absolute worst thing was being alone. After they chained me up in that hole and left me for hours upon hours, day after day, month after month, with no meaningful interaction… it was beyond unbearable.”
“I can’t even imagine,” I whisper, the mere thought of Malik going through that has my heart shredding for him.
He takes in a deep breath, pasting on a confident smile. “One might think going through that would make me so appreciative of people that I’d just want to be around them all the time, right?”
I shrug, trying to lighten the moment. “Want to go to a rave or something?”
Malik barks out a laugh. “Fuck no. If anything, it reaffirmed I am, indeed, an introvert. It’s those deep, meaningful connections with people that are important. Like right now… sitting here talking to you.”
Something inside me swells with the knowledge Malik has recognized and validated the same bond I feel. Through our experience, grief, and processing, we’ve found something within each other. We’ve recognized we can rely on each other.
“I’m really glad you made it back,” I say candidly. “Not just for the obvious reasons. We all wanted you back. But you’re like a miracle to me… shining some light down on what’s been a very dark time for me. I know that might sound weird—”
“It doesn’t,” he assures me.
“But I treasure it,” I finish, giving him a smile. “I’ll always cherish it.”
“Me too,” he murmurs, leaning his head against the dresser again. “Me too.”