Page 49 of Sweet Escape
It’s terrifying just how true that is.
Chapter 13
Executive Dysfunction is a Bitch
?Busyhead - Noah Kahan
Olivia
It takesa few days for me to convince myself to dial the phone, but my effort toward reconciliation falls flat. Three unreturned calls and a string of text messages later, I finally hear back from my mom.
Mom: We need more time.
It’s not what I expect to hear, but I have to respect her boundaries and trust that they’ll reach out when they’re ready. To me, this might feel like a petty vendetta, but to my family, it was the near loss of their livelihood and everything they worked for their entire lives. They need time, and I have nothing but time to give for the next six months or so, at least.
I can be patient. I just need a distraction.
My first attempt at a new recipe is an epic failure. I can’t remember if I added the eggs, so I add more. Then I find the shells in the trash, confirming that I did, in fact, add the eggs the first time. I compensate by doubling the remaining ingredients.
To my utter horror, the mixer overflows. I manage to wipe downmostof the mess before starting on the dishes and somehow end up spending the next hour rearranging the cabinets. That’s what my illogical brain tells me to do, even though I still have a mess to clean up.
The inner workings of my mind are like one giant maze with a million dead ends and only one exit.
Outside the small kitchen window, the sun sinks behind the trees, leaving me with only the faint glow of the street lamps and the dim light above the stove. I lean back against the basin, inhaling a few stuttered breaths. On the outside, I’m cool and collected. Inside, I have this intense need to be doing something, anything, but I’m paralyzed looking around at the mess on my countertops. I know I need to fix it, but I can’t. My mind is at war within itself, and my body doesn’t know which side to obey. I sink to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees.
I stay like that for minutes, maybe half an hour, until I muster up enough energy to make my way to the bedroom. I spare the bathroom a cursory glance, but I can’t even bring myself to shower or brush my teeth. Those are problems for the me of tomorrow. Right now, I want to sink into my bed and hope I wake up without this debilitating dysfunction.
A sharp rap at the door wakes me from my peaceful sleep. Glancing at the clock, I realize I’ve been out for almost twelve hours. I stumble out of bed and throw my hair into a haphazard bun as I make my way to the door. At least I had the wherewithal to lock up last night.
I wince as I pass the disaster that’s awaiting me in the kitchen. When the door swings open and Wilder is on the other side, my eyes widen. I’ve never seen him looking so disheveled.
His hair is sticking up at odd angles, and his clothes are wrinkled like he threw them on in a hurry. His fists are clenched at his side, but I don’t miss the tremble. “You weren’t answering your phone. I thought something happened to you. Then it stopped ringing altogether, and I panicked.”
I grimace. My phone is probably somewhere on the kitchen island, buried in cupcake batter and regret. I take one of his shaking hands in mine. “I’m okay. Come inside.”
When he steps through the door, he pulls me into his arms, and his comforting scent wraps around me. He inhales deeply and blows out a prolonged breath. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. It’s not a question, and I can’t tell if he’s saying it for my benefit or his.
“I’m okay.”
Another beat passes before he finally lets go. Head tilted down, eyes closed, he rakes both hands through his hair and takes a few deep breaths before his shoulders finally relax. He scans the space, and I melt into a puddle of shame right there in the entry between my disastrous kitchen and the man I have more than a passing attraction to.
“What happened?” he asks incredulously.
“Short answer? Chaos.”
“Long answer?”
“I tried out a new recipe and got a little sidetracked.”
“A little? Right. How long ago was this?” He lifts one of the dirty spoons that’s solidified to the counter.
I cover my face with my hands, not wanting to see the disgustin his expression, and groan into my palms. “I don’t know. Like… twelve-ish hours ago. Give or take.”
He grasps my wrists, prying them away from my face. “Look at me.”
I snap my hands back into place. It’s childish, I know, but I can’t bring myself to face his judgment. I still remember the way Jake used to berate me for my messes. I never realized how bad he made me feel about myself until I was out of that environment. I couldn’t bear it if Wilder did the same. “No thanks. I’m fine like this.”
“Don’t hide from me. What’s going on?”
