Breakdown (Crash into Me) Read online

  “Wow.” I crossed my arms over myself and rolled my eyes just to emphasize how annoyed I was. “Noisy and sexist. You must be one hell of a catch.”

  “Hey!” he shouted with his grin growing. “You’re the one who answered the door in an apron. And I’ll have you know that I am one hell of a catch.”

  “You—” I pointed my finger out at him, a slew of insults ready and loaded on the tip of my tongue. I would have thrown all of them at him too, but the sound of the timer going off took my mind elsewhere.

  William leaned in close while his eyes looked past me. “Do you have to get that, Jumper? I could wait—”

  I threw the apron at him and went for the kitchen. He may have infuriated me, but there was no way I was going to let my cupcakes suffer for it.

  Just as I turned the corner out of the hall, I heard his feet behind me, the squeak of what sounded like new sneakers on my mom’s freshly waxed hardwood floor. When I realized he intended to follow me I gritted my teeth together, hoping the expression was enough to suggest I would literally bite his head off if I could. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I yanked on the oven mitt as hard as I could. There were a million and one things I could do to show him how much he pissed me off, and I intended to do as much of it as possible.

  “Walking.” He strode into the kitchen like he owned the place, his absolute lack of hesitation to pull out a chair infuriating me even more. “Now I’m sitting. What are you doing?”

  “Well,” I said as vindictively as I possible. “I’m taking out these cupcakes, and then I’m going to call the police about a breaking and entering.”

  William’s laugh was downright musical. “Last night you weren’t so pro-establishment.” He shrugged and propped his hands behind his head. “Though it is a ladies prerogative to change her mind.”

  I dropped the cupcake tray in mid-air. The noise was so loud, I earned William’s attention. Like the night before, however, he remained cool and calm—happy. Briefly, I glanced at him, trying not to appear too interested in the way his long sleeve white shirt fit him. When that failed, I went back to insulting him.

  “Me throwing things at you and calling you names does not equal an invite. What kind of degenerate are you?”

  “I’m Irish, Jumper.” He laughed. “And if you think that doesn’t equal an invite, you’ve clearly haven’t spent any time with the Irish.”

  I slung off the over mitt and closed the oven door with my hip. Given William’s lack of manners, it didn’t surprise me that he had met nearly every cliché stereotype I knew about the Irish. I kept this to myself, however, and put my hand to my hip instead, staring at him almost as hard as he was staring at me. Why hadn’t I noticed his prominent Adam’s apple the night before? Or, more importantly, when did I become so attracted to that sort of thing? I didn’t exactly think that the light of morning would change my perspective of him. But then again, I hadn’t ever expected to see him again either. What was I supposed to say to that? Was I supposed to be flattered that he was motivated enough to try and scam me?

  “That accent then.” Since when was I attracted to prominent Adam’s apples? And why did I so badly want to stare at his? “That’s the real thing or what?”

  “Or what?” William tilted his head like he was genuinely confused. I, on the other hand, knew better.

  “Come on, like you don’t know what I mean.”

  “I consider myself a pretty quick witted guy, Jumper, but in this case I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I slammed the silverware drawer shut and pumped the icing bag for the next part of my project. Maybe, if I could use it like a stress ball, it would keep me from swearing or throwing something at him.

  “Oh, you know. You flash the nice car, a few choice words with the accent, and any girl who ever had a crush on a Kennedy will be all over you.”

  “Jumper!” He opened his mouth wide as if in shock. “If you think I’m sexy you can just come right out and say it.”

  “Some girls,” I emphasized, “find that attractive. I assure you, I do not.”

  Without waiting for the cupcakes to cool properly, I began icing them, making an effort to be just as interested in that as I had been in William’s Adam’s apple.

  When I was lost somewhere between my thoughts and trying to concentrate, William must have stood up, so quiet I was only aware of him when he stopped to hover over my shoulder. This movement made things exceptional difficult, considering that I could smell his cologne better, the soft scent of aftershave and leather becoming even stronger as he reached across me.

  “Why don’t I believe you?” he whispered in my ear and grabbed a cupcake, stuffing it icing first into his mouth.

  I swear I didn’t take a breath until he took a step back.

  “B-Because you’re full of yourself?”

  He nodded just before stuffing the remainder of the cupcake in his mouth. I grimaced like I was really disgusted—one of the many facial expressions I had learned to mimic from my mom. It hardly had the effect I was hoping for.

  “Damn, Jumper, you really earned your apron here.” William ate with his mouth wide open. I was tempted to laugh, but I rolled my eyes instead. “These things are amazing. Is that peanut-butter I’m tasting?”

  William reached for another and I smacked his hand away.

  “I mean it.” He laughed, backing into his chair like he was truly afraid of me. “Those are incredible. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

  “Bake,” I corrected. “Baking and cooking are two very different things. And I picked up most of it from TV and work.”

  “Yeah? Where you work at, Jumper? Is it one of those coffee shops where the waitresses wear bikinis? Cause I could definitely see that—”

  “Pie in the Sky,” I cut him off before he went any further. The last thing I wanted to do was give him another opportunity to make me blush.

  “That place on 98th street?”

  “Yeah.” I looked up and away. What would I do with myself when there were no more cupcakes to ice? How would I avoid looking at him then?

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” William said with a shake of his head. “Here I was hoping it would be at a place called Sweet Rolls or Angel Cakes.”

  My lips smiled even after I told them not to. “The Cooling Rack.”

  William smiled out of the corner of my eye. Did I have enough eggs to start another project, or was I going to have to kick him out when the icing gun was empty? More notably, why did I want William to stay so badly? Did I need someone to talk to? Was I really that desperate? That lonely? Could it even be possible he was that easy to talk to?

  Immediately his smile turned into a grin. “Hot Crossed Buns.”

  I came back with “Cherry on Top.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Creamy Creations”

  It was strange how much I liked laughing with William just then. It wasn’t just the way he leaned forward in my mom’s dining chairs and clutched his stomach, his eyes squinting shut from the effort of laughing. I liked the way laughing with him felt, the way it felt to laugh.

  “You are definitely not a one-hit wonder, Jumper.”

  I looked away and finished up the icing. Where were the sprinkles? The cookie crumbs? Anything to keep me honed in on the cupcakes.

  “So with a wicked sense of humor, a nice house, a job, and wicked baking skills, why are you looking to kill yourself so bad?”

  That had it. I tossed the icing bag in the sink and turned the hot water on full blast.

  “What are you doing here, William? Come here for a tearful thank-you? A reward? Some reassurance that I won’t try it again? I’m sorry to tell you that you won’t get any of that.” I waved my hand at the tin of cupcakes on the counter. “If you didn’t notice, I’m much too busy for suicide today.”

  After watching him rotate his ankles, I turned back to the counter just in time to catch the smile in his voice. “No dying when there are treats to be made?”r />
  I smiled as sarcastically as possible. “Exactly.”

  “Well, that’s good for today, Jumper, but you can’t make cupcakes every day.”

  “Watch me,” I mouthed back to him.

  “Sounds good to me, Jumper.”

  When he started to laugh again I just glared at him.

  “Seriously, Jumper,” William said once he got his laughter under control. “If I ever want a cooking lesson you’ll definitely be my first call.”

  “Baking,” I corrected. “Bak-ing. And if you’re calling anyone, it should be a girl who buys your crap.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Touchy, touchy. I’ll have you know, Jumper, that most girls are happy when I show up at their doorstep… more than happy, in fact.” He added the last part as if it were an afterthought. Why didn’t it surprise me that he went and made another reference to his sexuality? Was everything sexual innuendo to this guy or did he just get some so often that he didn’t even notice?

  “Good for you.” My voice instantly resorted to defensiveness. “But if I have to ask you one more time what you’re doing here and you don’t answer, I really will call the police.”

  William rolled his eyes, his smile fading for the first time for real since he arrived as he went to get something from his pocket. The simple change in his expression my insides clench much more than I would have anticipated. I shut my eyes and turned on the faucet to wash the dishes I had created. This guy was only feeding on my loneliness. Using my obvious underbelly to get in my head and take advantage of me in some way, right?

  That’s what people do, after all. That was all anyone ever did.

  “I came to return this. You must have dropped this in my car.”

  Attracted to the sound of soft plastic landing on the table, I stared then at the familiar image of myself—slightly younger and freshly freed from braces.

  Looking back at my more recent past, I couldn’t remember when I had lost my license. Almost as if by instinct, I flipped the glossy plastic over—it was better to see the checked off box that confirmed my willingness to donate my organs than my own image.

  “Right…”

  “Is that baker translation for thank-you?”

  “More like why didn’t you just leave it in the mailbox like a normal person?”

  William smiled again, a piece of his golden hair falling into his eyes. When was the last time I had made someone light up like that? When was the last time I had lit up like that?

  “I also figured I’d say hello, see how you were doing. You know, like a normal person?”

  “Okay,” I snapped. “Well, you did it, now you can leave.” I didn’t mean a word of it, not a single one. And I was almost certain my eyes were screaming for him to stay. If he saw it or not remained uncertain.

  William leaned back in his chair, his face arrogant, and even more attractive for it. If I could have, I would have chided him, yet, not wanting him to know—again anyway—how good looking I thought he was, I kept quiet. Meanwhile, he continued to look at me with an overconfidence that suggested he knew something I did not. “You’re not a big people-person are you, Jumper? Don’t host a lot of guests?”

  Smiling, I imitated him sentence for sentence. “You’re not a very smart guy are you, William? Don’t take a lot of hints?”

  “Yeah, all right,” he said, still smiling and pushing in the chair behind him. “I’ll leave you to bake your sorrows away. But if you need a taste tester, feel free to give me a ring. It’d be nice to hear from you.”

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” I scrubbed hard at the dirty mixing bowl in my hands.

  He sighed as if bored. “If that’s what it takes to get a call from you…”

  “What?” I turned just in time to see him looking at the whiteboard on the fridge. For Dad’s forgetful mind, Mom had scribbled each of our cell phone numbers there with a dry erase marker. And before I could think of something to say or even run to the fridge and wipe the number away, William was typing away into his phone, grinning like a madman.

  “I have to admit,” he mumbled to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a hard time getting a girl’s number.”

  A weird surge of panic and something I couldn’t identify struck me. “You aren’t getting my number.” I fled to the whiteboard, but William was already putting his phone away, a grin still firmly planted on his face. “You’re stealing it!”

  “Not very do-gooder of me, is it? But, not only does this make it easy for me to check up on you, but I can invite you to the races too.”

  I swallowed my heart back into its proper place. “Races?”

  “Yep.” William looked up at me through his mess of hair. “There’s one tonight if you’re interested.”

  The end of my lips twitched as I took in the memory of our game of chicken with the cops. Even if nothing like that happened again in my life, I was sure the hope of something similar might keep me going for years to come.

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “It may or may not be fun, but you gotta admit, it’s a better alternative to suicide.”

  I shook my head. “But not to jail. Not to mention the gruesomely slow death my mom will submit me to if I get arrested.”

  “It’s going to be at the Devil’s Promenade—”

  I cut him off with an eye roll and the best smart-ass comment I could come up with. “Because that doesn’t sound like a place the police would go to…”

  “Like I was saying, there’s gonna be lots of cars, booze, girls—do you like girls, Jumper?”

  “Not as much as you apparently.” I rolled my eyes and shut off the water. If William was wondering why I washing dishes by hand when they had already been in the dishwasher he hadn’t asked. I was grateful for it too, since I wasn’t feeling particularly clever enough to lie. Out of dishes now, however, I pretended to look through the cupboards. If I didn’t have to look at William, I reasoned, then maybe I wouldn’t be so easy to read.

  “So you’re not into girls?” He stared off at the ceiling as if considering something and went to scratch his imaginary beard. “I don’t know if I’m happy about that or not. Guess it’ll just make my imagination work overtime.”

  I opened a cupboard door and pounded my head against it. “You’re an ass.”

  Although I couldn’t see him, I got the sense that William was taking a minute to study the license on the table. I hadn’t bothered to pick it up yet, and now I was beginning to wish I had. It was true that I hadn’t wanted anyone to know I was suicidal until it was too late, but my vanity made me care almost as much that this stranger knew my birthday and weight, my eye and hair color as well as the fact that I wanted to die.

  “And you’re Charlotte Ferro? That’s Italian, right?”

  I hit myself with the cupboard door again. “Such. An. Ass.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes then. You don’t look like a Charlotte. Nonetheless…” He looked at the features of my face as if he was trying to figure out something important. I turned away and blushed. “More like a “Jumper” to me, a “Lottie” at best.”

  “Will you leave now, or do I have to hit you over the head with a rolling pin?”

  William smirked and stood up, stretching his arms to make his biceps look long and lean. “Closing in on the stereotypes of your culture? Very nice.”

  Smiling now, I pointed to the front door, sure that if he didn’t get out of my house soon I might seriously think about asking him to be there every time I wanted to die. My human antidepressant.

  “Get the hell out of here!”

  William chuckled softly while I followed him out of the kitchen and into the hall, giving him a shove as hard as I could. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t budge, remaining at the door where I first found him.

  “Thanks for the snack, Jumper. I have a new appreciation for the culinary arts—”

  “Stop trying to flatter me and get going.”

  He stumbled as I shoved him again, this time more successfully past the front step
s and out of the house. I slammed the door in his face and listened to him laugh.

  “See you soon, Jumper. See you real soon!”

  I watched from the living room windows as he walked down the front path, stopping at Bloody Mary parked on the side of the curb. See you soon? He couldn’t possibly be serious could he?

  And if he was, what would I do then?

  Chapter Four

  With William gone and no baking supplies left, I sat on Mom’s antique walnut sofa, an item Dad had been forbidden to sit on, let alone nap. Yet without Mom around I could sit on her precious couch without her pitching a fit. It was immature, silly at best, but I think it was mostly my way of rebelling within a safety-zone.

  It was like flipping her off when her back was turned.

  I sat there for so long I lost track of the time, listening to the ticking of the wall clock and watching the sun move across the room. The Reiner’s dog yipped and yapped at early evening joggers, and cars honked at kids who slowed traffic with their mischief. Every time one of the skateboarders fell, there was the echoing of swearing and laugher. The mailman came and went. There was the sound of a walker and its elderly owner making its way slowly down the sidewalk, and bike chains dangling as the Masson boys raced each other. I closed my eyes and tried to replace the sound of chains and flipping skateboards with engines, the smell of lemon pledge for diesel.

  I had no idea why the memory of the race made my stomach so fuzzy, but only that it did, and once I acknowledged the feeling did I realize that I liked the fuzziness very much. Yet my lack of awareness on why I liked it so much added confusion into the equation that I didn’t want to deal with. I had never been one for sports, and had definitely not been interested in anything illegal. So why was it exactly I couldn’t stop daydreaming about racing? Was it the speed? The danger? Or was it just that in a lifetime of sitting in the backseat I finally had the opportunity to see the road for myself?

  I had to admit that there was something strangely fascinating about seeing so many people gathered for the sake of cars, a modern machine that I had probably taken advantage of my entire life. Obviously, there were a million and one reasons to love a car, but I couldn’t ever having recalled seeing so many people gathering against society for something as everyday as a car, and it had me wondering about the motivation of those besides myself. Why did they all love it so much? Why did William?