The Change Up Page 8

  “Kinsley. It’s very nice to meet you, Joan. What floor do you live on? I can help you carry this all up.”

  “Ten.”

  “Ten? Me too,” I say. “You must be the other tenant.”

  “You live on ten? I thought a man lives on the other side of the hall.”

  We walk over to the elevator where she presses the button for both of us. “Just moved in. Maddox is my best friend, actually. I’m staying with him until I can get on my feet.”

  “Maddox? Oh, it’s terrible but we’ve never met him. We don’t see much of him around at all.”

  Giving her a soft smile, I say, “He’s shy.” She presses the button for ten. “Are you okay, Joan? You seem a little upset.”

  “Oh, I am.” She wipes under her eyes. “I know it might be a little ridiculous, but my grandson, Phineas, was just dumped by his girlfriend of one year. I feel terrible about it because I introduced them, and I really thought she was the one.”

  “That’s terrible. Can I ask what happened?”

  “The little whore was sleeping with her personal trainer.”

  Snot flies out of my nose as I snort out loud from hearing what seems to be a seventy-five-year-old woman refer to a girl as a whore.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to gather myself. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “No one was. Phineas is quite the catch. He has a great job working as the director of human resources for a Fortune 500 company. He has a wonderful face to look at, and he’s a gentle lover.”

  Oh God, how does a grandma even know that?

  “Sounds like a catch.” I smile as Joan takes a shaky step away from me and gives me a smooth once-over. When she reaches my eyes, she shakes her head and mumbles something. “What was that?” I ask.

  She motions up and down my body. “You’re pretty, but you smell like dog and you seem too wild for my Phinny.”

  You smell like dog. Can’t hear that enough. Thankfully it was from an old lady and not a guy . . . or Maddox for that matter.

  “Oh . . . well . . .” I honestly don’t know what to say. Do I apologize? Tell her I wasn’t interested in Phinny to begin with? Tell her maybe he was broken up because his grandma knows he’s a gentle lover?

  The elevator dings and thankfully, I don’t have to say anything as I walk her to her door. When we reach it, I let her open the door before I hand her over everything. And because I’m nice, I say, “If you ever need anything, I’m right down the hall.”

  “That’s very kind. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Have a good—”

  “Would you like to come in for some tea? Melvin is on a biscuit kick and has been baking up a storm lately. I could put together a nice platter for us while we get to know each other.”

  “Melvin?”

  “My husband. The old coot has been attached to me since I was ten. Can’t seem to shake the aged barnacle off me.”

  I chuckle and think about it. Yeah, she told me I smelled like dog, but she does seem nice. I don’t have much going on and since Maddox isn’t here, wouldn’t hurt.

  “Let me go shower and change quickly, then I’ll be right over.”

  “Lovely, dear.”

  * * *

  “We could FaceTime you know.”

  “No way,” I say, lying on the couch on my stomach, feet kicked up behind me. “This is more fun. I get to imagine the sneers you’re giving me rather than seeing them for myself.”

  Maddox had a late game so when he texted to see if it was okay to call, I was still awake, wondering if we would talk tonight.

  “What if you’re imagining the wrong sneer?”

  “I know you too well. Trust me when I say, I know exactly what sneer you would have for any given moment.”

  “I should be scared.”

  “You really should.” I rest the phone on the couch and turn it on speaker. “You know, this is the most you’ve ever called me. We used to talk once a month, now every night? How did I ever get so lucky?”

  He’s silent for a second, which doesn’t surprise me. He puts thought into his answers. “You started a new journey in life, Kinny. I want to make sure you have a support system. You know I love your mom, but she’s not who you should be calling to talk about your day.”

  “So you’re going to be my talking buddy?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  I think about the commitment Maddox is making. He’s not much of a talker, hence him missing our phone calls a few times, and even when we’re on the phone, he’s silent a lot of the time—chiming in when he has to. That he’s willing to listen, makes me feel special.

  “Are you drawing right now?”

  “Always,” he answers, his voice sounds lazy, relaxed.

  “What are you drawing?”

  Smartly, he replies, “If we were FaceTiming, you’d be able to see.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

  “Pot calling the kettle black.”

  I smile to myself and look out the expansive windows to the life just past the glass. Lights dot the dark abyss reminding me I’m a far cry from Woodland . . . thankfully.

  “Can I guess what you’re drawing?”

  “Go ahead.”

  I tap my finger to my chin even though he can’t see it. “Let’s see. Can you answer, person, place, or thing?”

  “Person,” he says as I faintly hear the scratch of his pen against the paper of his notebook, a sound that’s more soothing to me than anything. It’s something I’ve heard nearly once a month for the last ten years. It might sound like a trivial thing, but it’s part of what’s kept me connected to Maddox. It’s part of who he is. It’s part of who we are, from times when he’s allowed me to add my own mediocre additions, without complaint. And knowing him, I doubt he has shared this with just anybody.

  “Person, person . . . okay. Hmm. Do I know this person?”

  “When did this phone call turn into twenty questions?”

  “It’s fun, just answer.”

  “It would be more fun on FaceTime, so I could actually see you.”

  “Do you want to see me or do you want to make sure I’ve been cleaning up after myself?” I’m presuming the latter. He really is fastidious, and I’m glad he can’t see his apartment right now.

  He chuckles. “See you.”

  Feeling generous, I light up my phone and press the circle for FaceTime. It takes two rings before Maddox answers the call and his face pops up on the screen.

  Resting against the headboard of his hotel bed, he’s not wearing a shirt, and his hair is a wild mess. But he looks adorable nonetheless, totally cuddleable.

  “Hey you,” he says with a smile. “I didn’t think you’d ever FaceTime.”

  “Never say never.” I prop my phone against a couch pillow and prop my head up with my hands. “So, do I know the person?”

  “You do.”

  “Interesting. Okay. Do I personally know the person, or is it like a celebrity or one of your teammates?” He scowls and I laugh out loud, pointing at his brow. “Oh, you’re right. This is more fun seeing the scowls in person.”

  “I don’t draw my teammates.”

  “Why not? There are some rock-hard bodies on that team. An artist’s dream.”

  “Not mine.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine, is it a celebrity or do I personally know the person?”

  “You know them.”

  “Well, this makes things difficult. Not your teammate, someone I know personally, is it . . . your brother, Manny?”

  “What?” His scowl deepens but also becomes more menacing at the same time. “Why the hell would I draw him?”

  Whoa, okay, looks like I just touched on something that doesn’t make him happy.

  “Umm . . . I don’t know.”

  Before I can ask another question, Maddox turns his notebook around and says, “It’s you, babe.”

  The phone takes a second to focus in on the picture but when it does, I’m rendered speechless. Sof
t black strokes capturing my hair, wavy and almost silky in a way. The strands fall over one eye as the other is looking at a camera. There’s a smirk to my lips and a sparkle in my eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it before.

  “Maddox, that’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” He looks at the sketch and then shrugs. “Easy model to draw.” He yawns and says, “It’s getting late. I need to get to bed.”

  “Okay, yeah,” I answer even though my heart is beating so quickly. How else can I react to something so . . . stunning?

  He drew me. But not just some image on his phone or a picture from the past, but almost as if he pulled up a snapshot in time from his memory and drew that. As if he’s truly studied me for all these years and captured me with one single drawing. Very unexpected.

  Very flattering.

  It makes my stomach flutter and my lips spread out in an all-out smile as this unfamiliar feeling deepens through my veins.

  “You okay?” Maddox asks.

  I look up at the phone again and nod. “Yup. Sorry. Just, uh, thought of something for a second. I’m good.”

  “Are you sleeping in my bed tonight?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  He shakes his head but there’s humor in the shake, as if to say what am I going to do with you?

  “Just because you’re stubborn, I hope Clyde bitch-slaps you again.”

  “That’s brutal, Maddox. Very unfriend like.”

  He chuckles and says, “I love you, Kinny. Good night.”

  And for some reason, those three little words that we’ve been saying to each other for years feel more weighted, as if there’s a hidden meaning behind them. As if he’s saying more than I love you as a friend . . .

  Trying to steady my rapid pulse, I lick my lips and say, “Love you too, Maddie.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, babe.”

  I wave to the phone. “Good night, Maddox.”

  * * *

  “FaceTime, Kinny,” Maddox says when he answers the phone.

  “Ugh, FaceTime is so annoying. I always have to look at the phone, I can’t just lay here and look up at the ceiling.”

  “Didn’t know I was that repulsive to look at.”

  I’m sitting at the kitchen counter with my favorite oat milk ice cream in front of me after a long day at work. It was only my third day but it felt like the heaviest of all days. I stayed longer, hanging out with a dog who just lost his owner, and after I left, I went straight to the store, got some ice cream, and sat down at the counter where I’ve been crying ever since. Until Maddox texted me to call.

  Not wanting him to see me all teary-eyed, I called rather than FaceTimed, but seems like he’s not going to let me get away with that anymore, so I press the FaceTime button.

  He answers right away. I have the phone propped up against my water bottle so I can still eat my ice cream while I talk to him.

  When I come into view, his eyes quickly narrow.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I have a mouthful of ice cream when he asks, triggering a wave of fresh tears, because I’m that person who cries harder when someone asks what’s wrong.

  “Kinny, babe, why are you crying?” Maddox asks, sitting up straighter now.

  I wave a hand in front of my face while I try to chew my ice cream and swallow.

  Once the ice cream is taken care of, I take a deep breath and say, “Rough day at work.”

  “Tell me about it, Kin. What happened?”

  I’ve never been a FaceTime fan . . . ever, but in this moment, with Maddox’s empathy and his caring and kind eyes, I’m grateful for the technology. It immediately starts to make me feel better, just being able to see him.

  “We had an intake today that broke my heart.”

  “Dog or cat?”

  “Dog.”

  Knowing me so well, Maddox says, “Tell me about the dog.”

  Taking a deep breath to calm the shivering sadness that’s been wracking me, I say, “His name is Deeogee. You know, like D-O-G.”

  He softly smiles and nods.

  “I’ve heard the clever name before but never for such a little guy. A chihuahua. All black with one little white spot on his head. His owner, Carol Braverman, was moved to hospice today and none of her children can take the dog for all different reasons, so they surrendered Deeogee to the center today. She was terrified. Shivering, ears flat, looking around. God, it just about killed me. I held her in a blanket for hours after we closed, whispering to her that everything is going to be all right, that I was going to find her—” I get choked up thinking about it so I take a calming breath. “I was going to find her a home.”

  “Kinny, I’m sorry,” Maddox says with so much sympathy in his voice that it sends another wave of tears through me.

  I prop my chin on my hand and let them fall, cascading down my cheek as I think about poor little Deeogee in the kennels.

  “He’s so tiny. Teacup size. I couldn’t bear to leave him near all the big barking dogs so I put him in cat row. I asked Marcy first and of course she said it was okay; we both agree Deeogee is special and frightened. We need to treat him differently.” I wipe at my eyes. “I just felt awful today.” I hold up my ice cream and say, “So I got some ice cream, and I’ve been eating it since I got home.”

  “I wish I was there,” he says softly, looking guilty that he’s not. “I’d hold you until you felt better.”

  “I know you would. I’ll just pretend that you’re here, maybe put one of your shirts on and talk to it as if it was you.”

  He chuckles. “Or you can just put one of my shirts on and talk to me now.”

  “I feel bad talking to you this late. You have to pitch soon, right?”

  “Saturday.”

  “You should be getting your rest.”

  He floats his hand behind his head, the pose very casual for him, but from my end, I feel anything but casual. From how his bicep juts out next to his head, the way the pose gives off the whole sensual vibe—matched with his eyes that seem to look even brighter over FaceTime—I’m perplexed, thinking of Maddox in an entirely different way.

  “I wouldn’t get any sleep knowing you’re sad. Let’s get your mind off Deeogee for a second so you can stop crying. I don’t want you going to bed only to cry yourself to sleep.”

  “You know me too well.”

  “I do. Tell me something that made you laugh today.”

  “Made me laugh?” I tap my chin. “Umm . . . oh, Joan texted me a picture of a cat in a cowboy outfit. But it was one of those funny outfits where it looks like the cat is a mini human from the front.”

  Maddox looks confused. “Who’s Joan?”

  “Joan . . . your neighbor.”

  “My—” He blinks. “My neighbor?”

  “Yeah, 10B. She and Melvin are the sweetest couple. At first, she was a little rude, saying I wasn’t the girl for her Phineas. To be honest, I was insulted, because I’d like to think I’m a catch in the love department, but when I saw a picture of him in their apartment—”

  “You went into their apartment?”

  “Of course. We had tea and biscuits. Talked for hours. Melvin is a gem when it comes to baking, and he was so happy to share his orange and cardamom recipe with me because it was vegan. Imagine that.” I feel my mood shifting already so I hop off the bar stool, put the rest of the ice cream in the freezer, and go to the couch where I lie down again. “Anyway, I saw a picture of Phinny—that’s what they call him—and I thought he’s nice-looking and all, but so not my type. He’s really buttoned up, you know? Likes wearing a tie. A director in human resources for a fortune 500 company. He’s quite the catch but not for me.” Leaning closer to the phone as if telling a secret, I say, “He looked a little stuck-up. Not sure he could handle my bamboo toothbrush. Which, yours came in, I put it in your bathroom for you, along with the bar of soap I ordered for you and the deodorant. It smells decadent. I was holding the wrapped-up chunk yesterday to my nose, o
h my God, so good, Maddox.”

  He drags his hand down his face and says, “What . . . what are you talking about?”

  “I told you I was getting you a bunch of eco-friendly products to try so we can reduce your carbon footprint. The soaps all came in recyclable wrappers, so we’re not clogging the landfills with more plastic bottles. The deodorant is a bar as well that you just swipe in your armpit so no plastic applicators. And the toothbrush, well—”

  “I’m talking about the neighbors. Why are you hanging out with the neighbors?”

  “Melvin and Joan?” I asked confused. “They invited me over and I wasn’t about to be rude. They really are so kind. They gave me some biscuits to take home for you.”

  “Christ,”’ he mutters. “Did you tell them who I am?”

  “I said your name was Maddox, but I didn’t go into detail. You know, I do have other things to talk about other than my famous best friend. It’s not always about you, mister.”

  “I understand that, but . . .” He blows out a long breath. “Sorry, you’re right, it’s not always about me.”

  “Glad you realize that.” I laugh, feeling a whole lot better. “Ugh, you made me laugh. That’s annoying.”

  “Why’s that?” he asks, a light chuckle in his voice, his facial features morphing into humor rather than irritation.

  “Because, it just makes you that much more perfect in my eyes.”

  “Perfect? That’s a strong word. I think you and I both know I’m the furthest thing from being perfect.”

  “Perfect in my eyes. Don’t forget, the imperfect is what makes you perfect to me.” I wink and he smirks.

  “Imperfect describes me to a tee . . . besides my pitching of course.”

  “Oh, of course,” I say dramatically. “We wouldn’t want to say you’re pitching has flaws.”

  “Because it doesn’t. It’s why I’m the most dreaded arm in baseball.”

  “Is that what the announcers and analysts are saying now?”

  “Yeah.” He rolls his teeth over his bottom lip, and it’s really freaking sexy.

  “Well, when you come home, I’ll be sure to bring that cocky attitude down a peg or two.”

  “You always do.”