Second Shot K.O.K (The Brooklyn Bears: Season 1)

11. Unpacking

ELEVEN

UNPACKING

Nalani

I t took way longer than it should have to convince Sophie that, first, Savannah isn’t mine; and second, that Claudia, who was coming out of the bathroom in a towel, isn’t my partner.

With a full pout, turned quivering lower lip, she reminded me, “You promised me that you and I would be partners if we never found the right guy by the time we were thirty.”

Claudia told her our story, or “ meet cute ,” and that her hotel reservation was “ messed up .”

Sophie ripped her a new ass for trusting me with her baby and me for trusting a woman who could have stolen a baby to use as a ploy to kidnap me and sell me online to be used for dubious reasons.

During this time, I met the delivery girl downstairs, and when I came up with the groceries, Sophie was holding Savannah while Claudia was cleaning the fridge. Her mention of Kyle tells me a conversation has been had.

“Did he call?” I ask, setting the bags on the small island.

“He hasn’t even called? Fuck him,” Sophie huffs and looks down at Savannah. “Can you say fuck him ?”

“I certainly hope not,” I gasp as I unpack the bags.

“Aunt Sophie apologizes. She will stop telling you to say fuck him when you’re old enough to mimic me.” Sophie smiles at her.

“What do you ladies want for breakfast? I’m going to make?—”

“That?” Sophie pointed to the bag of leafy green mix and frozen corn. “You two are not eating that on your first morning in this city.”

“No, not this. I have eggs and turkey bacon. This is for the Henny and Cock.”

“What?”

She and Claudia both laugh at the same time.

I turn and look at Claudia. “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you. When I went to grab my bag last night, there was a hen strutting around, and I let her outside, where a rooster was waiting for her. It was adorable.”

Sophie pipes in, “Um, hello , I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, or immediately leave. This is not a third-world country; we don’t live with chickens.”

I explain the whole reason I rented this place was the fact it had outdoor space, and the hen house was the deciding factor.

“I don’t know if I should be appalled or enchanted,” Sophie says quietly as she looks out over the small yard area.

I start down the ramp, and she throws her hand out to stop me.

“Tetanus!”

“There are no nails, no metal.” I chuckle.

“Well, pick from one of the other nus’s then,” she scoffs.

I hop down off the chipped and deeply pitted cement landing and onto the ground, heading toward a metal feeding system with a hose connected. I follow the line and find it attached to a rain collection barrel?

I glance at Sophie and Claudia and point toward it.

“What in the Beverly Hillbillies is that?” Sophie asks.

“That’s genius, is what it is,” I say as I empty the salad greens and corn into the feeder.

That’s when I hear a deep, gruff voice with a thick New York accent ask, “Someone out there?”

“Um, yes,” I call back.

“You the new girl in four?”

“Nalani!” Sophie whisper-hisses. “Let’s go.”

“It is,” I answer, anyway.

“Cleaners do a good job on your place?” he asks.

“Are you the property manager?” I reply, walking toward the sound of his voice, which seems to be the half-open window … in November. I see a window cracked just above the rain barrel.

“I suppose so.”

“Ask him when the elevator will be fixed,” Sophie says loud enough that I’m sure he heard it himself.

“Looking like midweek,” he answers, confirming he did, in fact, hear her. “Just the two of them out there?”

“There’s four of us,” Sophie yells back, hopping down and heading toward me.

“How strong are you?”

“Oh my God, Lani, let’s go,” Sophie says.

I wave her off. “Pretty strong. Why? You need something?”

“He’s going to kill us and feed us to his chickens.” She grabs my hand and yanks me.

“Would love a hand if you gotta minute, Nalani. And tell Miss Sassy Pants my birds don’t like sour pusses; she’s safe.”

I whirl around to glare at her and whisper, “You need to zip it.” Then I turn toward the window. “Where can I find you?”

“Left of the elevator. Door at the end of the hall.”

“Be there in a second.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Inside, I start down the hall.

“I’m not going down there,” Sophie says from behind me.

“Take Savannah. I’ll go with her.”

“You’re a mother,” Sophie snaps at her.

When I get to the door, it’s open.

“Mr. Bronski?”

“Over by the window,” he calls back. “Took a spill, must’ve hit my head.”

“Oh my Lord,” I say, dropping my bag on the ground and heading toward him. “Are you okay?”

“I appear to still be alive.” He chuckles. “Arms aren’t what they used to be; knees are shot. Can’t seem to get myself up.”

“We’ll help you out,” Claudia says with a smile in her voice.

“Walker’s by the recliner. Thought I was strong enough when Gertie, or maybe it was Tootsie, wanted in last night.”

Mr. Bronski is not a small man; he’s over six feet tall and thin, but it still takes Claudia and me to get him up and help him to his chair.

“Mr. Bronski, can I call someone? Get you to the hospital to get?—”

“It’s Paul, and I don’t do hospitals.”

“You could be seriously hurt,” Claudia states.

“Only thing they’ll do with me is throw me in those old folk’s warehouses, and I’m not going out like that.”

“Do you have kids or?—”

“Patsy and I never had kids,” he says as he tries to get comfortable.

“Is she?—”

“Few come out of those places if they have their way. She died ten years back.”

“Do you have?—”

“I have one greedy nephew who is just waiting for an excuse to put me in the ground and sell this place to the highest bidder.” He runs a hand through his hair that’s thick and completely gray.

“Who takes care of you?” Sophie asks from the doorway.

“You must be the sour puss.” He chuckles.

“I mean, do you blame us for being a little freaked out?” she freaking scolds him.

“Sophie!” I gasp.

He chuckles. “She’s not wrong.”

“You know what’s wrong, Paul?” she huffs.

“Oh my God, Sophie, stop.”

“No, I won’t, because if he doesn’t get someone in here to look after him, you’re going to come in here one day, and it’s not mildew you’ll be smelling in the hallway—it’ll be him.”

“Sophie!”

She keeps on going. “Why would you rent this place to a young woman who?—”

“Go.”

Paul shakes his head. “She’s not wrong. This place used to be a stunner. Our pride and joy. After Patsy died, three of my buddies and I chopped it up and made it into apartments. All I have since she passed. Then I had a stroke, and that little shit tried to ship me off. Nobody wants to work anymore, and when you do find someone, the minute they get paid, they stop coming to finish their jobs. I have a girl who cleans once a week, and now you can order anything you need online.”

“So, you never leave this place?” Claudia asks.

“I can leave anytime I want, but people are assholes, so why bother?”

“He’s not wrong,” I agree.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Sophie huffs as Claudia takes Savannah from her and walks out into the hallway. “You’re not going back to being that girl again.”

“I mean, to be fair, I was always that girl.”

“Not when you met decent people like me who didn’t treat you like a prized pony.”

“Jesus, kid, is she the best you’ve met?” Paul chuckles.

She glares at him—glares! “I want the elevator fixed. The front lock and steps fixed. And why are chickens walking around here? Wouldn’t the health department have your ass for that?”

“Oh my God.” I cover my face. “I am so sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. The elevator was supposed to be fixed, but my guy has a bad case of the gout, and the city guys come in here, and the rooster gets ousted. He’s eleven. My wife loved the birds.”

“Your other tenants don’t complain?” She just won’t shut up.

“Haven’t had tenants in here since they wanted to take the rooster.”

“So, why did you rent it to Nalani?”

“Didn’t know the advertisement was still up, and she liked the hen house.”

“Love the hen house,” I confirm.

“You need to get checked out,” she demands … like, de-fucking-mands.

“My guy will come check me out.”

“Your elevator guy?” she snaps.

He turns and looks at me, and I see that he is enjoying this. “You need to get out more.”

“Paul, where’s your guy’s number? I’m not leaving here until I have confirmation you have a medical professional coming to check you out.”

“Not sure where my phone ended up, but I’ll hop right to it.”

What does she do? Starts riffling through his things.

When I step forward to intervene, he takes my hand and stops me.

“We’re going to lunch, and when we get back”—she plugs his charger in and sets his phone on the small table beside him—“I want to see proof.”

“Can we get you anything?” I ask, needing to get her out of here, and fast.

“Bottle of water from the fridge would be good.”

Sophie stomps toward his fridge and opens it, and I move to grab his walker so it’s easy for him to get to.

“Thanks, kid.”

“No problem.” I grab his phone. “Can I text you so I have your number and you have mine?”

“I think it’s in there, but sure.”

Sophie opens the lid and hands it to him. “When was the last time you drank anything?”

“Not sure, but I’m good.” He grabs a remote and hits a button to recline.

I grab a blanket from the chair beside him and hand it to him. “Get some rest.”

“Plan on it. Thanks, kid.”

“And call a doctor,” Sophie says … again.

“Will do,” he yawns out.

“Swear if you don’t, I’m stealing your chickens.”

And to that, I drag her ass out of the apartment and close the door behind us.

“What is wrong with?—”

She slaps a hand over my mouth.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but we were supposed to meet this morning,” Claudia says calmly. “I’m also sorry you feel that way, but you are not reliable enough to—” She pauses. “Do you not see how you’re contradicting your—” Pause. “This was a bad idea. You’re not in a place in life where …” She pauses then repeats herself louder this time. “You’re not in a place in life where you can be consistent, Kyle, and I am not—” She stops again for longer this time. “Fine, three, but I have plans this evening.” She pauses again. “Absolutely not.” Pause. “See you at three. Washington Square.” Pause. “No, I’m not sharing my location with you.” Pause. “You’re acting irrationally.” Pause. “That is your choice.”

When Savannah starts to fuss, I head toward them and hold out my hands for her.

“She’s fussy.” Pause. “Goodbye.”

“You okay?” Sophie asks.

“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go eat. My treat.”

“Bullshit, I already called dibs.” Sophie smiles then looks at me. When I don’t say anything, she asks, “What?”

“Who the hell are you?”

We’ve had an exhausting day—lunch, back here to bring Paul lunch, only to have Sophie ask when he peed last, and him look at her like she was insane, which she absolutely may be. Then, talking Claudia out of booking a hotel and staying here until she had to leave. Next was Sophie and I insisting we also go to Washington Park and pretend to have a picnic while she meets Kyle, who had someone serve her papers right there. The long and short of it all is he plans on making her move to LA, where he’d have Savannah on the days he doesn’t have games.

“He can’t do that, can he?” Sophie asks when Claudia’s in the bathroom, no doubt breaking down in private again.

“I’m not a lawyer, but it doesn’t seem like he could. She has a job, too.”

“I can’t believe he insisted on taking Savannah for a walk around the park alone—he just met her. How was she so calm?”

We look up when she walks out of the bathroom, blowing her nose. Then she says, “I have AirTags in the stroller and the diaper bag in case they got lost at the airport. He had both.” She put those AirTags in the stroller and in her diaper bag.

I move over on the couch and pat the spot beside me.

She sits down, saying, “I’m so fucking?—”

“Don’t you dare say sorry.”

“Pissed, angry. I should have never told him. Why has he suddenly decided he wants to be part of her life?”

“Maybe he grew a conscience?” Sophie asks.

Claudia leans back against the couch and shakes her head. “I loved his confidence until I realized it was arrogance. I don’t want Savannah to feel like she’s less important than his game or get used to him being around and then not. We agreed on that. I promised when she asked, I’d tell her I used a donor.”

“He wanted you to tell her that?” I gasp.

“No, that was all me. I made it seem like it was his idea. Silly me for thinking it would be that easy.”

“How does your family feel?” Sophie asks.

She closes her eyes. “I don’t know. I never met my father and my mother”—she lifts a shoulder—“she liked to party more than she liked being a mother. She OD’d when I was five.”

“Oh my God, Claudia,” Sophie gasps.

“I don’t remember much of her, but she is the reason I will always choose my child first.”

“Are you an only child, too?” I ask.

“I am.”

“But you have kick-ass sisters,” Sophie adds.

“Yeah, I sure do.”