Something in the Way (Something in the Way 1)

“Go make the sandwich, Lake,” Tiffany said.

“What kind do you want?” I asked him.

He spread his long fingers over his stomach and for the first time, he grinned. “I’ll eat anything you make.”

I couldn’t help responding with my own smile. “All right. I’ll make the Lake Special.”

Coined by my dad, the Lake Special consisted of sliced turkey and ham layered between cheddar and provolone cheese, smothered in mayonnaise and barbecue sauce, topped with lettuce, tomato, and avocado. For Manning, I’d add extra meat, since he had a hard job and looked big enough for two sandwiches.

I pulled ingredients from the fridge, trying unsuccessfully to catch words from the conversation in the next room. I didn’t want Tiffany to know more about him than I did. What if they talked about something personal? Got closer, while I was in here fussing with deli meat? Once everything was laid out in front of me and I could no longer stand the idea of them alone together, I called out, “It’s almost ready.”

Manning entered the kitchen and walked around the island where I stood slicing an avocado. For one brief moment, his heat warmed my back, and then it was gone. He washed his hands, took a stool on the opposite side of the island, and nodded approvingly. “That is a monster sandwich.”

“Well, you’re a big person,” I said without thinking. “Not that you’re fat. Obviously, you’re not.” I focused on placing the avocado in neat slices across the meat to disguise my awkwardness. Nobody in my life was double my size, but pointing it out felt rude. “You don’t have to eat it all.”

“I won’t leave a crumb.”

I looked up at him. Manning sat still, just watching as I built his sandwich. We exchanged a smile right before Tiffany came in, set the sodas down, and reached across the island to pluck some avocado from the sandwich. “Are you from here, Manning?” she asked, taking the seat next to him.

With a frown, I took a fresh avocado from the fruit basket. Tiffany never made her own food, so she didn’t respect the art of presentation.

I cut into the gnarly skin as Manning eyed the knife in my hand. “Want me to do that?” he asked.

“I do it all the time.”

“Los Angeles area,” he answered Tiffany.

“Really?” she pressed.

“Sort of. Pasadena.”

“Do you have family here?”

“No.”

I pretended to mind my own business. It hadn’t crossed my mind to ask where he was from. I placed a slice of sourdough bread on top of the sandwich, cut it down the middle, and admired my work. In two halves, the sandwich nearly toppled over.

“You might not be able to hear it, but my stomach’s grumbling,” Manning said.

Tiffany giggled.

“Almost done.” I took a jar of pickles from the fridge, gripped the lid, and twisted. Nothing happened. I flexed my hand and tried again, putting more muscle behind it. The top didn’t budge.

“So no girlfriend and no family. Why Orange County? When did you move here?”

Manning took the jar from me, popped it open, and handed it back. “When I turned eighteen. I like the weather.”

“I loosened it for you,” I said as I concentrated on selecting the best pickle in the jar.

“I know,” he said.

“What do you like to do for fun?” Tiffany asked.

“What d’you mean?” Manning cracked his neck, his eyes conspicuously on the sandwich, as if it might grow legs and make a run for it.

“You’re annoying him,” I said to Tiffany.

“I’m annoying him?” she shot back. “What do you know about anything, Lake?”

I ignored her. For some reason, making Manning’s food had made me brave. Invincible. I had something he wanted. Once I was happy with the placement and position of everything on the plate, I slid it across the counter.

Manning grabbed the sandwich and dug in.

I watched, rapt, as he finished half in four bites.

After swallowing, he took one long swig of soda, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He must’ve downed half of it. “This is the best sandwich I’ve ever had.”

The way I grinned, I probably looked like an idiot, but I didn’t even care.

“I told you she makes a good sandwich.” Tiffany leaned over and bumped her shoulder against Manning’s. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Manning nodded and wiped his mouth on his shoulder sleeve. I handed him a paper towel.

“Are you in college?” Tiffany asked.

I couldn’t believe she was so brazen—touching him like he belonged to her. Asking him personal questions. I’d put up with my sister for sixteen years, but suddenly I found her unbearably obnoxious. “Are you?” I asked.

“Shut up, Lake. Why don’t you go play with your dolls?”

My face heated. Manning looked between both of us as he chewed.

“I don’t play with dolls,” I told him.

“You have stuffed animals on your bed,” Tiffany said. “You’re like a five-year-old—”

“No, I’m not,” I said in a panic. I didn’t need Manning thinking I was any more childish than he probably already did. “Mom put those there. I don’t even like them.”