The Proposal Read online

  The Proposal

  Maya Hughes

  Copyright © 2020 by Maya Hughes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Designer: Nail Qamber, Qamber Designs

  Editors: Lea Schaffer, Tamara Mayata, Sarah Kremen-Hicks, Sarah Polcher

  For my biggest cheerleader, Mr. Maya

  Contents

  1. Zara

  2. Leo

  3. Zara

  4. Zara

  5. Leo

  6. Zara

  7. Leo

  8. Zara

  9. Zara

  10. Leo

  11. Zara

  12. Leo

  13. Zara

  14. Leo

  15. Leo

  16. Zara

  17. Leo

  18. Zara

  19. Leo

  20. Leo

  21. Zara

  22. Leo

  23. Zara

  24. Leo

  25. Zara

  26. Leo

  27. Zara

  28. Leo

  29. Zara

  30. Leo

  31. Zara

  32. Leo

  33. Zara

  34. Leo

  35. Zara

  36. Leo

  37. Zara

  38. Leo

  39. Zara

  40. Leo

  41. Zara

  42. Zara

  43. Leo

  44. Zara

  45. Leo

  46. Leo

  47. Zara

  48. Leo

  49. Zara

  Epilogue

  Want More Maya Hughes?

  1

  Zara

  Steam rose through a subway grate and the wet pavement made my heels extra slippery. Taxis were sparse on the roads this early. Garbage men loaded up the dumpsters in the alley between not-yet-open sandwich shops and my glowing beacon of a destination.

  My scavenged coffee cards were tucked in my pocket, each with a single coffee cup-shaped hole punched out. Other coffee drinkers’ garbage was my cherished treat. Why did people throw away their punch cards for a free coffee? Because they hadn’t survived on ramen and discount green beans for months at a time. The baristas didn’t bat an eye anymore when I showed up with my nine separate cards to claim my free coffee.

  Coffee and a chocolate croissant. Small pleasures in life to keep the slough from drowning me.

  The two reports due on Bill’s desk by eight am only needed a few final touches and a spell check I could run while I sipped my warm, chocolatey drink. Nothing went wrong on Coffee Day. The universe looked down on me with my size-too-small shoes, threadbare blazer, and pilfered coffee, and waved its hands to give me a small window of perfection.

  Only, today my happy day wasn’t starting out all that promising. The usually non-existent line was nearly to the door when I stepped inside. Why where there so many people here this early? I yawned, covering my mouth with my arm and whacking the suited man in front of me with my bag.

  He glared at me with bleary eyes.

  I cringed. “Sorry.” My mumbled word was lost to his grumbling.

  We inched forward. That comfortable cushion I’d thought I had ticked away. I shifted from foot to foot, craning my neck to see what was going on—couldn’t they call in whole office orders ahead of time to keep from overtaxing the baristas at the beginning of the morning rush? Checking my emails on my phone, I answered a few to keep from eating up time once I was at my desk.

  I’d left last night’s company event less than five hours ago, but the deluge from work had begun. How was my inbox already a horror show? Ugh, and was everyone in front of me ordering coffee for a construction crew? I checked the time. It was cutting it close. Bill would freak if the report wasn’t on his desk before he got in.

  Emails from florists, caterers, and linens providers clogged my inbox with questions I was copied on. Questions I was supposed to sit back and watch as they were handled by a pro, but after two years, I knew the drill. Nothing would get done and I’d get blamed if I didn’t respond.

  Someone cleared their throat and I hopped forward into the three-person-sized space in front of me.

  “Sorry,” I said over my shoulder to the disgruntled man with his arms crossed over his chest.

  My phone rang in my purse. The only ringer I hadn’t set to silent in my contacts blared in the coffee shop filled with sleepy-eyed business drones like myself. More throat clearing and narrowed gazes. One look at the screen and I didn’t care what anyone here thought, I wasn’t missing this call.

  “You’re up early.” It was barely six am there. Fourteen-year-olds aren’t known for waking up at the crack of dawn.

  “Hey, Z! Awesome, did you see the pics I sent from my trip last week?”

  “I did. It looks like you’re having loads of fun.”

  “It’s the best. I’m sneaking this call in before homeroom. I got an email from the financial aid office. They’re sending a new tuition package for next semester this morning. They mentioned it would be a little more than last semester. That’ll be okay, right?”

  While those words would normally fill me with dread, I’d been tucking away every bit I could to make the payment. I’d thought in a few months I could upgrade to a non-pilfered cup of coffee and not filling my refrigerator with leftovers from our events, but I could hang on a bit longer. The lease on my apartment ended in a couple months, and I could downgrade to something smaller. Maybe a studio. Or I could look for roommates again.

  “I got my first test back for AP Chemistry.”

  He’d gotten emotional when he’d started boarding school two years ago in seventh grade, worried he couldn’t get through the intensive work like the other kids, but by now I knew the hedging tone he took when he’d knocked it out of the park.

  I sucked my breath through my teeth. “That bad, huh? Did you barely pass? Scrape by with a 65, maybe a 66?” I put on my understanding big sister voice.

  “A 66?!” His voice pitched up an octave and cracked. Ahh puberty, keeping little brothers adorable into their early teens. “I got a 96, Z! The highest grade in the class.”

  “And you doubted yourself.”

  I covered the phone and handed over my cards. The barista chuckled and shook his head without me needing to say anything. It was a dance we’d done before.

  My drink and croissant order in, I was dancing on the inside in anticipation of warm layers of flaky dough wrapped around yummy chocolate.

  “And you told me to take a few deep breaths and ask my teacher for some extra help. They’re all so nice here. We went over everything every day after school for like two hours. They didn’t try to kick me out or anything. And I talked to our dorm dad and he said I can stay over winter break this year.”

  His last visit back to our parents’ house a couple hours outside of Chicago had been a disaster. My car had died a few months before, so I couldn’t make the drive there to be the buffer for him. Even the bus and train tickets would’ve meant making the choice between my meager groceries and straight ramen, plus missing out on extra event work, which paid enough overtime to pay for Tyler’s spring break class trip. Had I known, I’d have chosen six months of ramen. It had taken Tyler nearly a month to shake off the cloak of sadness weighing him down.

  “My teacher also said by the time I graduate high school, I’ll have enough Advanced Placement credits to be a college junior. I could get my bachelor’s degree and a masters in the time it takes most people to graduate from college.”

  “Sarah.” A droning, mild ly interested voice broke through my conversation.

  I lifted my finger and grabbed my drink and warm chocolate croissant off the counter. Even when I spelled my name, they never got it right, so I’d given up trying. I added three sugars and took a long whiff, closing my eyes and savoring every second with this glorious cup of coffee—still too hot to sip, dammit—before popping the lid back on.

  “If there’s anyone who could do it, it’s you.” When I’d told him to apply for the boarding school located two hours from home, I hadn’t thought he would. But being away at college, I’d needed to throw him that lifeline for when things went to shit at home. Mom and Dad, when they weren’t buried at the bottom of a bottle, were pros at losing whatever money we had for things like food and keeping the lights on. They couldn’t stop gambling—whether it was scratch cards or bingo nights. Before I left for college, I’d tried to protect my little brother as much as I could, but I needed to keep my head above water. And I’d done it by coming to Philly for college.

  Growing up, I’d thought about running away from home more times than I could count, but I hadn’t wanted to leave Tyler behind. My going away to college had hit him hard.

  It hit me harder.

  There had been so many sleepless nights staying up with him on the phone to help him through homework. Dates or evenings with friends skipped to talk Tyler through making dinner. Watching cartoons together as his states-away babysitter while everyone else was in the library studying or working on class projects.

  The guilt had nearly ended with me dropping out, but he’d told me how proud he was of me and how great I was for going to college. He squeezed me so tight at the curbside outside our house on my last day. I held back my tears, saving the sobs for once I turned the corner and his small waving figure disappeared. I couldn’t disappoint him. My going to college intensified his determination to leave.

  Within two months he’d completed all the forms himself with a little guidance from me. He’d gotten in and made it through the rigorous entrance exam. Then came the tuition bomb. Even with a generous financial aid package, a private boarding school wasn’t cheap, but this had all come in right as I was graduating. My job offered me a salary, which barely made it work, but I didn’t have the luxury of shopping around for something better. Every penny, except for my rent, was squirreled away for Tyler’s education and maintenance.

  My phone pinged with the notification from Tyler’s school. Someone in the financial aid office was up early. The email came in from them. The screen went white as the scan of the financial aid letter downloaded like it was running on dial-up.

  Taking my croissant and coffee, I balanced my blazer over my arm and my bag on my shoulder.

  I bumped the door open with my hip and looked up at the early morning sun. It was still warm out, but orange and yellow peeked from between some of the branches. The crunchy fall leaves always made even a walk to my parents’ house much more fun. A perfect crunch under my shoe reminded me of hiding out in the piles of leaves as a kid, not wanting to go home, staring up at the sky, watching planes pass overhead and wishing I’d get to fly in one someday—still wishing.

  Tyler’s excited chattering broke through my memory rabbit hole.

  “My cello teacher said he’d tutor me before classes. I’ve got to go. I love you, Z.”

  “Bye, Ty. Be safe!”

  A woman who looked more like she was going clubbing than mixing in with business professionals stood on the corner, handing out fliers and talking up how the charges in their club came up as a steakhouse if the men’s wives had any questions.

  Real nice.

  I slipped on a wet patch on the sidewalk, my heels wobbling. I should’ve worn my flats to work, but I’d forgotten them in the office last night.

  The tasty smell of the coffee and croissant made my mouth water. Maybe I should’ve sat inside to eat my croissant at least. But I didn’t have time. Besides, the perfect blends of sweet and savory would no longer be burn-the-roof-of-my-mouth hot once I got to the office.

  My stupid data finally loaded. The scans finally came up with full resolution.

  Lightheadedness blurred my vision. That wasn’t a small bump in our expected family contribution. Holy shit! Did they think we’d won the lottery since the summer?

  A deep voice called out his love of steak to the woman standing by the street.

  Turning the corner with my phone in hand, I slammed into a man. But a wall probably would’ve had more give. The full contents of the furnace-hot cookie crumble cappuccino escaped my cup, blasting the lid straight into my face. My eyes opened through the spray of cookie flecks in time to watch the rest of the now crumpled cup splash all over the front of my white shirt as my feet shot out from under me.

  As if a burning hot coffee shower weren’t enough, I watched in slow motion as my chocolate croissant fell out of the brown butter-soaked paper bag like a lover slipping out in the dead of night and bounced on the sidewalk before being promptly trampled on by a pair of shiny black shoes.

  “Oh shit,” he yelled. “I didn’t see you—”

  “Yes, I know you didn’t,” I shouted right back from the ground. “You were too busy trying to pick up the blonde wearing a bandana for a dress.”

  He glared down at me like he wasn’t the reason I had wet sidewalk water seeping through my clothes and touching my ass.

  “Me? I’m walking around the corner having a friendly conversation with someone on the street. You’re the one not looking where you’re going.”

  Leaning down he offered me his hand.

  I smacked it away and pushed myself up off the ground and glared right back. If I weren’t so pissed maybe I’d have noticed his light brown eyes or his perfectly imperfect five o’clock shadow or the close curls on his head, but all I zeroed in on was the way he’d somehow managed to keep every droplet of coffee off his buttoned-down shirt (with the rolled-up sleeves revealing his muscled forearms) while burning hot coffee continued to soak into my shirt.

  The one luxury I allowed myself drenched a shirt I couldn’t afford to have dry cleaned. My rare-treat croissant was now squished on the bottom of his shoe.

  “I didn’t expect someone to be charging down the street like a linebacker.”

  His scowl deepened. “I love how this is my fault when you ran into me. If I were in a generous mood I probably would’ve offered to buy you another coffee—”

  “I don’t need your charity.” Tugging my shirt from my chest, I searched my bag for napkins to sop up some of the mess.

  “Good, because I didn’t plan on offering. Did you want what was left of your croissant?” Pointedly following my gaze with his, he lifted his shoe, showing off my formerly buttery, flaky, pastry.

  I’d never wanted face-melting laser vision more. Or a magical hammer to harness the power of lightning and turn him into a smoldering crater in the sidewalk. Instead, I gritted my teeth with my arm out to the side to keep my blazer from getting covered in coffee too. “Have a nice day, asshole.”

  He brushed past me. “Have a nice life, lady,” he called over his shoulder.

  I glared before turning back to my trashed treat, splattered and smooshed all over the ground. It would be my last one of those for a while. I stared longingly at the one perfectly intact chocolate chip sitting straight up on the sidewalk. Poor guy, made it this far only to end up as pavement paint.

  Checking the time, I could add ‘almost late’ to the list of the ways my life had been thrown into a tailspin. And I’d been doused with an entire cup of mocha cookie crumble cappuccino. I needed to change—fast.

  2

  Leo

  ‘Sorry, careful!’ had been on my tongue before she’d opened her mouth and unleashed on me like the crash had been all my fault.

  Yes, I’d been on my phone and distracted before our collision, but so was she.

  Yes, I’d failed to catch her or the cup of coffee that had splattered all over her.

  Yes, I’d been kind of di stracted by her wide green eyes with lashes so thick there had to be glue and one of those caterpillar fake eyelash things involved.

  Yes, I hadn’t helped her up the second she’d fallen.

  It had happened so quickly I’d been in shock for a solid two seconds before offering her my hand like I would any player on an opposing team I’d knocked off their feet.

  She’d smacked my hand away and scrambled back up, laying into me.

  It was already a day and I didn’t need to add someone’s crappy bullshit to the smoldering pile of rubble that was my life.

  So, her “Have a nice day, asshole” put her at the top of my shitty day shit list. At least I had someone to be the focus of my frustration. Had it felt nice to snap at her? Hell yeah, it had.

  In the coffee shop, the vacant, half-lidded stares of business professionals milling around staring at their phones, the whirring crunch of the coffee grinder, the overpowering smell of ten different types of beans, and the cringe at mispronounced names scribbled on cups only meant one thing—Monday.

  September should’ve meant training camp for me. Instead I was in line with everyone else trying to figure out how the fuck my life had turned out this way.

  “Aren’t you that guy?” An insistent tap on my shoulder.