Relative Design

She’d already texted Adam 911. Stupid, she chastised, staring at all the ingredients her sister had laid out on the counter for her. How was she supposed to make sense of any of this?
She’d already burnt the butter.
When the doorbell rang, she cursed before going to get it, looking completely miserable.
“Are you trying to start a fire?” Adam asked, pushing his way into her apartment, the burning smell hitting him first.
“Might as well,” she grumbled, slinking back into the kitchen.
“What’s all this?” he asked, looking at the measured ingredients.
“I was going to cook.”
“Why?”
Maybe she should’ve been insulted at the incredulous tone, but she was already moping as it was. “I just wanted to cook. It was an impulse I decided to, stupidly, indulge myself with.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You’re lying to me.”
“No, I’m not. Sometimes I just speak quickly.”
“You’re still lying to me.”
She huffed. “I was supposed to be done by the time you got here.”
“Done cooking?”
“Yes.”
“But—” Realization dawned and had him smiling. “You were going to cook for me?”
“Eliza said I had to make today up to you and the way to a man’s forgiving side is through his belly and whatever else so she came here and laid everything out for me and—” She groaned, placing her elbows on the counters and covering her face in pure distress. “I look like such an ass.”
“You’re adorable. Okay.” He looked at the ingredients again, determined, as Anabel uncovered her face to look at him dismally.
“None of it makes sense.”
He only held up the hand written instructions. “Did you try this?”
“Where did you get that?”
He tried not to grin at her furrowed brow, the dimple in her chin, but his lips quirked. “It was next to the flour.”
“Oh.”
“First things first.” He looked at her.
“You want me to get out?”
“No! No,” he said again, laughing. “First things first,” he repeated, kissing her lightly. “There’s that. Now.”
When he continued staring at her, she asked again, hopeful this time, “You want me to get out?”
“No. We’ll just…” He put his hands on her waist, plucked her off her feet and set her on the edge of the counter. “You can stay there. Don’t touch anything.”
She shrugged, swinging her legs back and forth as she watched him read the instructions. He went to the oven, turned it on to… she wasn’t going to pretend she knew how high he put it. Besides, she couldn’t see the knob from this angle.
He winced at the pot with the burnt butter, set it in the sink and got a fresh one.
“Can I move now?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he murmured, making himself at home in her kitchen and rummaging through her fridge for the butter.
“Then can you come here?”
He set the butter down and came to her. “Yes?”
“Thank you. For taking all this in stride.”
“Of course.” But he was still pleased when she took his face in her hands, laid her lips on his.
“Thank you. I’m sorry. For earlier and not being able to do all this—”
“Anabel,” he whispered, kissing her to shut her up. “I prefer this. You just hang out—I’ve got this end of things.”
“You sure? I can try helping.”
“Please, don’t. Really.”
“Well, okay.”
So she sat on her counter, watching him put everything together until, somehow, all those ingredients meshed together to create homemade macaroni and cheese while she entertained him with conversation.
“Why are you putting that in the oven?”
“Because it’s supposed to be baked,” Adam said simply, shrugging as he set the timer. “I can’t give you a better reason than that. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Do you think it’ll be good?”
“I guess we’ll find out. I followed the directions to the best of my abilities.”
She tilted her head towards him. “Are you supposed to be a good cook?”
“I know my way around a kitchen, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t, I don’t think. What do we do now?”
“Wait for the timer to go off.”
“Oh. That’s pretty boring.”
“Not necessarily.” He stepped to her, placed his hands on the counter on either side of her, and stepped between her knees.
“Well, hello.”
“You seem to be in awfully good mood.”
“Well, I have you right where I want you. That would generally do the job.” As an afterthought, she added, “And that smells amazing.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” he asked, smug, happy with himself.
“Watch it taste awful.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry. Habit. I couldn’t help myself.”
He shook his head at her. “You realize you ruined your shirt, right?”
“Huh?” She glanced down at the band t-shirt she wore. “Why do you think I wore this old thing?”
“Is it even yours?”
“I’m pretty sure it was Beckett’s, at one point in time.”
“At one point in time,” he agreed amiably, so smoothly Anabel almost missed the sarcasm under it.
“Shut up.”
Twenty minutes later, when the timer went off, Adam checked the macaroni before pulling it out and setting it on the counter. He efficiently served two bowls of it, handing one to Anabel and watching in amusement as she pulled her legs up to open the drawer under her and pull out two forks. After handing him one, she took a bite, chewing slowly.
“It’s actually pretty good.”
“Thanks for the confidence.” He hitched himself up on the counter beside her before taking a bite himself. “Huh. Decent recipe.”
“It’s yours, then. Not like I’ll make any use of it.”
“True enough.”
She bumped her shoulder against his in response, but left it at that because… well, he was right.
“So thanks for the food,” Adam said after they’d finished eating, putting both their bowls in the sink and going to put the remaining food in the fridge. As he did, Anabel hopped off the counter, starting on the dishes. “I can do that.”
“No, people split things up around here. You cooked, I’ll clean.”
He shrugged, got a dishtowel to start drying.
“So what are your plans now?”
“Go home, get some stuff done.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Work.”
No, he wouldn’t. “Oh, okay.”
They finished the dishes in companionable silence and as Adam started out of the kitchen, Anabel took his hand. “You could stay, you know.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She tucked her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as her head cocked. “What do you mean?”
“Anabel, after what happened today—”
“I thought we were past that.”
“We are, but you still thought I gave you the client because I was sleeping with you. That doesn’t just go away.”
“It’s what other people would think,” she said and winced when she saw his eyes darken in response.
“Who cares what other people think? Are they involved here with us, when we’re outside the office? Were they here just now, when I cooked you dinner and we ate together like people who have something more with each other than just sex?” He sighed and knelt to put his shoes on. “I’m not angry anymore, Anabel. I haven’t been angry since you apologized. You didn’t have to do any of this other stuff because you were already forgiven. It’s just a jolt to realize you still think of us in terms of people just sleeping together.”
“I don’t—”
“You didn’t ask me today if I gave you the job because we were seeing each other or dating or anything. You asked if I gave it to you because I was sleeping with you.”
“Next time I’m just ordering something and pretending I cooked it,” Anabel grumbled and shuffled her feet, not having any other defense.
Adam laughed as he stood, leaning over to kiss her good night. “Sleep well, Anabel.”
“Adam.”
He stopped in the doorway and turned to face her. “Yeah?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Okay.” What else could he say anyway? It’d felt right at the time, but now he realized he was only driving a further wedge between them. Too late to do anything about it now. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“Okay.” She hugged her elbows to her as she turned away and left him to shut the door behind him on his way out.
But he’d gotten a glimpse at the naked misery on her face and sighed as he stepped further into the apartment and shut the door, watching from the foyer as she dropped on the sofa, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest.
He’d just started towards her when she lifted the phone to her ear.
Anabel, not knowing she was being watched, dropped her head against the backrest of the sofa as her sister answered. “I suck.”
“Okay… what’d you do?”
“I can’t cook. What made you think measuring everything out and leaving directions would change that?”
“Because—”
“No, it’s your fault.”
“What is?”
“I could’ve just ordered something in and pretended to have made it,” Anabel continued now, aware she was sublimating but unable to stop, “but no, I actually have to cook for the guy. Fat lot of good that did me.”
“What happened, Anabel?” Eliza asked firmly, recognizing the frustration in her sister’s voice and using that to dig under her own irritation at being blamed for god knows what to find her patience.
“I don’t know. I asked him to stay—and we all know how hard it is for me to ask anyone that—”
He hadn’t known, but he filed it away for later reference.
“—and he totally… I don’t know. I don’t know if I just got dumped or we’re taking a break or we’re just pausing the sex part of it all. I don’t know.”
“Have you ever even been dumped before?” Eliza asked, unable to completely conceal the humor in her voice.
“No,” Anabel bit out. “I haven’t. So shut up and stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” Eliza said, even as the giggle tickled her throat. “I just—”
“I hate you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sure he didn’t dump you.”
“He was all—”
“Is nothing ever sacred with women?” Adam asked, deciding to step in and make his presence known.
Anabel froze, every muscle in her entire body stiffening before she slowly turned, eyes wide. “Eliza, I gotta go.” She hung up and took a moment to compose herself. “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”
“I was going to tell you I hadn’t left but then you were on the phone and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Next time, feel free to.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What do you want, Adam?” she asked tiredly, not wanting to get into it with him again.
“To stay, if that’s okay with you.”
“It isn’t,” she snapped, not missing a beat. “It isn’t okay with me for you to stay because you feel bad for me or whatever. I’ll see you to—”
“Did I say I felt bad for you? Do I look like I feel bad for you?” he asked, his own temper flashing in his narrowed eyes. “I tried to keep you out of bed before and we almost ripped each other’s clothes off in my car. Obviously I can’t keep away from you, even if it’s for the best.”
“So you were purposely withholding sex when we first started seeing each other again,” Anabel snapped, getting to her feet.
“Jesus,” he scoffed. “I was trying to date you, Anabel, something you make incredibly difficult. It’s called romancing and most women would appreciate the damn effort.”
“Well, looks like you wasted it on the wrong one, didn’t you, since I just see us as a good roll between the sheets?”
“I never said that.”
“You may as well have.”
“You’re impossible,” he snarled, running his hands through his hair, a gesture Anabel recognized as one of impatience, infuriation, and irritation.
“Then why didn’t you leave? You were half out the door earlier anyway.”
“Because I figured if I tried that whole dating thing with you again—since there is no other way to label that whole episode we had in your kitchen other than as a date, maybe this time it would register!”
“Then why don’t you, since you so enjoy exhausting all your efforts?”
“Because, dammit, I saw your fucking face before you turned away!” He heaved with the exertion this whole conversation took and the annoyance he felt at having to get into all this.
Her voice had frozen to ice before, her demeanor controlled, but now it all melted away. “That’s why you stayed?”
“You looked upset. I hated knowing I’d been the cause of it. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“That’s an awfully cliché thing to say.”
He sighed. “Anabel. You’re one the most frustratingly strong people I know. I didn’t even know I could hurt you. I’m sorry if I did.”
She crossed her arms. “You didn’t. I knew the risks when I asked you stay. I asked anyway.”
“Don’t. Don’t do that,” he said heatedly. “Don’t make it sound like I don’t want to stay.”
“Don’t you?”
“You need to tell me, Anabel. Tell me what you want. I’ll do whatever you say. You want me to stay or go, tell me and I’ll listen.”
“I don’t—”
“No, Anabel. You have to pick. Stay or go?”
She hesitated, knowing what asking him to stay meant, and though her silence cost him, he patiently waited. “Stay.”
“Okay, then.” He stepped to her, put his hands on her shoulders, ran them down to her elbows then back up. “I’ll stay. But you need to realize, Anabel, this isn’t going to work if you keep taking us two steps back every single time we inch forward.”
“You’re right. I can admit that when you are,” she said to his look of surprise. “But you’re right, and I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, please. I don’t need or want an apology from you.”
She nodded, hesitating before taking his hand. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”
He didn’t miss the way her fingers trembled, but still held fast. “Sounds great.”

*

They fell asleep there, on the sofa. At three something, when Anabel’s eyes suddenly opened, she looked around her living room, watched as the TV illuminated it. When someone knocked again, she remembered that’s why she’d woken up and untangled herself from Adam’s limbs.
Seeing Beckett through the peephole, she opened the door to blink sleepily at him. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Late. Is Eric here?”
“Why would Eric be here?” she asked, moving aside to let him in when he peered over her shoulder.
“I didn’t know where else to look. You don’t know where he is?”
“No idea. Did you two fight or something?”
“We’re always arguing these days. He stormed out like always. Didn’t come back this time.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s see. Just don’t make a lot of—”
“Is that Adam asleep on your sofa?”
“—noise,” she finished dryly, frowning. “Yeah, now shut up. Let me find my phone.”
“He won’t answer.”
She took it anyway as she led the way to the bedroom with the vain hope that Adam wouldn’t wake up. “It’s better than sitting around wondering where he is or driving around all over town. I can try. He might—”
“He won’t,” Beckett said, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his hands across his face. “He never does.”
“What’s going on, Beckett? Why are things so bad with you two right now?”
“Pick a reason. I’m sure you’ll guess one correctly.”
“That bad?”
He only shook his head, sighing. “You gonna call him or what?”
“I—” She broke off when the door opened and Adam stepped in, looking around in confusion. “I’m sorry, did we wake you?”
“No, you were just gone.” He yawned, looked at Beckett. “Hey.”
“Hey. Sorry to crash like this.”
“No worries. Everything okay?”
“Not—” Anabel’s eyes lit up. “Let me borrow your phone.”
“Uh, sure. Hold on. Let me go get it.”
Impatient, she followed him out, started dialing the second he put the phone in her hand. It rang once, twice, three times, then she heard Eric’s voice and sighed in relief. “Where are you?”
“Ana? Whose phone are you calling me from?”
“Not your concern. Where are you?”
“I’m fine, Ana,” he said, voice sharp enough that her eyebrow rose. “Don’t worry.”
“Oh. Because telling me not to worry is going to work. Do you know how unsettling it is for me when Beckett shows up at my door after three in the morning looking for you? Go home.”
“No.”
“Eric Reid,” she began, “Don’t you dare—”
“He told you he changed my last name to Reid?”
“He didn’t. It makes sense he would, but he didn’t actually tell me. Either way, that was how my parents spoke to me, to Eliza, to Beckett, and if you want to continue to behave like a child—”
“I’ll be at your place in twenty.”
She set the phone down, satisfied. “He’ll be here in twenty.”
“Thank you, Anabel.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got some ’splaining to do.”
“Did you just reference a black and white sitcom?” Adam asked, grinning.
“Hey, you’re the one who recognized the reference.”
“Not the point. Listen, I’m going to head out, okay? Give you guys some time to figure stuff out.”
“You can stay, if you want, sleep in the bedroom.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got work in the morning anyway.”
“Okay.”
“Hope everything works out with Eric,” he said sincerely and, after kissing Anabel good night, made his exit.
Beckett waited an awkward beat then, when it was clear wouldn’t speak, said, “It was nice of him to leave like that in the middle of the night.”
“Yeah.”
“Things okay with you two?”
“They are now, no matter how much I dug my heels in to avoid this whole thing.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged, looked around the living room, settled on the sofa. “I tried to avoid the whole serious thing. To no avail, obviously.”
He only looked at her. “It is way too early for…” he gestured vaguely. “All your crazy words.”
“That wasn’t a crazy one!”
“Anabel, your judgment is always off on this. Shut up.” He sighed, glanced at the time. “Dammit, I missed dinner.”
“I’ll warm something for you.”
“You’ve actually got real food in—thank you,” he said quickly, cringing at the force of her steely glare. “What’ve you got?”
“Baked mac and cheese.”
“The kind Eliza makes?”
“Yeah.”
“Might as well warm some up for Eric too then.”
She studied him from her peripherals, getting out two bowls. “Surprised you’d be thinking past your anger to little details like that.”
“Yeah, well.”
“What’s going on, Beckett?”
“You ever realize you’ve got two options, and you picked the wrong one?”
“I’m sure, if I sat to think about it.”
He sighed, opening her cabinet doors. “Instant coffee, Anabel? You disappoint me.”
She let it slide, went with the change in conversation. “For emergencies, if I’m ever running late and can’t stop for coffee. I can’t work that thing,” she said simply, pointing to the coffee machine.
“You’re a disaster, Ana.” He found the coffee, set to making a fresh two cups, in case either Anabel or Eric wanted any.
“At least I’ve got the makings of the good stuff for someone who can work that deathtrap.”
“At least,” he mocked.
They’d just settled down at the small dining table, Anabel with a cup of hot tea, when the lock turned and Eric pushed open the door, stepping in. “Oh, it’s a party.”
“Shut up and sit down,” Anabel directed, pointing at the seat with the bowl in front of it.
“You make this?”
“Why?”
He sneered. “I don’t want food poisoning.”
“Eric,” Beckett snapped. “She’s letting us be here and eat her food at this inane hour thanks to you so shut up and stop being ungrateful.”
“Whatever. Coffee any good?”
“Haven’t tried it,” Anabel said, speaking before Beckett could. They didn’t seem to have a problem with her—if she played peacemaker well enough, maybe she could fix this whole thing. “But Beckett made you a cup.”
“I’m good.”
“Okay,” she huffed, outnumbered. If they both wanted to act petulant, there was only so much she could do. “What the hell is going on with you two?”
Eric turned to Beckett. “You wanna tell her or should I?”
“Tell me what?” she snapped, taking a sip of the tea to soothe her.
“Eric, I don’t want to spring—”
“I do. He tell you I’m his biological son?”