Page 71 of The Cinderella Secret
“You and Aiden,” said Evan, rolling his eyes and going into the kitchen. “I swear you’re bottomless pits.” He retrieved the pan from the sink and tucked his tie into his shirt.
“You don’t have to make more,” said Jackson, watching in fascination as Evan pulled ingredients out of the fridge.
“It’s eggs,” said Evan, “not rocket science. It takes two minutes, and it will keep you from whining when I make you climb over all the crap to get to the boxes.”
“Well, that does sound like me,” agreed Jackson, sitting down at the kitchen bar and sipping his own coffee. Evan called his office while he cooked, managing the two tasks with practiced ease. Jackson was surprised but tried not to show it. Evan being a responsible, self-feeding individual seemed unexpected.
“Thanks for cooking,” said Jackson around a forkful of scrambled eggs, when Evan hung up on work.
“Again, it’s eggs. That barely qualifies as cooking. I don’t understand why you didn’t get breakfast when you got coffee.”
“There was a line and I was in a hurry.”
“Uh-huh,” said Evan. “Going to go change. Back in a minute.”
Jackson finished up his eggs and then washed the breakfast dishes while Evan changed. When he came back downstairs Jackson laughed. “You in jeans. I didn’t know it was possible.”
“Fuck off,” said Evan. “Let’s go get this over with.”
The storage unit was in midtown and had more security than some celebrities. When they finally unlocked the door to the unit that housed the unwanted Deveraux items, Jackson had to admit to a feeling of let-down.
“With that build up, I was expecting the Arc of the Covenant.”
“Nope, just shit that Grandma can’t let go of,” said Evan, frowning at the pile of furniture and boxes. “If you ask me, we should take a flame thrower to all of it.”
“Some of it is probably worth money,” said Jackson with a shrug.
“Who gives a shit?” demanded Evan. “All right, back this way. I wasn’t kidding about the climbing. I think the DevEntier shit is behind an entire set of wicker furniture.”
“Wicker…” said Jackson.
“It’s woven wooden furniture,” said Evan, leading them back further into the maze.
“I know what it is. It’s rich people furniture.”
“I don’t think so,” said Evan.
“It’s furniture specifically for the outdoors, right? When I was growing up, outdoor furniture was the couch that someone left on the street corner.”
“Why would someone leave a couch on the street?” asked Evan.
“To get rid of it. Usually after the cat irreparably peed on it. Or someone set it on fire. Or the recliner function broke.”
“I always liked the idea of a recliner,” said Evan wistfully. “Grandma never goes for them. She says they’re low-brow.”
“My dream was to get one of those movie theater seats that uses the buttons to recline.”
“I could be into that,” agreed Evan. He paused and turned to face Jackson as if coming to a sudden realization. “Icoulddo that. I have a media room. I could have recliners. I’m going to have recliners.”
“OK,” said Jackson. “Sounds good. Can we watchThe Matrix?”
“Yeah, all right,” agreed Evan, with a careless shrug that was so Aiden that Jackson almost laughed. “But not two and three. They sucked.”
“Sweet,” said Jackson. “I’ll bring brats and some of that kettle corn shit that gives my tongue sugar burn but I can’t stop eating. We should invite Aiden though, or he’ll get super bummed.”
“Oh,” said Evan, blinking. Jackson guessed that he hadn’t realized they were making a real plan. “Yeah. OK. Um… boxes are this way.”
The back wall was covered by a long industrial shelving unit that was packed with carefully labeled boxes. As if someone had started the storage unit with the firm intention of being organized. Unfortunately, the gravitational pull of storage units had overtaken that intention at some point. In front of the shelving unit was a wall of wicker furniture stacked Jenga style to the ceiling. Next to it, there were three actual steamer trunks. And a clothing rack. Next to a wardrobe. More cardboard boxes. Giant plastic bins. Some had labels, some didn’t.
