Ilead us upstairs in silence. My head spinning. It’s been years since we’ve been in close proximity, just the two of us, and it’s messing with my equilibrium.
We enter the kitchen. My pride and joy. It sits along the back of the house, overlooking my landscaped gardens and the woodland and fields beyond. I love entertaining here. It’s my happy place, and baking has always been my stress reliever, so when I designed this space, I wanted airy. A place to sing and dance freely, somewhere tolet go. The opposite to my work sanctuary.
The kitchen itself is modern, with sleek units and hidden draws. The surfaces are granite and reflect the cleverly positioned lighting. It’s minimalist, apart from my necessities, which include my coffee machine and toasted sandwich maker. A girl has her favourites.
Elijah walks up to my sandwich maker and turns to face me.
“You can take the woman out of the uni, but you can’t take the student out of the woman.”
“What? I can’t like toasted sandwiches because I earn millions a year?”
“Of course you can. It just surprises me.”
“I haven’t changed that much,” I say, suddenly defensive.
“Don’t kid yourself. Everyone changes as they get older. It’s called growing up and being responsible. You might like to think you’re still the same carefree Pen you were, but it’s impossible when you have responsibilities to staff and clients. Look at the house you live in. A far cry from the two-bedroom apartment you lived in with your mum with the broken tap and cracked sink.”
“I don’t think you can say I was carefree at university,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I had a stick rammed up my backside and a chip the size of Greater London on my shoulder.”
Elijah chuckles but doesn’t deny it. He can’t because he knows it’s true.
“I may not be scratching a living, or living pay cheque to pay cheque. True. But I still enjoy the same things. Tuna melts, or a ham and cheddar cheese toastie are still my favourites.”
He wrinkles his nose, and it’s my turn to laugh. He always was anally retentive about what he put in his body.
“You’re just a food snob. But don’t worry. I’m going to order us a takeaway. I won’t offend your tastebuds.”
He says nothing, instead he walks around the space.
“Kat said this space is amazing,” Elijah says, moving to the wall of windows that look out over the lit garden. “The light must be incredible during the day.
I’m surprised at his words.
“It is,” I reply, unashamed to admit. “I had reflective windows installed to offer additional privacy, but with an unhindered view out. After drones became a thing, I didn’t want anyone able to spy on me.”
Call me paranoid, but such is life. My privacy and the safety of my friends and family are my number one priority. I love my home, but I’m not so naïve to think my wealth doesn’t make me a target for the gutter press. Salacious gossip sells.
“It must be hard to up sticks and leave. You’ve put a lot of work into this place,” Elijah says, facing me.
I shrug, although my stomach rolls each time I think about leaving, but I shake it off. I’m moving to start a new life.
“One of us had to compromise. It’s easier for me to upend my life than for Kris,” I say.
Elijah remains silent, his eyes focused on the garden.
I move to one drawer and pull out a pile of my favourite takeaway menus. Moving towards Elijah, I hold them up.
“Any preference?”
When we were students and working late, we often had a takeaway delivered at Elijah’s request, although he always ordered the plain and boring, healthy versions of dishes. When I was in the zone, I was happy to ignore my stomach. However, he always needed refuelling and always ordered enough to feed an army. At the time, he was swimming over a hundred laps a day, and he was weight training with additional cardio.
I would complain, as I hated anyone eating near my keyboard. The thought of the germs alone gave me the ick. It still does. That’s why my office provides a first-class, subsidised canteen, and we encourage all staff to take breaks for meals instead of eating at their desks.
“I’m happy with whatever you fancy,” Elijah says.
“Really?” I say, unable to hide the hint of sarcasm.
Elijah always had a preference.
