28
Tuesday 4th May 2027
Harry
“Have you ever cooked a dish that you hate for someone you loved because you just wanted to make them happy?”
Lando lies on the bed facing me, and I’m facing him. We’re not touching except for our feet, which is good because all the chicken and prosciutto and salami has done a number on me and I’m currently in the throes of the meat sweats.
“I’m terrible at cooking,” I tell him, which he already knows.
“Well, that just makes the analogy more relevant,” he says. “So, okay, remember when you cooked asparagus carbonara for me?”
“Yes.”
That was the day of my grandfather’s funeral, and I’d stumbled upon Lando in the cemetery. I’d invested hours in finding a recipe that was both foolproof even for a kitchen disaster like me, and had the potential toimpress him and his expensive, worldly palate. I’d in fact spent most of the evening screaming obscenities into the void.
Making a sauce from raw eggs? Terrifying. Looks easy . . . fucking nightmare, though.
Lando’s grinning, probably remembering the time he heard me call the colander a jizz-guzzling slag-bastard. In my defence, the handle had broken while I was trying to drain the linguini, and I lost half the pasta to the sink gods.
“I think that was my favourite meal I’ve ever eaten,” he says, like a fucking idiot.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Okay, it was a little burnt, and lumpy, but you made it out of love. You hate cooking, but you cooked for me.”
“Yeah . . .” I say, still not sure I’m following his point.
“This is how I feel about sex. Except I don’t hate it. It’s difficult to explain, but I guess the best analogy might be . . .” He pauses. “Oh, wait, I’ve got a better one. It’s like cooking for someone even when you’re not hungry yourself. Like . . . I don’t want to eat anything, but you’re starving, and it brings me pleasure to know you’re enjoying the food I made for you. And sometimes, even when I think I’m not hungry, I might have a nibble because you’re eating, and discover I am actually a little peckish.”
I smile. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
“At least that’s what it’s like when I cook for you. I mean, oh, you know what I mean. With the guys before you, and the guys after you, it was different. For different reasons. Before, when I was sleeping around, I was doing it for myself. Which . . . yeah, okay, I don’t like sex inthatway, but . . .”
He pauses as though asking me if I want to hear his reasons. I don’t need to. He’d been desperate for an ounce of affection and physical contact. Desperate for validation, to feel wanted and desired and loved. Hookups provided those things without commitment or the potential for crushed feelings. So even though he might not have enjoyed the act itself, it was the reinforcement of the idea that he is, in fact, worthy of the attention he craves.
Lando gives a subtle, grateful nod. “When we were together, I realised I wasn’t sucking your cock or sending you nude pictures of myself or fucking you with the toy because it made me feel desirable, but because . . . you’d enjoy it, and I wanted to see you . . . happy.”
“Oh,” I say.
“And that made me happy.”
I poke him in the chest. “The heart was inside you all along, Tin Man.”
Lando rolls his eyes, but smiles. “It was my fear of seeing you hurt, and seeing myself hurt, that forced this chasm between us. And . . . I’m sorry. I should’ve known better . . .”
“It’s fine. It’s done now. In the past.” I place my sweaty hand on his arm.
I don’t blame him for what he did, the things he said, and the fears that tore us apart. Imagine going through life as starved for affection as Lando was. I’m no better myself, and I had attention on tap if I wanted it. I mean, I had to fight to get it, but there was never a shortage.
“How can I make it up to you?” he says.
For a moment, I just blink at him. “Well . . . you could start by looking for a new job. Something that’ll make you happy.”
Lando pushes himself into a seated position. It’s as though he can’t process this information while lying down. As though the idea is so radical, he can’t comprehend it unless he has more elevation.
“Huh?”
