I stood up from the bed and padded into the kitchen, the only place he hadn’t completely filled with things. There were no utensils, no pots and no pans, as if he’d intended to starve me during my self-imposed exile.
At least I could quench my thirsty throat. Turning to the low hum of the refrigerator, I opened it, my heart stuttering at what I saw.
Rows of bottled water and drinks lined the shelves, perfectly rationed, like he knew how many bottles I drank in a day, and how many would sustain me for three days.
But that wasn’t what made me pause.
On the top shelf sat neatly wrapped packages of food, each of them sealed. A sticky note clung to the top one, and I peeled it free, recognising his handwriting instantly.
Warm this in the microwave before you eat. And I hope you eat sooner. You can’t be mad on an empty stomach.
I sucked in my bottom lip to keep it from trembling, blinking fast to push the tears back.
Fuck. Was I always a crier? Why was this man always triggering my tear ducts?
I stared at the paper with watery eyes. As if I didn’t know to warm food before eating. And who told him I was mad at him? If I really was, I wouldn’t be here sniffing his clothes and crying over a stupid note.
Bringing the food out of the fridge, including the side dishes, I set them on the island and stared for a long time at the way he’d wrapped each one separately.
He’d done all this—cleaned the entire house, warmed the floors, brought my things, arranged them, even cooked—all in the span of the hours I’d left him.
Minutes later, I warmed the food and sat down. As I ate, I couldn’t help but marvel at how thoughtful he was, the neighbour’s music bleeding faintly through the walls, my only companion in the silence of the house.
“Hold on, I was supposed to cook it first?” I asked, staring at the fried, slightly burned food I’d just dumped onto a plate. “You didn’t tell me that.”
My mother’s deep breath filled my ear, the kind that meant she was seconds away from lecturing me. “How will you eat that if it’s not cooked? Common sense, Sanora. You cook before you fry.”
I slumped onto the stool near the island, clutching my growling stomach. “I thought it was one of those foods that don’t need cooking,” I mumbled, poking the burnt edge with a fork as if it might suddenly soften.
“Do you feel how hard it is? There’s no way you’re chewing that without breaking your teeth. How have you been surviving so far? You were fine with not calling me for guidance.”
Well, shit.
I’d woken up around six a.m., and despite the fact that Thrax had dropped a box of homemade packaged meals at my doorstep and vanished last night, I still woke up famished.
So, I’d dragged myself out to buy something quick I could whip up. Now I wished I’d just gone out to eat instead of attempting kitchen suicide.
“I’ve been eating out,” I lied, twirling the fork like it could distract me from how pathetic that sounded.
“Yes, and houses are built on clouds.”
“I’m serious, Mother.”
“You have to be more creative than that. I was waiting for you to get here first before you tell me what’s really going on there, but since you aren’t coming anytime soon, you might as well start telling your mother who you’re with in that strange land.”
My teeth sank into my lip, holding back the ache threatening to spill out. “It’s nothing serious.” That wasn’t a lie. Whatever existed between Thrax and me wasn’t serious, only my feelings were.
“Really?” Her tone said otherwise.
I dropped my gaze to my palm, picking at nothing on my nail bed. “Well, I don’t know anymore.”
Satisfaction dripped from her voice. “So there’s something going on.”
“A little.”A lot.
“And he’s the reason why you’ve been ‘surviving’ until now.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “Yes.”
