“Didn’t I mention?” I said, then realised, no, I hadn’t. “It’s Taylor King.”
Mum blinked. “Taylor King from high school?”
“Yes.”
“Taylor King, valedictorian?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Taylor King, the soccer captain?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Taylor King, the president of the student council —”
“Yes Mum!” I said loudly, then quickly lowered my voice. “Yes, him.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You’re cooking dinner for him.”
“Well he cooked for me first,” I mumbled.
“It seems you’re getting along.”
“He’s still a di—” I cut myself off. “An ass— an annoying person,” I finished. “But I’m stuck with him the rest of the year. They won’t let us change. He tried.”
“Maybe it’s not so bad. You have a lot in common.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“It’s true!” Mum suddenly smiled. “I know you didn’t get along well, but he’s a sweet boy.”
“How many times do I have to tell you,” I said, feeling like a kid again, “he’s only nice to grown-ups, and it’s all fake anyway.”
“Yes, yes, I know, he’s secretly the devil incarnate,” Mum said dismissively, which got on my nerves because as my mother, shewas supposed to sympathise with me. “It doesn’t change that he’s very polite. Handsome too.”
I flushed. “Ew, Mum. That’s so gross. You know he’s my age?”
“I’m stating a fact,” Mum said. “He’s handsome, but not as handsome as my son.”
“Anyway,” I said loudly, “I’m calling because I need to make pasta that’s actually yummy, otherwise it’ll give him another reason to make fun of me.”
Thankfully, Mum dismissed the whole Taylor-is-handsome topic and went into serious mode, getting me to show her the ingredients I had again. I stayed on the video call with her as I browned the mince and onions and chopped the vegetables. Technically, I could’ve just watched a YouTube tutorial, but it was better being able to ask my mum questions, and if I was honest with myself, I felt guilty about not calling my parents as much as I should’ve. Besides, I knew it would make my mum happy. People liked to help out. Especially those they love. Back in high school, during my more moody years, I’d tell my parents that they didn’t need to watch every soccer game, that Mum didn’t need to fold my laundry and that Dad didn’t need to drive me to school because I could walk there myself. I guess I didn’t want to inconvenience them. But sometimes the nicest thing you can do is let people do nice things for you.
“It’s basically done,” I said, flipping the phone camera to show Mum the pasta I was stirring in with the sauce.
“Take a photo when you serve it, and send it to me so I can show your dad.”
After ending the video call, I made up two bowls and sprinkled on cheese, briefly wishing I’d bought parsley or basil to put on top, then thankful I hadn’t, because that would make it look like I was trying too hard. I sent a photo to Mum, which she reacted to with ten heart-eyes emojis.
Outside, the sun was still high in the sky. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet. Cooking had taken a while, but not as long as I expected.
I leaned against the kitchen counter and waited.
Eighteen seconds later, I took out my phone.
Where are u,I texted Taylor.
His response came less than a minute later.Library.
