“You don’t have to?—”
I open a cabinet door, then remove a pan. “This is where the pans are.”
I put the pan on the stove. Enzo joins me.
I turn on the stove, then grab the olive oil. I frown at it, then put it down and get the coconut oil from the fridge. I spoon some out and put it on the pan.
“You got coconut oil for me?” Enzo’s eyes are wide.
The coconut oil sizzles when it hits the pan. I crack the eggs one-handed, the way my mom taught me, and I feel Enzo watching. His attention prickles along my skin. “I need to have you running at full capability. It’s for the team.”
“Oh.” Enzo no longer gazes at me with wonder.
I finish making him breakfast, then I make my own eggs with garlic and olive oil.
When I turn back, he’s almost finished eating his breakfast. I knew he hadn’t suddenly developed a taste for oatmeal. I knew it.
Patricia comes to join us, and I show her the kitchen.
It’s going to be weird to go from doing this apartment solo, to having it filled with four people. And sure, technically, she could just have come in the morning and left at night, except when Enzo and I are traveling.
But Enz and I are new to the whole parenting thing, and he definitely seemed to think the round-the-clockness of the nanny agency was a plus, and I won’t take that from him. Besides, no point having Patricia be exhausted from a commute before she even starts her workday.
Patricia apparently is an oatmeal woman, and we eat together.
Patricia and I do most of the talking. Enzo carries himself like he’s hurt. I run through our last game, trying to remember if he took any bad checks. Old me would have offered him a massage, but new me decides to put on some music.
I show Patricia and Luca and Enz the remote control for the sound system, and then we listen to some music as we get ready for the day.
I excuse myself to shower and dress quickly, then go to join them.
“Ready, Enz?” I ask.
“We don’t have to go together,” he says.
“You don’t want to ride with me?” My heart drops.
Why does he dislike me so much? What happened?
I thought we were best friends. How did I get it so wrong?
He must see something on my face. “I mean, we can ride together. If you really want. I-I just meant that we don’t have to. You’ll see enough of me anyway, and it’s not required. That’s all I meant.”
“We live together now. Of course we should travel to the same workplace together.” I hesitate. “Or do you have a car?”
He shakes his head. “It’s still in LA.”
I sigh. I need to remind Enzo to move his things here. The man’s executive function is atrocious.
“Public transportation is great,” he says defensively. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
“This is Seaport, Enzo. There’s no subway stop downstairs. I’m sure we can survive a brief car ride in an enclosed space together.”
For some reason, he looks doubtful. Before he moved back to Boston, after he went silent on me, we would only see each other on the ice.
He used to head straight for me, practically tackling me against the boards, so we would wrestle.
The people in the stands used to love it.
