“Good.” I linger for a moment, then go back inside, now fully feeling the effects of the cold.
I go through the motions of caramelizing the onions and preparing the flavourful broth Rachel taught me to make backin our college days. Now that our inevitable showdown is slowly inching closer, an unsettling terror begins to gnaw at my insides.
To be honest, I still have no idea what I’m going to do. Or say. I’ve shown Rachel that I’m willing to set time aside for her, to work out what we have to work out, but how do we even move forward?
I can’t quit my job. The disappointment I’d have to live up to in front of my parents—the shame—threatens to send me spiraling back into panic. The thought of it alone quickens my breath.
They’re finally starting to see me as the provider they know I can be. I can’t fail in my duties as a son, either.
I can negotiate with Rachel, tell her I’ll put her first more often, but I can’t completely put my responsibilities as a son aside. Especially not given my mom’s health.
But Rachel understands. Of course she does. She’s plagued with her own familial responsibilities that she can’t abandon.
After all, she invited her sister to live with us. Without asking me first.
Not that I mind. Océane is a wonderful girl. The twins love having her around. And we weren’t using that guest room anymore, not since my parents moved closer to us.
Still… would it have hurt to ask? To trust that I understand what it means to be there for your family?
This isn’t about Océane, I remind myself, violently pressing some cheese through the grater.
I wince when the edge of my finger catches against the grater. Damn, this really isn’t my best cooking day.
Right as I slide the cheese-covered bowls of onion soup into the oven for a nice broil, the back door opens. I straighten in time to find Rachel, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her skin flushed and glistening. Her almond-shaped eyes seem a bit heavier than before—more relaxed, maybe?
I run my gaze down her neck to her narrow shoulders. They’re definitely not hiked up to her ears like they have been for the last couple of days, but they’re not as relaxed as I’d like them to be.
I’ll have to work on that.
Rachel shuts the door and closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. “Oooh. It smells so good in here.”
Her raspy voice sends a shiver down my spine.
“It’s almost ready.” I lean one hand against the oven’s handle. “Take your time to change, and I’ll set everything up.”
She peers at me through her eyelashes, which are still wet from the hot tub. She shoots me a small smile. I treasure it like the gift that it is.
“Okay,” she says, hardly louder than a whisper.
Ten minutes later, we’re both sitting at the small mahogany dining table, across from each other like we do at home. If I were to say that out loud, Rachel would call me out about the fact that I haven’t been at a family dinner in forever.
But tonight, I’m here. I’ve refilled Rachel’s wine glass and gotten my own, and our respective bowls of onion soup are still way too hot to touch.
“I should have called you to the table later,” I say, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly.
Rachel pinches her lips. Both of her hands lay under the table on her lap. “It’s fine. I’m really hungry, anyway.”
“Yeah, but you can’t eat.”
“I might just try anyway.”
“I don’t want you burning your tongue, Rach.”
She smirks. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Never.” I understand her joke, but I want to make my stance clear with her. “The last thing I ever want is for you to get hurt. You have to know that.”
Rachel’s nostrils flare. “Maybe that’s what you want, Karan. But it doesn’t matter what you intend when your actions hurt people.”
