I just let myself exist here in this moment, wrapped in Silas's hoodie and his arms. Being exactly who I am with all my messiness and anger and fear and hope tangled together becomes acceptable.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Scout
Trudging down the hallway, I pull out the keys to the front door and let myself in. The spicy smell of hot sauce hits me first and I pause in the doorway, sneezing several times. Silas pops his head around the corner from the kitchen.
"Sorry about the smell."
I close the door and cover my nose with my hand. My eyes are already watering as I walk into the kitchen.
"What is it?" I ask, surprised to see what appears to be some kind of noodle-laden soup. Si is pouring it into a bowl. Sitting beside it is a bottle of generic hot sauce and a sleeve of saltines.
"Hot crack." He smiles and shakes his head at himself. "Jett used to make it for us. It's ramen, a bunch of hot sauce, and some crumbled up crackers. Get it? Hot crack."
I squint. That name sounds familiar to me, but I can't think why. The knowledge sticks with me for a long moment, like an itch on the roof of your mouth. "I think you've mentioned it before."
"Have I?" He purses his lips as he shreds the saltine wrapper and crumbles the crackers over the soup. "I didn't think you were coming home. Do you want a bowl? I can make another one for myself."
I try not to wince. "Uh, no. I'm okay. I'll eat... later. When the house smells less like Satan's asshole."
"Sorry." Si grimaces. "You're missing out, though."
Just then, I go into a series of several sneezes, each one more painful than the last. I need to get away from this horrible smell. "I'm going to go into my room."
He raises his eyebrows. "Should I open some windows?"
I sneeze again, then nod. "That'd be nice."
As I'm bolting to my bedroom, he calls, "Sorry, baby!"
I close myself into my bedroom and stuff a towel under the door for good measure. Silas is usually a respectful roommate, so he can get away with this one terrible roommate faux pas. At least he's not microwaving spicy fish.
I flop across my bed with a sigh. My laptop is plugged in by the couch, but no way in hell am I going to venture out into that acrid smell to get it. I grab my phone and check my work emails, finding it hard to focus on anything but the spice-laden air.
Hot crack, Si called it. It continues to tickle me, feeling like a hair from my head that's on my shirt and ever so gently driving me insane. I close my email app with a sigh and scroll through my phone to get to my notes app. I keep a running list of things I need to do. Maybe my list will inspire some spark of productivity.
But I stop scrolling when my eye lands on Twinge, the dating app I deleted weeks ago.
That same strange tickle in the back of my brain gets stronger. Something about Hot Crack...
I redownload the app, my heart beating faster. My conversation with StatMan should still be in the archived messages even though I deleted my account. The app takes forever to load, and when it finally does, I navigate to the message history.
There.StatMan12. I scroll through our old conversations, past the goodbye message I sent him weeks ago. I keep scrolling back, back, until I find what I'm looking for.
A conversation about his childhood comfort foods. He was away on business and staying in a hotel room, eating...
Hot Crack. Ramen, crumbled crackers, and a ton of hot sauce. Even then, I thought it was gross.
My heart speeds up. Is Hot Crack a local delicacy that I just don't know about? It seems impossible.
A quick Google search shows me a ton of results, mostly news articles about drug busts and releases promoting a band with the same name. But nothing about ramen, crackers, or hot sauce.
Hot Crack ramen
Hot Crack food
Hot Crack seattle
