Julien checks the grill, a fancy stainless-steel monstrosity, and grins when he turns the knob and hears the hiss of gas. “Still working.”
I set a pot of water on the burner, adding pasta from the pantry. “Carbs?”
“And canned sauce.” He opens a jar of marinara, sniffing it cautiously before nodding approval.
We work together in easy silence. He stirs the pasta, and I chop a few cloves of garlic found in the pantry.
It makes me wonder if the others have a peaceful moment, too. Did they already make it to Pine Lake? Are they safe? Eating? Is Amelia resting properly? Does she have enough water?
The last time she went more than a day without proper nutrition, she ended up in the hospital for a week. I should be there with her, not here, playing house with Julien.
A gentle pat on my head pulls me back. Julien’s hand rests there for a brief moment before withdrawing. “You okay?”
I blink, focusing on his concerned face. “Yeah. Sorry. Just hoping they’re okay. My sister?—”
“You should think more about yourself sometimes.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
I nod, unsure what else to say, and lean back against the wooden fence. It’s so peaceful here, so at odds with the horror we’ve escaped.
“I’m wondering about them too.” Julien’s voice softens as he turns back to the pasta. “But I’m sure they’re okay. My brother is with them, and Rosa… She doesn’t look like much, but she’s feisty. The last thing I’d want is getting her angry.”
The image of tiny, gray-haired Rosa facing down a horde of zombies with nothing but her crochet needles, cane, and curses startles a laugh out of me. “I can see that.”
He drains the pasta, steam rising around his face. “One time, she caught me sneaking out to meet a girl when I was sixteen. Made me scrub every toilet in her house with a toothbrush while lecturing me about respecting women.”
“Did it work?”
“What do you think?” He hands me a plate loaded with pasta and sauce. “I never snuck out again. At least not through the kitchen window.”
We settle inside on the dinner table, the food simple but somehow the most delicious meal I’ve ever tasted. Maybe it’s the hunger, or the adrenaline crash, or just the relief of being alive when so many aren’t.
“This is good,” I say between bites. “Thank you.”
He looks up, fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Glad you like it.”
The sun begins its slow descent, casting everything in honey-gold light. Julien’s face softens in the warm glow, the hard lines around his mouth relaxing as he eats. Making him more handsome, even with all the grime.
“Do you think we’ll ever get back to normal?” I scrape the last bit of pasta. “Not like before, but something stable?”
“I think we’ll find anewnormal.” He looks out the window. “People adapt. They survive.”
I’ve survived my whole life, so why does him saying it make my chest ache?
His eyes narrow slightly as he studies me with that look—the one that feels like he’s peeling back my layers without permission. Does he see how pathetic I am underneath? I drop my gaze to my empty plate, toying with a stray bit of sauce.
“Worrying again?” he asks.
“No.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table. “You just went somewhere dark. I could see it.”
The fork scrapes against ceramic. “Just wondering if surviving is enough.”
“There’s more to life than just making it through each day. Even now.”
