“You sure?” he asked, eyeing the spaghetti.
“I’m sure,” I said, trying not to sound offended.
“Because you’re an awful cook,” Henry continued.
“I’m aware,” I told him dryly.
“Just awful,” he whispered, then looked at Alice. “It’s like she’s cooking to punish you, but you don’t know what you did to deserve it.”
Deva snorted under her breath, while Beth hid her face behind her napkin. Both of their shoulders shook, giving them away, while Carol looked out the window really hard. Some friends I had. If they weren't careful, I was going to cook a whole meal for them and watch them while they ate every last bite.
“Like liquid death. I mean, I’m pretty sure things have been made in labs that taste better than—”
“Henry,” Alice said, her voice firm. “This is one of those situations where you ask the question, get the answer, and then shut up. Otherwise, you’re hurting your sister’s feelings.”
Henry stared deadpan at her. “I needed you to understand that if she cooked this food, it was going to be bad.”
Alice lifted a brow. “I got that. Now, let’s sit and eat. This topic has run its course.”
His expression said he was relieved she understood that my cooking was liquid death, as he'd so eloquently put it. They took their spots while Daniel reappeared to dollop sauce on each of our giant piles of spaghetti. Returning to the kitchen, he returned one more time with parmesan cheese. We passed it around, sprinkled it on top of our food, and dug in.
Henry tried his and groaned. “This is definitely not cooked by Emma. I bet she wasn’t even in the kitchen.” He snorted. "Or the house."
Alice nudged him with her shoulder. “Social cue.”
My brother stiffened. “I mean, this is good. Nothing about Emma being an awful cook.”
She nudged him again, and he closed his mouth.
I laughed and shook my head. One of the benefits of having a brother with autism was that I knew exactly what he thought. Sometimes it was a disadvantage, too. Still, I preferred him exactly as he was, liquid death and all.
“Have as much as you want,” Daniel said as he sat with us. “There’s room for seconds and even thirds.” The whole table glanced between their giant plates of food and Daniel. He blushed. “I've never known how much spaghetti to make. It's either not enough or feed an entire army.
Everyone laughed because that was kind of how it was when it came to spaghetti. We all related. There was always too much, no matter how closely the recipe was followed.
Conversation filled the room as we ate, enjoying the amazing pasta. Daniel might not have been able to weave magic into his cooking like Deva, but it certainly tasted as though he could've. Within minutes of our first bites, everyone relaxed, and laughter flowed as much as the conversation itself.
Daniel leaned in close to me. “I moved a lot of bags into your room today. Everything I need, at least for a while, to officially move in.”
I grinned and kissed him. “Perfect.”
"Did the house next door sell?" Beth's question was said far too innocently.
I tried not to let the corners of my mouth tip in a smile as I said, "It did. To the man who we spoke with the other day, I'm pretty sure. Alice and Henry spoke with him at the mailbox this morning. The sellers accepted his offer."
Beth's expression was decidedly bland. There was something there and I looked forward to digging into it.
If I kept my friends. If they still wanted to be with me after I lost my powers.
The band on my chest tightened again. I was going to break into a million pieces if they left me.
Beth cleared her throat and looked directly at Deva. "How is Marquis?"
Deva nearly choked on her spaghetti. "We haven't seen nearly enough of one another. I've been too busy, and he's had patients."
"Mmhmm," Carol said. "You mean you've been playing doctor."
The table erupted in snorts and laughter.
