Fuck, were they seeing something that’s not there?
Please, universe, don’t let that be true.
“Where the fuck are the mixing bowls?” I bang and clatter around my kitchen, annoyed that I no longer know where anything is, and I keep avoiding the topic we’re both doing the samba around: who are we now, and what are we becoming?
“Wherever Lily put them,” Erika replies cheerfully. I know she’s relishing my misery. She opens one kitchen cabinet door and then another. “Oh, found them.” She pulls out three perfectly stacked glass bowls, hands me the largest, then places the others back in the cabinet.
“My house is no longer my own,” I grumble.
“It’s the way Lily likes it, though.” She chuckles and then takes a large bite of a strawberry.
“I haven’t washed them yet.” I point at the colander filled with fruit.
“We all have to die of something,” she mutters, chewing around the berry.
She is always so matter-of-fact about life and death. “I’d rather you didn’t die under my roof or before you’re forty.”
“A healthy person could be dead tomorrow. Whether I eat this unwashed fruit or not will make no difference. You never know what’s around the corner.” She jumps up onto the kitchen island, makes herself comfortable, and quickly shoves another berry into her mouth.
“You’re an animal.” I tut, harboring the hidden joy of having her around.
“I’m hungry after our run.”
“I told you I’d make you a fruit salad instead, as it’d be quicker.” I open my fridge, taking out the ingredients to make the pancake mix.
“I know, but I would like pancakes, please, Chef.”
“Well, then you’ll have to wait. Stop eating.” I playfully swat her hand away from the fruit she can’t seem to keep her hands off. “Let me wash them first, then you can eat.” I grab the bowl at the same time she reaches for it, but I’m too quick and move to the kitchen sink.
I give the fruit a thorough wash, feeling her eyes on me. “Stop salivating.”
“My stomach is grumbling.”
“I thought it was a dying monster inside of you making those noises.” I pass her the freshly washed fruit for her to eat her way through.
“It is. Listen.” On cue, her stomach growls loudly. “See.” She grins cheekily, making my eyes stay on her longer than I probably should. She’s glowing brighter than she has in a long time.
She pushes a blackberry into her mouth.
I’d sell my kidney to be that berry.
I go back to making pancakes. “Are you okay, Erika? Like, really okay?”
Mid-chew, she thinks about my question before answering. “Yeah, actually, I am. I feel happier than I have been for a while.”
“How long have you been unhappy for?” I hate that she didn’t tell me. I hate myself more for not noticing how utterly miserable she’s been. Although she’s been masking her pain and doubt well, I notice everything about her. It’s hard not to.
“A while.”
“You never said.”
“It was my problem to work through, not yours.”
“Everything about you is my problem. How can I help you if you keep secrets from me?”
“We don’t discuss our relationships, Leon.”
“That changes now,” I reply firmly.
