Once everything is in the oven, she fixes me a tuna sandwich, which I eat in the kitchen while she cleans up. When I offer to help, she gives her head a firm shake. “You’ve done enough, and don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’re limping.”
How long has it been since someone was kind to me? Long enough that I come very close to tearing up. Instead of gettingannoyed with myself, I try to focus on how nice it is to be cared for.
By the time Liam comes home, there’s an absolutely mouthwatering aroma filling the apartment. I’m back on the sofa, a few episodes into the new season of a historical drama, but now that he’s here, I’m more interested in dinner. “I helped cook,” I tell him. I probably feel more pride than I should, but it’s kind of a big deal. Like a kid wanting their art project hung on the refrigerator.
“Really?” He looks toward the kitchen, then back at me. “Do I have to worry?”
“About what?”
“About you slipping something into my food.” He’s smirking, so I guess he thinks he’s being funny. Now that he mentions it, that might not have been a bad idea. There I was, proud of myself for a minute, and he has to be smug about it.
He changes his tune by the time we sit down to eat. “This looks delicious,” he murmurs, giving Maggie an appreciative smile. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do all the work,” she reminds him. On her way past me, she pats a hand on my shoulder.
“I would really like to learn more about cooking,” I announce.
He looks up from his plate, where the rich beef sits on top of a pile of buttered egg noodles. “You think so?” The skepticism in his voice is thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Why not? I had a good time today, and I learned a lot.” There’s more to it, but I can’t bring myself to say it out loud. It would mean opening up more than I feel comfortable with. I feel useful. I can’t remember ever feeling useful. I was never allowed to, and now I want to make up for lost time.
Of course, he doesn’t understand that. “I wouldn’t get used to the way things were today.”
And there goes all my hope and satisfaction. I can practically see it swirling around the drain. “Why not?”
“Don’t let it go to your head. This will be a sometimes sort of thing.”
Wonderful. Somehow, it feels crueler to give me a day off, so to speak, and then force me to go back to the way things were. He makes a satisfied sound before getting up and going to the pot on the stove to take seconds. “This is great.”
I’m glad one of us is happy. It’s a shame it has to be him.
I’m just desperate enough to take a long shot when he sits back down. “Can I at least watch something tonight? If I can’t use the TV tomorrow?”
He shrugs, too busy eating to care. “I guess so.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” He’s almost smiling.
“Come and watch something with me.” It’s sad, but true: I’m lonely around here. I was lonely back home, too, but at least here I don’t have to be.
“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”
“We can watch a movie. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” He wears a knowing smirk. Like he sees my loneliness and takes it as some sort of win for him. It’s pitiful, but I force myself to sit up straight under the weight of my discomfort.
“Nothing super violent.” I spear a perfectly browned mushroom and drag it through the rich gravy before popping it in my mouth.
“Had enough violence lately?” He’s not smirking anymore. Probably remembering yesterday, though I would guess he’s reminded every time he moves. “All right. I guess I can spare a couple of hours.”
It feels like I’ve won something. Everything with him is a battle in one way or another.
When he suggestsCitizen Kane, I agree. “Okay. I’ve never seen it.”
He swallows a mouthful of food while staring at me with wide eyes. “How? How have you never seen it?”
This might be the first actual, real-life thing he’s ever cared about, at least in front of me. It’s like I’m getting a tiny glimpse of the person he is. “Sorry, I wasn’t raised on classic films.”
