Silence pushed me towards a painful scent stripping.
I flipped the eggplant slices, watching the oil splatter against the stainless steel. It was almost mesmerizing, the way it dripped slowly back downward, rejoining the quarter inch of simmering avocado oil. The recipe called for them to be golden brown, but I'd let these go slightlydarker. I’d discovered Tessa liked things that way. The bacon nearly burnt. The toast just this side of charred. Pancakes cooked in enough butter to cause a heart attack, with crispy crunch edges.
My phone vibrated on the island a few feet away.
I walked over, glancing at the notifications. It buzzed again.
Catalina, checking on me for the millionth time.
Tray, asking if I needed him to pick anything up from the store. I tapped back a quick response to that one, asking for the garlic basil compound butter I preferred from the bakery on Westwood Avenue. Tessa would love it, I was sure.
Thinking about our Omega set the Alpha inside me to pacing.
I wanted so badly to claim her. Mark her. Possess every inch of her.
The rational, human side of me that was still actively fighting ferality always found a way to put a pause on the drowning need though. I understood the importance of time, the delicate dance of consent. This was a new relationship, tenuous and easily ruined.
I reached in the fridge for the jar of fresh tomato sauce I'd made yesterday; the glass was cool against my palm. My hands trembled slightly as I unscrewed the lid. The scent hit me immediately, oregano, marsala wine, course ground pepper and a pinch of chipotle.
I breathed it in deeply, letting the rich aroma fill my lungs. It filled my nose, distracting it the same way the white noise of the vent van was giving my ears something to hear other than the ghost of Tessa’s laughter. God, that sound was the best thing I’d ever heard, far better than the roar of a stadium crowd. The trembling in my hands wasn't just from the Alpha instability anymore—it was anticipation too. Cooking for Tessa had become my favorite form of courtship.
One demure kiss after I’d asked.
That was all I could cling to otherwise.
The sauce poured thick and red into a preheated saucepan already drizzled with olive oil; the textured marinara bubbled slightly as it hit the hot surface. I gave it a gentle stir, watching the swirls of greenish gold oil blend into the tomato base. This was the foundation of my lovingly prepared eggplant parmesan. I’d layer the sauce with freshmozzarella, tender basil leaves I’d grabbed this morning at the pop-up farmer’s market, and those perfectly over-browned eggplant slices I was still finishing. I had hand rolled gnocchi already floured and waiting to boil, as well as an artisanal bread dough just waiting to be shaped before baking. The fruit tart was in the fridge, waiting to be sliced.
Just call me Mister Martha Mother Fucking Stewart.
My phone buzzed yet again. Catalina.
I ignored it, focusing instead on the sauce. She'd call if it was truly urgent. Right now, I needed to maintain whatever thread of control I had left. The cooking helped. The methodical nature of following steps, of creating something with my hands that would nourish Tessa—it centered me.
A gentle meow caught my attention, and I turned to find Josie padding into the kitchen, beelining for me. The little ginger creature had settled in well, though she spent much of her time still glued to Tessa's side. When I cooked, however, the precocious kitten was often tempted to stray. She wound around my ankles, purring loudly enough to compete with the vent's hum.
"Hey there, beautiful," I murmured, reaching down to scratch behind her ears though it would very likely flare my allergies. The simple contact with something that belonged to Tessa sent a jolt through my system. Even secondhand, her scent clung to Josie's fur. Jasmine. Cedarwood. A calming, spice-laced honey that had begun to infiltrate her chemistry since arriving here with us. Each day, I could sense she was becoming more comfortable. Part of me wanted to fast forward time, maybe as far as a year, to see how she smelled and looked and acted by then. Tessa, flush with security, would be a sight to behold.
I stood back up, moving to the sink to thoroughly wash my hands before beginning to cook again. Josie mewled, more insistently this time. She’d moved over to her treat dispenser, her little paw batting at the sensor that should have given her a liver chew. She tried again, the machine only buzzed ineffectually. I turned the heat down, exchanged the nearly burned eggplant for two fresh slices, and then moved towardthe pantry to grab the bag of organic cat treats Tray had brought home a few days earlier.
“I’m sure you’d love what I’m making, Josie, but I’m afraid both Tessa and Tray would have a fit if I strayed from your carefully curated diet,” I remarked as I moved towards the machine. I could have sworn she scowled at me as I said it, her alert green eyes going icy. As I often found myself doing lately, I responded to myself using a cartoonish approximation of a cat voice.
“I used to be free, Mac. I used to eat anything that smelled good on the streets. The sushi, Mac. The sushi!”
Josie sat very still, save for the flicking of her tail and a slight cocking of her head as she listened to my high-pitched ramblings. I was probably offending her with the absurd voice. When I popped the machine’s lid and filled it back up, she began to purr with interest though, standing up and pacing back and forth. The second I’d clicked the top back on; the remarkably smart cat pawed it to distribute a goody.
As I walked back to the pantry, a wave of dizziness hit. I gripped the counter edge, dropping the half-filled bag to the floor. Thankfully, I’d already zipped it back closed so I didn’t make a mess. I was so damn tired of making messes simply because my body wanted to continually rebel.
The dizziness passed after a few seconds but left behind that familiar hollow ache in my chest. I bent to retrieve the treat bag, moving slower than I would have liked. Josie had noticed my stumble—her purring had stopped, and she was watching me with those unnervingly intelligent eyes.
"I'm fine," I told her, though it was a lie. She narrowed her eyes, as if she too knew I fibbed.
“You’re lying, Mac,” I responded in my version of her internal monologue.
“I’d never lie to you, Josie.” The right of my mouth quirked upward, at least I was amusing myself.
The unfettered truth was that the clinic treatments weren’t buying me as much time anymore. They hadn’t been for a while. They were almost useless now, like slapping a child-size bandage onto a gapingfoot-long wound. And having my Omega match so close, breathing in her delectable scent each day while being unable to complete the bond my Alpha so desperately needed, was like trying to survive on a raft in the center of a vast ocean. There was no land in sight, no fresh water, no tools for catching fish. I might as well roll over into the salty wetness, slice myself with sharp nails, and wait for a fucking shark to swim along and devour me. Put me out of my misery.
I tossed the cat treats back onto a pantry shelf, then returned to the stove. I flipped the newest eggplant slices. Golden brown, just the way the recipe intended, though I knew I'd end up cooking them longer for Tessa's preferences. The simple act of adjusting my cooking to suit her tastes felt like the only claim I was allowed to make.
