I went into my room, where the girls were sorting through my things.
“You have such cool stuff,” Enola said, holding up my Lisa Frank pencil case.
“All I wanted in school was Lisa Frank stuff like the cool girls,” I said wistfully. “My mom would never buy it for me so now that I’m an adult, I will relive my childhood the way I want and spend money on these things instead of paying my credit card bill.”
I pulled up my dream bedroom Pinterest page on my phone. It screamed early-2000s thirteen-year-old girl with fairy lights, celebrity posters, quirky knickknacks, and breezy white curtains.
“I’m going to make us some snacks, then we’re going to live out our dreams!”
I changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top then padded into the kitchen.
“For all of Beck’s complaints about my cooking supplies, it’s a good thing I emptied out my fridge. Otherwise we’d starve,” I told Enola and Annie.
I pulled out a loaf of bread, butter, and American cheese.
“Nothing like a grilled cheese,” I said, smearing butter on the bread. “Can one of you look in the bags for the panini maker?”
They rummaged in the bags piled in the kitchen.
“I don’t see one, but I did find an iron!” Enola said.
“Good enough,” I said, taking it from her and plugging it in.
“In college, I was the master of cooking with random appliances,” I told them, ripping off two pieces of aluminum foil. “I made caramel using a metal bowl and the heat from my desk lamp. And I was known for my microwave chocolate chip pancakes.” I picked up the iron and flicked a little water on it. It sizzled.
“Food is about to be ready! See if you can find some plates.” I pressed the iron down on the foil-wrapped sandwich. The smell of toasted, buttery bread wafted through the kitchen. My mouth watered. Nothing like a grilled cheese!
“Are you trying to burn the house down?” Beck demanded, rushing into the kitchen.
“I’m being a responsible fake girlfriend and cooking lunch,” I informed him, flipping over the foil-wrapped grilled cheese.
“With an iron? What kind of lunacy is this?” He looked around at the bags and the half-empty living room. “Where is all the furniture?”
“The movers said they didn’t take the wet furniture.”
“Only a bed and a TV were ruined,” he said flatly. “Where is the rest of it?”
“Uh…”
“Are they coming back?” he prompted.
I made a face. “I might have already signed off that they were done.”
Beck’s shoulders tensed.
I picked up the iron and unwrapped the grilled cheese.
“Behold!” I raised the iron. “The queen of the kitchen!”
Beck’s eyes widened slightly as he took me in.
“You can have one too,” I said, blowing him a kiss, “even though you were hating on my iron cooking method.”
Beck swallowed. “Where are the rest of your clothes?”
Now I was pissed. “You went off to talk on the phone!” I said, angrily grabbing another sandwich. “You didn’t give me any direction, pooh-poohed my iron, and now you’re in here insulting my outfit?”
Beck made a strangled noise. “I would hardly call it an outfit—you’re barely wearing anything at all. You need to change. Now.” He turned on his heel and walked to the front door.
