So what, exactly, does a normal person say toI’m fixing your carbesidesthank you, which I’ve already said?
Am I supposed to offer him a blow job?
My research into how to live frugally and take a job as a housekeeper didn’t extend to this exact situation.
“Smells good in here,” is what I settle on.
“Beef and barley stew,” he says. “Grab a bowl if you want some.”
“I—yes. Thank you.” I pause again. “Can I give you money for the ingredients?”
“No.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
He slides a glance at me like he too has noticed that I’m overusing the wordsthank you.
“Oh, I should get a bowl right now?” It’s a legitimate question on my part because he’s still stirring, and he hasn’t served himself anything yet.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t move when I slip around him to grab a bowl from the upper cabinet to his right.
I like the cabinets. Someone painted them a dusty blue, and it adds a charming touch.
I like the bowls too.
At home, my bowls are fine china.
These are hefty. Thick, brightly colored porcelain that reminds me of the dishes at Daphne’s apartment in the Hudson Valley.
And I’d enjoy them more if I were enjoying them without this heavy dose of awkward hanging out in the kitchen with us.
“This isn’t poisoned, is it?” I ask him, going for a joke to cut through the tension.
He slides me another unreadable look, then makes a show of lifting the cooking spoon to his mouth, blowing on it, and taking a very large bite.
“Ah. So if it is, we’ll both be dead.”
“If I wanted to kill you, I’d return the cast-iron skillet favor and leave your body somewhere that the bears could get it.”
“Comforting.”
“Someone would probably notice you were missing though.”
I almost do a double take because I almost think he’s talking about Cyril, or my sister, or god forbid, my parents, but I make myself stay breezy and calm, forcing a friendly smile.
He can’t be talking about Cyril.
No one here knows about Cyril or who I really am, and this is all fine.
He takes the powder-red bowl from me and fills it with soup, then hands it back. “Oyster crackers are on the table.”
I hesitate before leaving the kitchen for the shared dining/living room. “Are you eating too?”
“Made it, didn’t I?”
“I meant at the table.”
