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“Ahhh. He couldn’t resist, huh?”

“No, definitely not.”

She took off her jacket and draped it over the sweater already on the chair. “I should probably go check on him,” she said.

“Uh, actually I don’t think he wanted you to see him like this,” I said.

“Huh. Well, you’ll have to tackle me to keep me out of there, so…” Then she walked around me and made her way to his room.

I smiled after her. I had to appreciate her tenacity.

She came back a minute later.

“He is really knocked out,” she said.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Something about carb loading before the race?” She put her thumb over her shoulder. “I was going to make him some soup. Are you hungry?”

“From scratch?”

“Yeah.”

Technically I could leave now that she was here. I really liked soup though.

“Sure.”

She made me chop onions.

“What kind are we making?” I asked, crying.

“Vegetable beef,” she said over the carrots she was cutting.

“Does it usually need this many onions?”

“No. I’m making a triple batch. I freeze some for later, and I sell the rest.”

“To who?”

She shrugged. “A lady in my building. A guy who used to come into my old restaurant, a few friends. If I’m doing the work, I might as well cover the cost of the groceries. Make a little extra for bills.”

“Do you do this often?” I asked.

“At least once a week. Whenever I cook. Do you want me to take over?”

“What? The onions?” I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve.

“Yeah, you’re being pretty dramatic over there.”

I scoffed. “You gave me the hard job.”

“I didn’t think you could julienne carrots.”

“I can’t.”

“Well, then.” She gave me a playful look. Or I thought she did, I couldn’t see very well.

“I bet this soup’s gonna be great,” I said, squinting at my cutting board. “Salted with suffering.”