“I know I said I’d cook but maybe it’s better I didn’t. What is that? It smells amazing!” I say, mouth watering. I peek over Dominic’s shoulder to see he’s cooking up a storm, jars of spices I didn’t even know we had strewn across the counter.
“There’s frittata in the oven, and these are blueberry pancakes.” He smiles wide, making his eyes crease in the corners. The joy lighting up his features takes my breath away for a moment and I can’t seem to tear my gaze away.
“Well it’s clear you’re not a cooking one hit wonder,” I finally say, moving out of his way to sit at the kitchen table where juice is already poured, two sets of dishes laid out. “Wait, where is my mom?” I ask no one in particular, looking around for any indication that she’s even home.
Dominic points a spatula toward the fridge, mimicking a gesture Mom has done several times. I squint at the movement before focusing my eyes on a bright green sticky note slapped haphazardly on the fridge. In bold red letters it reads:
At an Appointment - Might run Late
- Mom/June
I snort at her signature as if Dominic couldn’t deduce who left the note without it.
“So it’s just us then, I guess,” I comment, a small wave of anxiety rolling in my gut at being home alone with Dominic. Not that anything is going to happen.
Well…you are two consenting adults.
My brain, or maybe my lonely libido, steer my thoughts into a foggy visual of shirtless and sweaty Dominic sprawled across the bathroom floor this morning.
I wonder how his abs would look sprawled across my sheets…
“Careful, it’s hot.” Dominic’s low voice shakes me from my slutty little daydream and I startle, my hands jolting upwards. My right hand grazes the bottom of the hot pan that had clearly just come out of the oven. The same one Dominic indicated was indeed,really fucking hot.
“Holy shit balls, bitch, FUCK!” I shout in pain, leaping from my seat to run my hand under cool water at the sink. I take a calming inhale realizing it isn’t as bad as I thought. I look up to see Dominic staring at me, eyebrows shot up to his forehead and one corner of his mouth twitching upwards.
“You sure have a mouth on you,” he teases. I shut the water off, looking over the pink skin on my hand. It’s a little sore but not worthy of my overreaction.
“Yeah, well, it was hot,” I grumble, returning to my seat where my frittata and a couple blueberry pancakes await me. I dig in moaning around a mouthful of everything. “God, this is good.”
I open my eyes to find Dominic staring at me again, this time with no smirk in sight. His eyes are tracking the movements of my mouth, then down to my neck as I swallow. Something warm and sweet begins simmering in my belly. News flash, it’s not the frittata.
Stop making sex noises while you eat, Celeste. It’s very unbecoming to sound like you’re coming.
I clear my throat and sit a little straighter. “So you like cooking then? Based on the pasta you made at your place that time and this spread, you’re very talented.” I say with a smile that I hope comes across as friendly and not at all indicative of how responsive my body is to his nearness.
He stares at me for a beat in silence, then peers down to his food and takes a bite before answering. “Yeah, I love it. I’ve been working my way through the cookbook June gave me. It’s got such a great spread of varied flavour combinations.”
I looked at him bewildered. “My mom got you a cookbook?”
“Yeah, just as a thank you for…you know, when she collapsed.” He shrugs. I’m sure he’s aiming for his signature nonchalance but there’s something more anxious in his movement. I take in the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled hair I mistook for being messy from the manual labor he’s been doing, and realize that he’s not okay.
I suck in my bottom lip, biting on it while staring unfocused at my plate. “We really,Ireally appreciate you doing that. Being there for her at that moment, especially since I couldn’t be,” I admit honestly, swallowing down my guilt. I hate that I wasn’t there for her when she needed me. I’ve always been there before.
“Of course, Celeste. I’m sorry she, and you, went through that. I can’t imagine how it was growing up. Especially without your dad there.” His words are so gentle and tentative, allowing me the option to talk or not.
Time for honesty. Time to let my own walls down. I take a shallow inhale to ready myself, placing my fork down and lacing my fingers together.
“He left when she was first diagnosed. He said he couldn’t handle it and just walked out. We never saw him again. Asshole.” I shrug like it wasn’t the most pivotal moment of my life. I cast my eyes downward then glance to the window unable to look at him, but continue with my truth, finally. “I knew I had to be strong for her, not give her anything to worry about except fighting her own fight. So I did everything I could to do well in school, stay out of trouble and get a job when I was old enough to help contribute as much as I could. Some days it felt like I was being swallowed by the ocean, stuck in a riptide that would drag me further and further from ….I don’t know, happiness?” My eyes begin to sting with the memory of being overwhelmed with self appointed duty. I sip my juice just to do something other than let those tears fall.
“Hoot, that was more on your plate than any child should ever have to deal with. Your mom’s cancer wasn’t your responsibility.” He says softly. “Did you ever let anyone know? Ask for help?” His face is one of pity and a jolt of anger licks up my spine.
“No.” I try to keep the frustration from my face but I hate talking about this. I grind my teeth trying to think of a way out of this conversation even though I know,I know,we need to have it. I know I need to show the realest version of me, all the mess, all the baggage. But fuck, is it ever hard. I blow out a breath and look straight into his eyes.
“My dad left because we were too much. He couldn’t deal with cancer ora kid so he stepped out. He also lost a child, that’s how my Mom first found out about her cancer. So in his grief, I guess, we just reminded him of everything he lost. We became baggage. So no, Dominic, I did not want to throw our baggagearound at other people. Asking for their help, then inevitably get shit on when they didn’t want to deal with us either. It was just my mom and me. Always has been and always will be.” I bite the inside of my cheek until a coppery tang coats my tongue. Dominic sits there, silent.
I knew if I told him he’d want out.
I scrub my hands over my face pleading with my tear ducts to fucking hold it together.
