Don’t you dare fucking cry.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look up from my palms to find Dominic, kneeling beside me, concern and caring written across his features. He takes one of my hands in his and kisses my knuckles, the gesture melting away the tension from my shoulders to my toes.
“Hoot, I can’t say I know what you’re going through or have been through. But I want you to know I’m here for you, and your mom, in whatever capacity you need me to be. If that means changing light bulbs or making frittatas every weekend, then so be it. But you’re not alone. And you’re certainly not baggage. If anyone thinks that then they’re unworthy of your attention to begin with.” His words hit me like a blow to the chest and my lower lip wobbles with the intensity of emotion. Tears spill of their own volition, streaming down my cheeks in rivers of appreciation. I throw my arms around his shoulders and release a sob like a break in the dam, followed by a shuddering breath. I pull back with a watery smile, using the backs of my hands to wipe at my puffy eyes, thankful I hadn’t put on any mascara yet today.
“You okay?” he asks, standing and moving around to sit again.
“Yeah.” I wave him off, sniffing. “I just don’t like to share that, so…what you said just really means a lot.”
“I really mean it, Celeste, for you and your mom, I’m here.” His voice rings with a heavy truth despite his warm smile, that I really can rely on him.
God, it is so hard to be mad at him when he just gave me the best speech ever.
Time for more honesty.
“There’s one more thing.” I swallow. “This list. My…” I roll my eyes at my own absurdity. “My quest to find a guy stemmed from a medical school application question. It was an experiment to see if I could handle dating on top of all my other priorities.” I watch him unblinkingly. He stares down at the table digesting my admission.
“So what am I to you then?” He asks quietly, lifting to meet my eyes.
“You’re my friend,” I say, even if my heart is telling melie, lie, lie.
“I thought so too, but as your matchmakerI feel a little betrayed.” He huffs humourlessly, an edge to his voice that conveys the hurt behind the bravado.
“I know, and I’m sorry I wasn’t as transparent from the start. To be fair, you did set me up on some truly horrendous dates.” I crack a smile, and I see his resolve melt.
“You’re right and for that I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional and your happiness is really all I want.”
I nod with a smile. “Okay, so tell me about your cooking. I want to hear all about it.” I say, digging right back into my frittata and pancakes, making sure to savour the flavour without any sex noises.
I listen intently to Dominic’s story of Maria’s coaxing his interest in pasta, how his cooking is cathartic to him, and how he has a secret dream of being a chef one day. I vaguely remember seeing the applications that were in his apartment, stirring a tiny stream of guilt for never asking before.
“Have you thought about culinary school?” I ask innocently, trying my best to hide my knowledge of his applications.
“Yeah, but…” He runs both hands through his thick dark hair and leans back in his chair, fingers clasped behind his head. “I don’t know. I have no training, no experience, why would they want me?” he asks, releasing a sigh and a shake of his head.
“Well you’re talented for one,” I say. “Seriously, Dom. If this is something you want to pursue, you should totally do it. Fuck, if I can muster up the courage to try and get into med school where I’ll be doing hospital placements, you can try and get into culinary school. And yes, this is peer pressure,” I tease, trying to rid the heaviness of our previous conversation and lighten the mood.
“All right, all right,” he says casually, even though I think I won him over. I hope so anyway, this food is better than any breakfast I’ve had at a restaurant and the world deserves to taste it.
“So tell me about this cookbook. What have you tried from it already?” I ask, knowing nothing about cooking, but completely enraptured by his passion for it.
We talk about nothing and everything for what feels like hours when my phone lights up. I glance down to read Angelica’s text, “Where the f r u”.
“Shit.” I jump from the table quickly, shooting back a quick text about running late and turn to grab my bag as quickly as I can. I didn’t even realize we had talked all morning and right into my tutoring session. Luckily, Angelica is very prompt and impatient so her text indicates I’m only about five minutes late, but the idea of being on the other end of her wrath is somewhat terrifying. Angelica may be tiny and plastered in pink, but that girl is tough as nails.
“Sorry, I’m late for tutoring Angelica, so I have to run.” I pause turning back to see him starting on the dishes. “Oh you don’t?—”
“I got it, Hoot. Go, tell Espresso Barbie hello for me. I’ll finish up and use the spare key you guys hide in the planter pot.” He winks and I beam gratefully at him, feeling a sense of total bliss. He’s really been there for Mom and me lately and damn does it feel good to lean on someone for once. I call out a goodbye from the door, racing to my car as fast as I can. For the first time in weeks, I’m going into my tutoring session feeling a lot lighter.
TWENTY-FOUR
Macchiato
Dominic
As the weatherbegins to cool down from the weekend into the new week, I pull out a few extra blankets and drape them over the couch. I’ve been scrubbing every particle of dirt from my apartment for days in nervous anticipation of having Ellora come over into my space. In childhood, we were mostly separated into different foster homes. During the few times we did live together it felt more like a shelter for lost children than a home. As we grew up we kept tabs on each other. But that never required us to actually hang-out let alone in one another’s spaces, and certainly not hosting dinner for each other.
It all feels so surreal. Ellora had moved to the east coast as soon as she could after her second rehab stint, wanting to put distance between her past and her sobriety. I commended her for that, especially knowing how much she wanted to keepsupporting Mom and Dad. I was the opposite. As soon as I could cut ties from my parents, I did. I know they live fairly close by, but I haven’t spoken to them in years. There is no reason to. They have picked drugs over meevery time,and I recognized it early enough to put distance between us, emotionally, and now that I am able to, physically.
