Page 70 of The Sound of Him

And pickles. I pour a jar of pickles into a big bowl.

Ta-da.

Maison looks a little nervous as I serve it all up. Nolan and Matt are missing, so Jake, Casey, Carter, and Bryce are the only other critics left.

“You didn’t make this, did you?” Maison asks, probably remembering the time I tried to cook for us when we first moved in here.

“I thought I’d try, yeah…” I wince.Maybe I should have tried giving them the mashed potatoes?I could go back and grab them. They can probably eat around the brown bits. If they don’t mind the stubborn chunks of potato and the sticky feel of the successfully mashed ones.

I look at Bryce, who is poking carefully at one of the slices of chicken with his fork, and suddenly realize the situation I’ve put him, Casey, and maybe even Carter in. The first two have definitely been starved before. Even when they weren’t being starved at the time, if they chose not to eat something or to complain about their food, they were definitely starved after. Probably with an additional painful punishment, just to makethings worse. I’m sure Carter didn’t have the best experiences either, even if Travis was trying his best to protect him.

I don’t want them to be afraid to not eat my food.

I don’t want them to be afraid here - ever.

“No pressure to eat. Seriously. I’m… not a great cook. My feelings won’t be hurt. Like at all. I’m not entirely confident I did any of it right. There are so many knives in the block, too. Have you guys noticed that? Like - why so many knives? I might have used the wrong one? Maybe? That’s why the chicken looks…”

“Like it has fur?” Jake helpfully supplies.

I glance at the chicken, realizing that’s actually a pretty good description. The texture created by the knife really does make the meat look… furry.

Blackened furry chicken… yum.

“Okay, yeah, probably don’t eat it.”

Bryce glances at me, his face softening in a way it usually does for the other survivors. It makes something inside of me twist and pull. I have to look away as he says, “It might still taste good.”

“Will it?” Carter mutters under his breath.

Bryce is the brave one to take the first bite.

He at least doesn’t spit it out.

He does, however, put his fork down and declare, “Scavenging for dinner. Let’s go.”

It might include mixed fruit, raw veggies, saltine crackers, sandwich fixings, leftover spaghetti, plain white rice, and the original bowl of pickles, but the dinner still turns out to be alright.

I’m halfway through the dishes from the dinner-that-couldn’t and the buffet after when I sense someone behind me. I keep running the cloth over a plate as I sneak a glance over my shoulder. It’s Matt.

I smile, even though he’s not looking at me.

Then I realize what he is looking at and quickly say, “Oh, no, not that!”

He jerks his hand away from the plate covered by foil. I’d been putting that off until last so I could dump it in the trash, clean the plate, and take the trash out right away. The meat has developed a sort of smell that no one wants lingering in the kitchen.

His eyes are wide, his arms now wrapped around his waist. The paper he has in his hand crinkles as his fist tightens on it.Shit.

“Wait, sorry. That came out wrong. I don’t mean to control what you eat. At all. Eat whatever you want. Seriously. I just thought I’d warn you. Those are leftovers from dinner.” I wince. “Well, maybe calling them leftovers is overselling, considering no one ate it to begin with. Well, Bryce took one bite. But… semantics. Point is, no one ate that, and I feel extremely confident you would not want to eat it either.”

He eyes the plate before carefully lifting his hand toward his forehead. He pauses, though, suddenly looking unsure.

“Try,” I encourage, grabbing a towel and drying my hands before slinging it over my shoulder. “Go ahead. You wanted to sign something, right? I’ve been practicing. If I don’t know it, we’ll figure it out.”

He sucks in a surprised breath, something changes in his eyes. He becomes brighter. Warmer. It’s like there’s a lightbulb inside of him and it just got turned up a notch.

Slowly, he brings his bent hand up to tap the three middle fingers of his hand to the corner of his eyebrow, then slowly pulls it away while shifting his hand into the shape of the letterY.

I smile and repeat it, probably looking stupid since I have to furrow my eyebrows for the sign. At the same time, I ask to confirm, “Are you askingwhy?”