Page 19 of Don’t Be A Stranger

I’ll be the first to admit that River is a highly creative person. He’s always sketching and painting. And despite him being colorblind, the way he uses whites, blacks, and grays—you’d forget that there was no color at all. Although nowadays he rarely shows me what he’s working on.

But as talented as River is, cooking is not one of his strong suits.

“You’re doing a great job at massaging that chicken,” River says in feign sincerity, and I try to hold back my laughter long enough to respond.

“Why, thank you but I must say, the way you pull those aromas from those spices is like no other.”

We both fall into a fit of laughter. At this point, we’re not even trying to keep our amusement contained.

When River said that this was a date night cooking class for couples, I figured we’d get all the ingredients we needed and just follow along with the instructor, but the people who are teaching the class happen to be married. And they strongly believe in words of affirmation.

Their whole motto has been, “If your partner does something good, let them know.”

River and I have just kind of rolled with it. So much so that I wouldn’t be surprised if we were beginning to annoy the other four couples in this kitchen, but I can’t bring myself to care all that much. Not when this is the most normal River and I have felt in months.

I continue massaging our cut-up chicken into our Greek yogurt concoction as River mixes the butter and seasonings into the pot for our buttered chicken.

He looks around the kitchen and winces after sniffing the air. Leaning over, he lowers his voice to a whisper. “I think I burned our butter.”

I sniff the air as well, already knowing the answer to this “mystery,” but trying to be optimistic—that maybe it’s someone else’s dish—I look over anyway to see that our butter is indeed burning. Maisie, one of our instructors, had specifically said to make sure that this didn’t happen. She suggested that it shouldn’t even be golden brown.

“It’ll be fine, right?” River asks.

I don’t bother to sugarcoat it. “Considering this is butter chicken and our butter is burned…no.”

River sighs, looking down at his disappointment of a creation.

“So…start over?” River whispers and as if almost out of nowhere, Orion—Maisie’s husband—appears.

“Hey, guys.” Orion stands right behind both River and me. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, staring directly at the contents in our pot.

River decides to continue to stir as if nothing is wrong instead of admitting his defeat. Actually, that in turn would mean my defeat so…he can keep stirring that burned butter all night if he has to.

“We might wanna turn that heat down a bit.” Orion frames his words as a suggestion.

“Oh, no.” River shakes his head. “We like ours a little charred.”

Orion turns his head to look at me. “I’ve been to India quite a few times but I wasn’t aware that this was a preference.”

I shrug. I don’t know why he thought River and I would be the reigning couple for today. Well, okay I know why but I’ll be the first to admit that even though I’m Indian, I don’t know how to properly prepare buttered chicken. If it doesn’t involve me throwing chicken, broccoli, and potatoes onto a sheet pan and shoving it in the oven, then I’m basically shit out of luck.

I stop my massaging of our chicken and turn my attention to Orion. “Well I’m proud of him for trying.”

Orion sighs and nods his head. He’s quiet for a moment and I’m wondering if he’s trying to find a way to let us down easily, or if he’s beginning to regret telling all the couples that we should be telling our partners we’re proud of them.

“Once you’ve mastered something, then you can break the rules,” Orion begins. “But for now? Let’s master it and start over, shall we?”

River salutes. “Yes, sir. I won’t let you down.”

Almost as if he’s given up for now, Orion pats both of our shoulders and walks away to help out another couple—duo. I mean duo.

Orion goes over to Alyssa and Chad, who are doing way better than anyone here. I’m convinced that they’re culinary geniuses who decided to take a class just to watch us mediocre people suffer.

I carefully peel off my gloves and throw them away in a nearby trash can. One of the other girls, Bianca, is watching River and me with a gentle smile

“How long have you two been together?” she asks.

At the exact same time, River and I both say, “A few hours.”