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“When’s it ready?”
“Ten minutes,” she said, before turning back into the small, cramped kitchen.
“Okay.” I hoped I wouldn’t regret eating what she’d made.
I’d met Callie within a couple of weeks of starting our freshman year at college, both of us studying English Literature – close to three years ago. After the summer break we’d be back as seniors. We couldn’t wait to strut our stuff around campus. Shit, who was I kidding? We had it all planned, or at least Callie did. I had no clue as to where I wanted to go, or what I wanted to do, but I figured if I had an English degree, it would open more doors for me, once I’d fully made my mind up.
All I did know was that I wasn’t going home when I graduated next year. I shuddered at the thought.
Both of my parents treated me like a child when I was home, right down to the nine pm curfew. I sighed thinking of them. I was twenty-one and, wanted to be like most twenty-one year olds; allowed to enjoy myself before I got completely snowed down with a job and other responsibilities.
Wherever I ended up, I knew that it would be with Callie, although at that thought I realized I’d have to learn to cook if we didn’t want to survive on take-out or die from food poisoning.
Dragging my carcass from the sofa, I walked the short distance to the bathroom, which was as small as the kitchen. In the tight space, I could touch the toilet, washbasin and shower and feel cramped in doing so. There was barely enough room at the sink to wash up for dinner.
Rent was cheap so I guess I shouldn’t complain too much. My parents gave me a monthly allowance that covered the rent, bills and food. I even had some left over, which I put away for rainy days or when I’d finished college, along with the money from my part-time job.
I sighed, turning the faucet on, I splashed cold water onto my face. Green eyes returned my gaze in the mirror. Groaning, I realized my dark curly hair, which had been secured in a band at the back of my head, had come loose. Stray hairs were sticking up all over my head in disarray. I pulled the towel from the rail and dried my face, with an extra swipe over my freckled nose, in hope that one or two freckles would get stuck on the towel. I hated freckles! My red hairbrush was in the container to the side of the tub, so I quickly grabbed it, removed the band from my hair, and ran the brush through it, deciding to leave it hanging around my shoulders.
Refreshed, I walked into the kitchen, and took a seat at our two-person table while Callie spooned sauce on to the pasta.
She placed the plate in front of me and I couldn’t hold the grimace in as the sharp odor of unknown spices drifted from the plate. Oh boy.
“Thalia, I promise it’s . . . tasty,” she reassured me between bites. “Are you for real?”
“Okay, I’m hungry so here goes.” I picked up my fork, rolled up the long noodles dripping with sauce and placed it hesitantly into my mouth. Flavor burst on my tongue and to my surprise it was . . . edible! I glanced at Callie in surprise.
“Told you so.” She smirked.
“What happened? Why does it taste good?” That’s the thing about best friends – you could insult them without it going to heart. Callie was also honest with herself and knew she couldn’t cook.
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. I kept telling you I’d get it right one of these days,” Callie replied, waving her fork around in the air.
“Yeah, you did and watch what you’re doing with that fork.”
We ate the rest of the meal in silence then I poured us both a glass of wine, which we carried through to the living room along with the rest of the bottle. We got comfortable on the sofa with our feet resting up on the coffee table, the conversation and wine flowing easily between us. Before we knew it we were on our second bottle of wine.
“So who’s Ethan Rock?”
I frowned at her. “It took you long enough to ask.”
“You still haven’t answered.”
“Ethan Rock was the school jock, aka school asshole, who tried to get to third base in my tree house. It was cut short by my dad calling me,” I giggled. “I kneed him in the junk. He ended up rolling all over the floor in his shorts while I tried to hold a conversation with my dad without laughing. Ethan never spoke to me again.”
“Oh my God. How old were you?”
“Sweet sixteen,” I replied, starting to feel the effects of drinking nearly two bottles of wine with Callie.
“Nothing sweet about what you nearly did.” We fell into each other laughing.
After picking ourselves up from the floor, I walked into the kitchen for more wine and the cake I’d brought home with me from work.
“Here, share this with me.” I passed Callie a slice before sitting back down beside her.
“Why didn’t I get the job in the cake shop instead of the dry cleaners?”
“Because you have a sweet tooth. You’re skinny now; if you’d taken the job with the cakes you wouldn’t be able to walk through the door,” I teased my sulking friend.
