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Gage shook his head as he salted the water. “Nope. My bachelor pad is just that. A home for one. I don’t always have a lot of time to cook during the week, but on the weekends, I typically spend a few hours doing meal prep, stuff like that. I like being in the kitchen.”
She crinkled her nose, letting him know what she thought of that. He laughed and bopped the look away by tapping the tip of her nose with his finger. Then he grabbed his cell from his back pants pocket, opening the phone. Flipping the screen for a selfie, he turned so that both he and Penny were in the shot. He faked a horrified look of her wielding the spoon, and she laughed as he snapped it.
“Smart-ass,” she muttered, still grinning. “So who taught you to cook?”
Gage didn’t respond right away as he bent down and opened the drawer beneath the oven. He pulled out a cookie sheet for the bread and put it in the preheated oven.
“You probably grew up with a full kitchen staff or something, am I right?” she pressed on. Gage was very closemouthed when it came to his family. Every time she broached the subject, he clammed up.
“We had a cook growing up who prepared the meals for our family. Dad was one of those old-school types, who liked to conduct business over a meal, so it wasn’t unusual for him to invite potential clients or investors to dinner at our house.”
“That sounds…really boring.”
Gage didn’t laugh as she expected. Instead, he looked at her like she understood something no one else did. “It was. But Dad had trained his trick ponies well. My brothers and I knew we were to sit quietly, eat politely, speak only when spoken to. My mom was there to look pretty and entertain the client’s wife or girlfriend or—sometimes—mistress with small talk.”
Penny waited for a moment, wondering if he’d say more. She didn’t miss the vein of resentment in his tone. When he fell silent again, she decided to lead by example. Maybe if she opened up, he would too.
“My family rarely sat at the dining room table. If fact, most of the time we couldn’t. It was the place where all the shit ended up, bookbags, mail, folded laundry. So instead, we usually sat in the living room with our plates on our laps, watching repeats of old sitcoms likeCheersandSeinfeld. My dad lovesSeinfeld. He can work a quote from the show into pretty much every conversation he has.”
Gage took another sip of his wine. “I think I would have liked eating dinner that way. We never ate anywhere besides the dining room. And I’ve never been able to break that habit. Even when it’s just me at home alone, I eat at the kitchen table.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
She continued with her family story. “Don’t get me wrong. I know all that research out there says dinnertime should be sacred, spent around the table. But…when I look back, some of my favorite times with my parents were sitting on the couch, laughing at Kramer and Elaine and George. Besides, my parents didn’t need a set mealtime to talk to me or Rhys. They talked to us all the time, about school and grades, our friends.”
“You’re close with your parents.”
She nodded. Gage had been here when her dad called last night for his weekly chat. She’d promised to keep it short before she answered, but Gage told her not to do that, to take her time. Then he’d gone to the kitchen to make coffee so she’d have privacy.
“Very. Were you? Close to yours?” she added.
Gage hesitated, and once again, she thought he might brush off her question. She was shocked when instead, he answered her.
“It was my mom who taught me how to cook. Monday was the chef’s day off, so after school on those days, I’d meet her in the kitchen, and we’d make dinner together.”
Gage’s tone when he spoke about his mother was the polar opposite of the one reserved for his dad. It was the first time he’d given her any insight into his mom.
“Was she Italian too? All homemade sauces and pastas and shit?”
He chuckled. “She was. But she liked to experiment in the kitchen, try different things. Her favorite thing to make was Indian cuisine.”
“Wow. That sounds way above my skill level.”
Gage bumped his hip against hers as they stood side by side in front of the stove. “We’ll work up to it.”
She caught the slight wince when he realized what he said. It wasn’t the first time he’d slipped up, alluded to some future plan that wasn’t going to happen.
“How old were you when she died?”
And just like that, the lightheartedness of the moment vanished, a sudden tension filling the air. “Twenty-one,” he said, and she could tell that was the last thing he intended to say on the subject.
Penny wanted to kick her own ass for bringing up such a sad topic, especially after finally getting him to open up. She had a million more questions she wanted to ask about his mother, his brothers, and his dad, but she knew she wouldn’t get answers. So she fought to bring back the fun.
“You know. As much as I appreciate this lesson, I’m pretty content with my current cooking routine.”
Gage took the escape she provided, smirking at her. “Your current routine can’t be called cooking. Takeout, delivery, and bowls of cereal are not cooking.”
