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“Sounds good. I’ll be quick in the shower.” She takes her coffee with her, and I stand here like a tool, thinking of her naked under a hot stream of water right on the other side of the door.Head out of the gutter, Clarke.
The last thing anyone needs is that complication.
After my briefing with Donovan and the rest of his security team, I stop by the store to grab a bottle of wine for Lindsey. It’s getting close to dark, so I don’t want to take too long picking out a bottle. The only problem is I know bugger all about it. I’m standing in the wine section of the store, looking confused and wholly out of place, when a woman approaches me from the side.
“I know. It can be overwhelming. I can tell you my favorite if it would help?” She grabs a bottle of red and holds it out to me, standing a bit too close for comfort.
“This is a nice merlot. Very smooth,” she tells me with a flirtatious smile.
“Thanks. I’m sure my girlfriend will love it.” An uncomfortable feeling washes over me given her tone and the way she’s leaning in a little too close that she wants me to share said bottle of merlot with her.
“Oh! Handsome and British. Lucky girl.” She gives me a suggestive wink and moves along after grabbing a bottle for herself. I appreciate the compliment and the confidence, but I’m not interested. It’ll be a funny story to tell Lindsey when I get home, though.
When I get back to the apartment it’s just before sunset and that time of day when everything has a golden hue. Usually, I find it the most peaceful, but I walk into a situation that is anything but. Pots are boiling over and there are chopped onions and garlic skins littered all over the counter and floor. Lindsey is standing in front of a giant pot, stirring what looks like some sort of red sauce with her hair thrown in a messy bun and a pinched expression on her face.
“Honey, I’m home.” I laugh at my joke. She gives me a side-eye that tells me she doesn’t find me at all amusing.
“So, as it turns out, cooking is a little harder than I assumed.” She looks at me with sad, shiny eyes, her shoulders slumped. I give her a wide smile and set the bottle of merlot on the counter before making my way to the stove to look at the mess she’s made. I grab the large spoon she was using to stir the sauce and put it in my mouth. Big mistake.
“Umm, is it supposed to be this sweet?” I try to keep the look of disgust from my face since she’s obviously distraught with her failure in the kitchen, but she can see it. She snatches the spoon from me and chucks it in the sink.
“No, it’s not. The recipe called for a little sugar, but we’re out. There were some sweetener packets in the cupboard, so I used those. Since I was trying to make enough for leftovers, I doubled the recipe. I may have used too much sweetener.” She hangs her head and takes a deep breath. Well, that explains the fake saccharine flavor of the sauce.
Lindsey looks up at me, still despondent.
“I thought this would be easy. I mean, how hard can it be to make some damn sauce?”
I glance over at the other simmering pot on the stove, which looks like it has giant mushy noodles inside.
“Yeah.” She sighs. “Apparently, I can’t even boil noodles right. I know it seems small, but achieving one thing, just one, on my own, is important to me. Like maybe I’m not a total failure if I could just make some damn lasagna.” She grabs the pot of sauce and takes it over to the sink, pouring the entire thing in, then puts her hands on the edge of the sink and stares at it.
“All my life I’ve struggled. I’ve always let everyone compare me to Kasey. ‘Oh, Kasey graduated with honors. How about you, Lindsey? Oh, Kasey has a great job with a newspaper. When are you going to start writing for one, Lindsey? I figured if I could do one thing my sister is terrible at, then I would somehow be closer to the star status she achieves just by breathing. Stupid.” Lindsey closes her eyes and tears track down her cheeks. I didn’t realize there was so much riding on a pan of lasagna.
I’m not one to comfortably console a woman in the midst of an existential crisis, which is what seems to be happening right now. After Grace passed and I came to the US, I haven’t had to console anyone. I haven’t been close enough to anyone for them to turn to me for comfort. This doesn’t seem like something to bother Kasey or Donovan with, so I suppose I’m it.
I walk over to Lindsey and gently place my hand on her back, hoping she doesn’t pick up on the awkwardness I’m feeling right now. The urge to take her in my arms and hold her is surprisingly and uncharacteristically strong, but I’m unsure of what she needs right now and don’t want to take any missteps in the middle of her crisis.
“I bought wine. And I’m not really in the mood for Italian, anyway. I’ve been craving Chinese all day. I’m not the best cook ever, but between the few things I can make and a stack of takeout menus, we won’t starve. As for people comparing you to your sister, they can bugger off. You’re you, and I think you’re pretty great.”
She lifts her head and gives me a small smile.
“Yeah?” She’s looking at me with teary eyes, begging me to be the one person who sees how amazing she is on her own.
“Yeah.” I stand here motionless, fighting the urge to take her in my arms and kiss those tears away. The way she’s looking at me right now gives me the impression that she’s not opposed to the idea. I can’t, though. Lindsey doesn’t need all my complications adding to hers right now. She needs someone on her side, telling her she isn’t some sort of failure just because she can’t make lasagna or leave her apartment. She needs a steady force to hold her up when things feel like they’re falling apart. Anything more is a complication we don’t need.
Removing my hand from her back, I take a step toward the counter to grab the wine I had left there. I found the drawer that has all the takeout menus earlier this morning when I was trying to get a feel for the place. There are several Chinese menus that I take out and lay on the counter.
“Why don’t you pick your favorite place while I open the wine and pour you a glass.” I gently squeeze her arm before reaching for the corkscrew and the bottle.
This suggestion gets a wide smile from Lindsey and her tears have thankfully dried.
“Well, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s ordering in,” she jokes as she grabs the stack of menus and starts rifling through them, pulling out all her favorites.
“What do you like?” she asks me.
“Anything you pick will be fine, I’m sure. Definitely fried rice with all the meats, though,” I reply, as if I haven’t already been schooled in her love of anything with meat.
“Duh. Carnivore to the extreme over here. I’m going to order a little of everything, I think. We’ll be hungry in like two hours again, anyway.”
