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“Believe me, I know,” she said.
“What about your dad?” I asked. Neither Honor or Lark had ever mentioned a father.
Lark shrugged. “He was one of Mom’s many rich husbands and he’s dead now. I barely even remember him. Can’t mourn someone you didn’t know in the first place.”
I didn’t think that was quite true. I hadn’t had a father in my life either, but I’d felt his absence for years. Every time I saw another girl with her dad, I had a sick jealous feeling in my stomach. That feeling lessened as I’d gotten older, but it would still randomly pop up sometimes.
“Oh, I meant to ask you if you could help set up book club on Thursday. No pressure, but I thought I’d ask,” I said.
“Yeah, sure. Just let me know when to be there,” she said.
“Will do,” I said and then we went back to our respective bowls of soup in silence.
Clementine meowed and I realized I’d forgotten to give him dinner, so I filled his bowl.
Lark finished her soup and went back for seconds, which was flattering. Guess she liked it.
“I think I’m going to try and learn how to cook. Layne said she’d help me,” Lark said. “I’m kind of lacking in life skills and I don’t want to feel like I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
I got another bowl of soup even though I didn’t want it, just so I’d have an excuse to sit down next to her again.
“I don’t know if anyone ever feels like they know what the fuck they’re doing. I sure don’t,” I said. I’d just kind of accepted the fact that I would never feel like a competent adult. My friends who all seemed competent said they felt the same way. Well, maybe not Honor, but she was an outlier and couldn’t be counted with the general population.
“Well, I’m going to try and figure my shit out. We’re starting with breakfast,” she said.
“Makes sense,” I said, cutting a potsticker into small pieces. “I’ve always bought frozen waffles, but if you get really good at making them, then we should get a waffle iron.”
The moment I mentioned it, an image of Lark making waffles wearing an apron and nothing else flitted through my mind.
I really had to stop doing that. The image didn’t go away, it just morphed into Lark making waffles and me joining her in the kitchen, putting my arms around her from behind, and nuzzling the back of her neck as sunlight poured through the apartment and Clementine wrapping himself around our legs.
It was no less sexy, but it was…intimate. Way too intimate. I cut off the thought like slamming a book shut.
“You okay?” Lark said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just drifted off for a second there. What are you and Layne going to make first?”
“I think we’re starting with eggs. I love poached eggs, but I have literally no idea how to make them,” she said.
“Yeah, me neither. I know it involves dropping the eggs into water, but that just seems like a recipe for egg soup.” I shuddered at the idea. Egg drop soup was delicious but just eggs in water? Yuck.
“I’m going to find out,” Lark said, her voice full of determination.
“Good for you. Make those eggs your bitch,” I said.
She snorted into her bowl. “Bitch Eggs sounds like a feminist punk band.”
“Love it. If I could carry a tune at all, I’d love to join that band.”
Lark set her spoon down. “I can sing. A little.”
“You can?”
She shrugged. “I mean, I’m not winning a Grammy, but yeah. I can carry a tune if I want.”
I pushed my soup aside and turned in my seat. “Can I hear a little something?”
Lark blushed a little and shook her head. “Not right now. I’d have to warm up my voice.”
