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He hops onto the stool and faces me. “I love the food you make.”
“You mean you love fish.”
“That, too, but anything is great. You’re the best cook I know.”
“I’m the only cook you know.”
He grins again. “You’re still the best.”
I reach over and ruffle his hair to which he whines again. “Where did you get that sugarcoated mouth from?”
“Myself. And stop messing up my hair!”
“No.”
I put the fish in the middle of a plate and take extra time to display the sauce and the salad in an aesthetic way, then I slide it in front of him. “There you go.”
He digs in, not bothering to hide his glee, and I just stand there, watching him with a satisfied smile.
I search for the asthma control medication on the living area table to see if he really took them. Due to troubled housing as an infant, he developed severe symptoms, and he has to take medication for it.
Sometimes, a quick-relief inhaler is enough, but most of the time, medication is needed to control it. Which is why I need to find work soon if I want to keep him healthy, well fed, and with a roof over his head.
Though this small studio flat is humid as hell. The landlord told me he can do nothing about it and that if I hate this place, I can beat it.
He knows full well that I couldn’t afford a hut on the streets with my finances.
“This is so good,” Jay speaks through a mouthful of fish.
“I’m glad you like it.”
Lolli, our black cat with white paws, who somehow jumped onto our balcony about a year ago, meows. Jay gives her some of his fish that she gets engrossed in.
“By the way,” he says without looking up. “The landlord came by earlier today and was yelling about rent.”
I wince. “Sorry you had to deal with that, sweetie. I’ll talk to him.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I told him he’ll regret treating us like shit when we become rich, because we’ll buy this whole-ass building and kick him out.”
“Jayden! You’re not supposed to talk to the landlord that way.”
“That’s the only way to talk to jerks like him.” He pauses chewing and stares at me. “Where’s your plate?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re never hungry, Nikki.” He narrows his eyes. “Are you skipping meals again?”
“Of course not, and how dare you look at me as if you’re the adult?”
“Well, maybe I should be so you won’t skip meals.”
“Just eat your fish, Jay.”
I spent all my food budget so he could eat fish today after months of craving it. So what if I skip a few meals? When you’re poor, you don’t have the luxury of complaining.
“You eat it.” Jay pushes his half-finished plate toward me.
I slide it back. “No, you eat it.”
