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Simon Sits for Ben with His Clothes Still On
Sunday, December 17
The main kitchen
The Gold Coast
Simon regretted allowing Ben to take the stairs down to the kitchen. He could tell how wobbly Ben was before they’d even gotten to the second floor.
“We can take the last floor in the elevator,” he said.
Ben shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I’ll make it.”
Simon frowned and kept an eye on Ben’s descending form, ready to catch him if he faltered even a little.
Once at the bottom, Ben steadied himself with one hand on the staircase’s newel post, visibly trying to regain his breathing.
“Are you alright?” Simon asked, worry spiking through him. “I can call a doctor.”
Ben shook his head. “I’m just a little out of breath. Maybe I’ll take you up on the elevator on the way back up.”
“You will definitely be taking the elevator. What would you like for breakfast?” He led Ben to the kitchen and gestured for him to sit at the bar seating on one side of the island.
“Anything is fine,” Ben said, climbing up onto a stool. “I’m not starving.”
Something within Simon wanted to inform Ben that he’d eat if he knew what was good for him, but thankfully he swallowed that insanity down. It was, after all, just breakfast. And while Simon wanted to feed Ben until he looked less like a starving waif, threatening him wouldn’t accomplish that.
“Are you allergic to anything?” Simon asked.
“Does mold count?”
“I wasn’t planning on feeding you mold, so no. How about any foods you won’t eat?”
Ben thought about it then said, “I don’t like meat very much. I’m not a vegetarian or anything, though. It’s probably why the doctor said I’m anemic.”
“Oh?” Simon asked. This was the first he was hearing this.
“Yeah. Low iron levels. I’m supposed to take an iron supplement and try to get more in my diet.”
“Got it.” Simon went to the double refrigerator and started taking out ingredients. “Is there anything else the doctor told you?”
Ben shrugged.
“Would you mind if I read through your hospital discharge papers? I won’t if you’d rather I didn’t.”
Ben shrugged again. “If you want, sure. I don’t care.”
“Good. Hopefully you don’t hate spinach because I’m making a spinach frittata for you.”
“What’s that?”
“A baked omelet. I’m making this with parmesan and gouda cheese.”
“I’m not sure what gouda cheese is.”
“You’re about to find out.”
While he cooked, Simon peppered Ben with questions. Some, like those about his job and art, he answered with no hesitation. Others, especially anything involving his family or past, he dodged and avoided. There was definitely something there, but today wasn’t the time for digging around in painful areas. Simon let Ben remain silent on anything he didn’t want to talk about.
