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But hearing Joel tell me I’m smart has stoked the embers inside my chest and made them burn even hotter than before. It’s nice to be respected. It’s surprising that it’s coming from him.
“I’m not lying,” he says, resolutely not dropping it. “He really does think the world of you. I wish any of my family felt like that about me.”
The genuine sadness in his voice makes me pause. All this anger isn’t doing anyone any good. The air between us has turned sharp, just as we were starting to get on again. It really would be stupid if I let my own insecurity ruin this even more.
Still, I can’t help being sharp. “It’s not like they’ve exactly neglected you though, is it?”
“Oh, and your family don’t give a shit about you, right?”
This is really riling him up, like he’s disappointed that I’ve let him down over something. Which I haven’t — it’s not my fault he’s obnoxious and can’t see how lucky he is. “Sorry I’m not a big baby who gets everything he ever wanted but still has to make a fuss because daddy doesn’t pay attention to me.”
Immediately, I wish I hadn’t been so cruel because a cold, dark cloud descends over his face. “How dare you? I opened up to you because I thought you were something special, but you’re just like everyone else.”
“What, normal?”
“Yes!” he snaps and it’s the angriest I’ve seen him, his eyebrows drawn into a dark frown, his mouth a hard line.
But I’m angry too, so I push it again. “Maybe if you didn’t get your ass out all the time that might help your family like you more.”
The way his face falls makes me feel like I’ve fallen off a cliff. Joel always has this air of being so suave and obnoxious and that just makes it all the more heartbreaking when he lets down the mask and shows his true self. I wish I hadn’t said that. I didn’t mean to hurt him.
“I’m sure they’d agree,” he says bitterly, slumping against the refrigerator, making it wobble slightly.
“Sorry,” I say quietly. He doesn’t say anything so I bite my lip and return to dinner. God knows how this is going to taste after being overdone and left to sit. He’ll have to deal. I wasn’t even meant to be cooking for him anyway.
I fluff the rice and add a little more water to loosen the sauce. That should help. I can feel Joel watching me like a hawk, like he’s still trying to learn even after I sent him away. Again, I can’t help but compare him to one of those dogs with sad eyes and a wagging tail.
“Go sit down,” I say, hoping it doesn’t sound too much like a command. Wordlessly, he moves to the table and takes his place at the seat that I’ve come to call his in my head.
Assuming he’s as hungry as I am, I spoon large portions into two bowls. I should have tasted it. I’m not sure it’s seasoned properly, but at least it doesn’t smell awful. I’ll take it. “Do you want a fork?” I ask as lightly as I can manage.
Now we’ve fought, all I want is for him to forgive me. If I could take all those words back, I would.
“Yeah. Please.” In surprise, I drop my own fork back into the drawer. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say please or thank you to anyone in sincerity.
Is he changing after all?
I grab two forks and carry the bowls over to the table. I place his in front of him and find myself caught off guard when he thanks me as well. It’s like he regrets the fight as much as I do.
“It smells good,” he says mildly.
“It better. It’s your work.”
I take my place across from him, poking at my own bowl with my fork. I don’t think I’m even hungry anymore. All the energy has been sapped out of me and all I want is to go and lie down and wish that time would rewind itself.
Then that grin that I’ve become so fond of ghosts over his face again. “I was a humble co-chef.”
“Sous,” I say, unable to help correcting him, hoping he doesn’t take it as more fighting and just as the bickering we’ve become so good at.
“What?”
“That’s what they’re called, the second-in-command chef. The sous chef.”
He nods as if he’s learning an important new fact. Then he stabs his fork into his rice and takes a massive mouthful. He chews slowly and swallows, then eats another load. I take tiny bites of my own, glad that it doesn’t taste like total crap. No amount of food is going to stop me feeling sick at this uneasy silence.
At last, around another mouthful, Joel mumbles, “Hey, this is pretty good.”
Relief flows through me, loosening my shoulders and lungs. “Let’s toast,” I say.
