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“I just wanted to go over more of the expectations,” he states.
“Sure.” I pull up my phone to take notes.
“What do you need that for?” he asks, looking confused.
“So I don’t forget anything you said. I’m taking notes,” I say like it’s obvious.
He explains what time Syd needs to wake up for school during the week. Then he explains her meals, what I need to pack for lunches, the bus route, showering routines, dance routines, discipline routines, playtime, and her meals. He has a shopper bringing him groceries and wants me to prepare lists.
“How do you eat?” I ask him.
“I’ve been ordering in,” he says. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me, and Hazel gives me food when she comes in. My mobility is very limited for the next couple of weeks.”
“If I’m cooking, I can just prepare food for you too, it isn’t a big deal,” I offer.
“Your job is to take care of Syd, not me,” he clarifies.
“Well, the offer stands,” I say.
“I’m not able to show you around the kitchen, but I’m sure you can figure it out. Also, help yourself to any food or whatever you need.” He shifts a little and winces. “When I get better and I am home, I like to do some cooking with Syd.”
“Is there something I can do to help you?” I ask him.
“I’m good. Your focus is Syd.” Damn he’s bossy.
“I know. I was just going to make myself something to eat so if you need something. . .” I trail off.
“I’m good,” he assures.
Right.
“Okay, if that will be all. . .”
“That’s all,” he confirms.
I turn on my heel and head back to the kitchen. I open the fridge and am met with an array of fruits and vegetables, cheeses, yogurts, smoothies. All kinds of groceries that have been too expensive for me to buy these past few years. I slice some of the fresh multigrain bread sitting on the counter and place some cheese and butter on it. Then I add some tomato and think to myself that this would make an awesome grilled cheese. My stomach grumbles at the thought, so I pull out a pan and butter up the outside of the slices of bread. While the pan is heating, I make myself a Nespresso with the coffee machine.
I take a sip. “OMG,” I moan. “Whoa. This is so good.”
“Ellie?” I hear Connor call out. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, sorry, I just made myself coffee and it’s so delicious. Sorry if I disturbed you,” I call back.
I don’t get a response. I don’t know what to make of the moody single father. I decide he must like grilled cheese so I add another sandwich to the pan. Maybe I can soften him up and show him I’m worth the salary he’s paying me. At this point in my life, a stable home and food on the table is a priority after the way I’ve been living.
When I have the sandwich ready, I plate it and take it back to his room.
“I don’t know if you’re hungry but I made an extra,” I offer.
I pass him the sandwich.
“Thanks,” he says, and he takes a bite. “I only eat when Hazel comes.”
That sounds awful.
“This is really good,” he says taking a second bite. Score.
“Enjoy,” I say, and I turn around with a bounce in my step and head back to the kitchen.
