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Xavier was quiet for a moment.
“That must be terrifying,” he said softly.
“It is,” I said. “But the scariest idea for me is that I don’t know how much time I have left. Even if I can get Nathan out of my life, will I have time to do the things I want to do before I die?”
Xavier squeezed my hand.
“None of us know how long we have left,” he said, looking troubled. “Life is short, whether you develop cancer or not.”
I stared at him. The serious tone of his voice told me that he was speaking from personal experience, but I didn’t want to push him to reveal painful experiences before he was ready.
Instead, I squeezed his hand back.
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
21
EMMA
Life is short.
The idea stuck with me as I prepared Cora’s mom’s lasagne recipe.
I browned garlic, onion and ground beef, before adding tomato, wine and tomato paste. I’d never made bechamel sauce before, preferring the pre-made one, but Cora had insisted it was the most important part of the recipe, so I gave it a go, following the instructions carefully and tasting it to make sure I had the ratios right.
And all the while, I kept thinking about what Xavier had said.
WhatwasI doing with my life?
Cora had what she called a “bucket list” — a dozen or so dot-points that described all the things she wanted to do before she died. She’d included achievable goals like skydiving, traveling to Europe and learning how to scuba dive, but she’d also listed some less realistic things, like winning an Olympic medal and becoming fluent in Mandarin.
I, on the other hand, never expected to make it to thirty, so I’d put all my energy into the present moment. Unlike my peers, I never went to university, never got a job, and never made plans for a future I probably wouldn’t have.
The idea of dedicating years of my life to something like a university degree made me feel squeamish. Whatwasthe point of committing that much time to something I’d never benefit from?
The guys didn’t have the equipment to make pasta sheets from scratch, so instead I used the store-bought kind, layering it with the meat mixture and bechamel sauce, before sprinkling cheese over the top and popping it in the oven.
Even though I’d offered to cook, I was nervous. My heart thumped every time I thought about how the guys would react when they saw it, so I kept myself busy by preparing the salad.
“Smells good,” Adrian said when the guys came in. He wasn’t wrong — the aroma of meat and tomatoes filled the kitchen as the meal cooked.
“Hopefully it will taste good too,” I said, and gave him a quick smile.
Their silence as they took their first mouthfuls, and then their second, was an encouraging sign.
“This is amazing!” Jackson said first. Adrian closed his eyes as he savored his food, and Jackson had wolfed down almost half of his lasagne already. It was exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for, and I felt a swell of pride as I sliced into my own piece.
Everything about it looked perfect. Melted cheese stretched off my knife and the meat practically dribbled out from between the layers of pasta. And the taste was to die for.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” Xavier asked, as he cut himself another extra large bite.
“My mom taught me the basics of cooking,” I said. “But this is my friend’s recipe.”
“I don’t know how someone hasn’t snapped you up already,” Jackson said. “I mean, aside from the psycho ex.”
I couldn’t believe I’d been so nervous about cooking for them. Now that we were actually eating dinner on cloth placemats and plates instead of pizza boxes and napkins, I could see how having a home-cooked meal must have been a wholesome change for them.
“That was incredible,” Xavier said, as he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head. “Are there any leftovers?”
