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Sullivan catches me frowning. It must look like a rain cloud, sweeping over my face.
“What’s wrong?”
I search for the question I’m willing to ask him.
“I was wondering…why you never came back to my bedroom.”
His answer comes so quickly, it has to be true.
“You told me not to.”
The look he gives me is full of so much heat, I’m not wondering if he means it. I’m wondering why the fuck I told him notto come.
“Well…I was wrong.”
Sully throws back his head and laughs. The sound ripples over me like pure golden sunshine.
“Thank god, Theo. Fucking torture! I’ve never worked harder to behave myself.”
My chest is full of flushing heat. That’s real, his laugh is real, the way he grabs me is real, so he can kiss me, for a moment at least, before we have to leave.
I carrythe dinner out to his dad.
Sullivan comes with me when he sees it’s already made.
I’m barefoot in the tall grass of the yard, avoiding heels as long as I can. Plus, I like the coolness under my feet.
“I wish we weren’t leaving him…”
“He’ll be fine.” Sullivan stops me, hand on my arm. “Theo, look, I’m incredibly grateful for what you’re doing?—“
“It’s nothing.”
“Not to me, it isn’t.” He grips my arm, looks me in the eye. “It’s no small thing. He hasn’t stepped foot in the house in ages. Hasn’t sat and had dinner and laughed with me. But I don’t want you to think…I don’t want you to be upset if tomorrow…he’s back to usual.”
In the tension of his body, the rigidity of his face, I plainly read Sullivan’s fear that that’s exactly what will happen. If not tomorrow, then the day after. Or the day after that.
And maybe, it will. Merrick’s grief is dark and endless.
But I know that after I lost my mom, it helped when I started to eat again.
I went to a cafe by the ocean and ordered bread. My mom taught me to make focaccia. She did well with any sort of food that rewards experimentation. She’d put the craziest stuff in her bread, and it almost always turned out better than mine.
The loaf I ate at the cafe was just rosemary. But it was the first thing I ate since she passed that actually tasted good. The salt, the crisp edges soaked in oil, the sweetness with the savory herb…
I took a bite, the salt hit my tongue, and the clear, pure light of the ocean was beautiful, and I was alive again. Even though I didn’t want to be.
That’s the power of food. It reminds you that things still taste good. And also, that somebody gave a shit enough to bring it to you.
“What’s this?” Merrick says when I hand him the covered dishes. “I thought you were going out?”
But I notice he put on clean clothes anyway. And over his shoulder, I see a living space much tidier than the last time I came.
I don’t want to get my hopes up any more than Sullivan does. But fuck, I hope his dad’s going to be okay. I’ll cook him a thousand meals if it helps.
“We are,” I say. “But I wish we were staying here—Angus has the worst taste in restaurants.”
Merrick snorts. “That doesn’t say much about him hiringyou.”
