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“You’re lucky to have a natural talent to turn into a career. Dad’s so proud of you.” Lainey pokes her chicken with her fork.
“Dad’s proud of you too. Giving up finding your talent to take care of me.”
“Heshould have taken care of you. Both of us.”
“Those are the breaks for kids of work-obsessed single dads.”
It’s not that he’s a bad father. He cared for us the best he could after our mom died. But without her to soften his edges, we grew up having to live up to certain expectations. You couldn’t just do something for fun. If you’re good at something, you monetize it. Because the ultimate enjoyment, according to our dad, is making money.
Cooking came easy to me so that’s the direction he expected me to go. I went, even though I wouldn’t have if I didn’t need his financial support.
“At least dad gave you the space to choose. Change your mind. I never got to do that.”
“But you got your independence. I’m going to end up living off dad the rest of my life as a professional student.”
I reach across my tiny bistro table and take her hand. “You’ll figure it out, Lainey. You always do.”
She can get on my nerves but I have to remember, of the two of us, she’s had it the hardest. Giving up her childhood to make sure I got mine.
A smile lights her eyes as she takes another bite. “Damn, this is good but I’m ready for cookies.”
“You say like it’s a given I’ve already baked some.”
“I’ll be seriously concerned if you haven’t.” She makes her way to the kitchen. “Hah!” Victorious, she holds the container of sugar cookies she finds in the freezer, in the air.
Sometimes she knows me too well.
∞∞∞
DANIEL
All night and the following day, I can’t stop glancing at my phone. At first, I leave it on the coffee table beside where I have my feet kicked up. When I can’t stop paying more attention to the blank little screen than thehow-to-cook gumbovideos on the television, I move the device to the charging station on the table next to the back entrance to my apartment.
But that hasn’t stopped me. Still, I glance over my shoulder every so often wondering if I should wait to use Riley’s number for an emergency or use it forwhatever.
Whateverthatmeans.
My heart flips over in my chest and my pants fit more snuggly thinking about what I would like for it to mean.
Get it together, Danny boy.
I shove my phone in my pocket before opening the stainless steel fridge and freezer in front of me filling my hands with gumbo ingredients.
Those videos gave me just enough confidence to be dangerous. Made obvious by the fact I don’t even bother referencing any of them before diving in knife first.
Even with my minimal cooking experience, consisting mostly of eggs, toast, and whatever I can stick in the microwave, the chicken and sausage turn out pretty good. Not burnt but leaving behind thegratinall the videos insisted the dish has to have.
With my confidence at an all-time high, I add flour to the oiled pan for the roux with the undeserved flair of a seasoned chef.
Devastation comes shortly after. The flour goes from white to black and smoking in no time. And then come the smoke alarms.
I kill the burner under the pan. At a sprint, I dig the box fan I kept around after one unfortunate summer when the air conditioner broke down and the repairman couldn’t get to me for almost a month, out of the coat closet. I crank the fan to the highest setting and aim it at the smoke alarm, then open every window along the wall overlooking the street.
Smoke pours out around me and the phone in the front pocket of my jeans suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.
I half-hoped I would have to call her but now, having no choice, I’m not sure I can go through with it.
What if she changed her mind? What if she regrets giving me her number and hopes she never hears from that old weird guy again?
