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The knife settles in my hand and I cut up the pastry dough into squares, and add two tablespoons of the filling into the middle of the squares.You don’t want to add too much or eating them will be messy.
“What are you making in here?”he asks, stepping into the kitchen.
“Blueberry turnovers.”
He nods.“Where are the cups?”
I point to the cabinet next to the fridge and he gets a glass of water and goes back to his room.
Bryson doesn’t seem as talkative as he normally is, or from what I remember during our encounters.The first time I met him with Evan, he talked about Marvel movies for almost an hour.
A whisk is used to mix water and eggs in a small bowl and I use a fork to close them before putting the mixtures on the top of them.Something I didn’t know the first time I attempted to make these is you have to put some holes in the turnover for the steam to escape while they are cooking, or it doesn’t turn out correctly.
The oven beeps, startling me.It’s up to the right temperature and I slide them in.I utilize the cooking time to go over my thesis again.Over the last two days, I have been able to go through about ten pages.At this rate, I’ll finish the revision stage in two weeks.
It’s so quiet in the apartment, I almost forget that Bryson is here until he scares the crap out of me.“What are you doing?”
He throws his hands up in the air.“Sorry.Just looking at what you are working on.I tried to ask, but you didn’t even hear me.”
He hasn’t even been here an entire day yet, and he’s already snooping on my stuff.“It’s my thesis, and it’s not for anyone else to read right now.”
The oven beeps, and I rush over to take the pastries out of the oven and use the brush to run the glaze over the top.
It is here, though, that I must register a complaint: he’s not really a dessert person.
“Carleigh, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Seriously?I just stare at him blankly after he’d declined one of my amazing blueberry turnovers.
“Everyone is a dessert person, Bryson.”
“No.Not me.”He’d cheerfully prodded a nearby jar of what will be pickles, which sit atop a small shelf he’d brought with him and named the fermentation station.
Letting things rot in jars, apparently, is one of his hobbies.Although, it’s kind of unsightly, I will allow this - only because I love pickles.
This is fine in and of itself: I force nobody to like sugary treats, and I’m not in the business of force-feeding people my food.Unfortunately, we have a very Manhattan-sized freezer, and I am quickly running out of room to house leftover baking.Trinity used to take a lot, her sweet tooth was legendary, so without my main recipient, the pile in the freezer is growing.I can eat some of it myself obviously, but I’ve been pushing myself to start eating a little better since I signed up for a marathon in August.
There is a knock at the door, and he walks to answer it, but I walk in front of him and shake my head.“I’ll answer it.”
His neck cocks back as he rolls his eyes and then walks away.“You are a feisty one, aren’t you?”
Just as I predicted, Bryson and I are going to squabble.It’s only a matter of time, but right now I’m focused on not getting evicted.Another knock and I open the door.
“You said you had the rent ready?”the older man says, reaching out his hand.
“Sure did.Here you go!”
He counts it, and writes out a receipt.“I’ll see you next month.”
I shut the door and lean against it, finally able to catch my breath.Bryson might be a pain, but without him, I wouldn’t have a place to live after tomorrow.He doesn't know this, and I’ll never tell him, but I take a minute to be thankful for that.
