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Aha! Just as I’m starting to lose hope, I stumble upon the instant ramen and boxed mac and cheese section. I can work with this. The instructions are even on the box, not that it can be that hard to work out.
I’m craving cheese, so I grab two of the boxes and throw them on the counter. I have no idea how much feeds one person but I want there to be enough for Anna. It seems like the least I can do. She’s going to be so surprised when dinner’s waiting for her, and I’m going to be so smug about it.
I imagine the conversation:
“Wow, Joel, you cooked all this yourself?”
“It wasn’t hard. I wanted to say sorry for the way you assumed I thought you’d serve me. I don’t actually think that.”
“It was so thoughtful of you to cook for me, I’m sorry for being a terrible person to you. It looks like I was wrong to think you were stupid because you were rich. How can l I make it up to you?”
“Start by eating, and then I have one or two ideas…”
Whoa, imagination, calm down.
I tear a box open and swear as noodles try and explode their way all over the kitchen. Why aren’t these in a bag? Isn’t this a food safety hazard? I guess not because people must eat this and not die. I don’t think you’re allowed to sell stuff if it hurts people. Unless that’s the point of it. But the point of food isn’t to get sick. That’s why they call it poisoning when it goes bad.
Concentrate. I can’t get distracted, not if I want to get this right.
Wanting to get the noodles out of the way, I tip the box into the pan, the pasta rattling musically as it hits the metal. More carefully, I open up the other box and tip the contents into the pan too. This feels like a lot of pasta, but maybe it’s one of those things that shrinks when it gets hot?
I’ve committed to this now, so I keep going. Wait, damn it. The box says to boil the water first. Ben has an electric kettle, so I fill that up to the brim and turn it on. How much difference can the order of noodles to water really make?
As the kettle heats up, I pull out my phone to scroll. I’m still all over my timeline which isn’t great news. I was hoping it would have started to blow over by now. And the headlines aren’t exactly flattering which doesn’t feel great either. Okay, so I made a mistake. I’ve done it before; I’ll do it again. I’ll just make sure not to get my ass out where cameras are pointing next time.
A shrill beep pulls me out of my doomscroll and back to the real world. There’s way more steam coming out of the kettle than I expected and it’s weirdly hot when I get near it. Carefully, I pour the water on the pasta and turn the stove dial up to maximum. Some of the water splashes back at me but I dodge it artfully.
Next, the sauce. The box tells me I should use milk but there isn’t any so water’s going to have to do. I can’t be bothered to wait for the pasta to cook so I tip six teaspoons of water onto the powder and stir it until it looks less gross. I turn the stove dial up all the way for that too.
Now, I guess we wait. This cooking stuff is easy. I glance at the kitchen clock and then pull out my phone. If I’m looking at my screen, then I can look at the clock and time everything perfectly.
What I don’t count on is being sucked into videos of dolphins. They’re so smart. There’s this one marine zoo I follow and ever since, my for-you page has been filled with creatures of all kinds and some really amazing facts about what lives in the sea. I hadn’t ever realized how big whales were, or how weird deep-sea fish are. They’re kind of gross, but it’s cool how they use red light and colors and stuff as camouflage because you can’t see red all the way down there.
See? I know some stuff.
Another beeping brings me out of my ocean adventure. This one is way louder and way more insistent, though. And it’s accompanied by smoke and a distinct smell of burning. Shit.
I shove my phone in my pocket and look upon my creation in horror. The pasta water looks like it’s boiled away, and the sauce is bubbling and gloopy. In a panic, I turn the stove off because that can’t make it worse, probably. The smell of the pasta is getting into my mouth and lungs and it’s absolutely disgusting. I start coughing and grab another spoon to start trying to stir it.
It's all formed an impenetrable mass, starchy and rock hard, and there is some water in there still because it splashes out onto my face. It’s fucking hot. I yell in surprise, but as I flinch away, the spoon catches the pot and sends it all crashing to the ground with a deafening clatter, leaving me clutching my face from the burns as I fall to the floor to try and salvage this disaster.
Maybe I can’t cook after all.
CHAPTER10
ANNA
An acrid smell is seeping under the door. It’s barely been ten minutes since I told Joel to go away and had I been left alone, I think I could have fallen into a restless sleep.
But the last thing I want is this idiot burning down Ben’s house. Looks like demanding that he take care of himself was one of my worse ideas. And I’ve had a whole bunch of those lately. Just another regret to add to the list. It’s getting really long.
I want to ignore it all but then I hear something smashing dangerously loudly on the floor and the smoke smell is getting stronger and even though it makes my blood boil with rage, I can’t keep ignoring the fire alarm going off in the kitchen. I drag myself to my feet, take a deep, shaky breath, and march out, ready to start yelling.
And I am ready to be so mad but when I stomp up to him and see this guy standing in a sea of over-brown pasta and a dented saucepan on the floor, waving a wooden spoon at the fire alarm like that’s doing anything at all at this point, I can’t help but laugh.
“Hey,” he says, partly in greeting and partly insulted. Finally, the alarm stops blaring and he sags, staring sadly at the chaos around him.
“What the hell have you done?” I say, covering my hand with my mouth to try and contain my giggles.
