Fucking Danny and her uncanny ability to only reach the right conclusions when it’s the least convenient for me. When I angrily stared at Claire, the confidence she had displayed until then wavered, and she started fidgeting again. Then she spoke in a much smaller, imploring voice.
“Please, Baby. Let me do this for you. I promise I won’t get in the way. I just can’t go back knowing how much you’re hurting again.”
That pleading tone of hers affected me in a much different way than her attempt at being stern. My eyes started roaming her body, taking in the full effect of her unhealthy weight loss. Then they involuntarily jumped to the letter on my coffee table, and when Claire followed my gaze, I thought I could see her bottom lip tremble a little. Finally, I turned back to look at the kitchen counter, taking in the barely started lunch I had been working on for almost an hour, with no hope of finishing it by myself. I made a decision.
“You know where the guest room is.” I sighed, before hopping back into the kitchen.
The only thing I actually finished was the sauce. I managed to cut up the chicken into more or less equally sized chunks and place them in a bowl with the seasoning, but then had trouble mixing it all because I couldn’t hold the bowl in place. I managed to fill the rice and water into a pot, but then it was so heavy I couldn’t get it out of the sink without the help of my dominant hand.
Just when I sighed in frustration about my misery, without saying a word, Claire reached past me and heaved the pot out of the sink. She placed it on the stove before looking at me expectantly, still not saying a word. Oddly enough, her silence made it much easier for me to accept her help.
I handed her the spoon and pointed at the bowl containing the chicken and seasoning. She immediately understood and started mixing it thoroughly. Just then, Ava joined us.
“What are you making?” she asked, sounding way too happy for someone who, just minutes prior, almost got a kitchen knife thrown at them.
“Sesame chicken in hoisin sauce, rice, and bacon wrapped snow peas.” I answered matter of fact. “You get to wrap the snow peas.”
“Nice. Picking up right where we left off before Christmas!” she beamed and stepped past me, eager to continue her cooking lessons.
I instructed her on how to wrap the bundles so they wouldn’t come apart while frying, and turned on the stove so the rice could cook while Claire, like on autopilot, started roasting the seasoned chicken. Then I suddenly realized I had nothing to do anymore. They were working well together, so, even if I could do anything, I wasn’t needed. So, I chose to sit on one of the bar stools and watched them work. Honestly, I thought I could get used to this.
When everything was cooked just right, they prepared the plates, laid the table, and we could eat. After I had spent almost an hour desperately trying to make myself something to eat, those two had completed seventy percent of the work within fifteen minutes. There was no way they’d leave again after that demonstration, and everyone at the table knew it. Even their complimenting my recipe did not help me over this defeat.
After I had filled myself with the first decent food in a week, I decided it was time for my first shower in a week as well. I had not noticed Claire following me into my bedroom, until I had grabbed my change of clothes and ‘walked’ out of my closet.
“What do you need?” I asked, seeing her demure stance.
“I said I’d help you. That is obviously something you will need help with.”
“No way.” I refused her as decidedly as possible.
“Honey, please! What if you slip?” she was pleading again. I already hated it when she did that, but this was not something I would budge on.
“I have a little stool on the balcony that I use as a table. I’ll place it in the shower and sit on it.”
“But wha...” she started.
“I said No! I’m not getting into the bathroom with you!”
There it was again. That look on her face like I had slapped her.
“Okay. I’m sorry.” she said in a meek voice, hanging her head to look at her feet. “Do ... Do you want me to get your sister instead?”
I groaned.
“Look. I’m not getting in there with Ava either. I don’t want you in there because the last time the nurse put my arm into that sling, she warned me about something she lovingly called ‘The Armpit of Doom’.” Hearing this, her head shot up and she looked at me with big eyes, before she tried to suppress a chuckle. “Trust me on this. You don’t
She hesitated for a moment, but eventually left the room to return with the little seat. She placed it in the tub before reluctantly leaving, though she stopped at the door.
“I ... I’ll be right outside the door, Honey.”
