Page 14 of Falling for my Best Friend

F O U R

- Aiden -

“You told me half an hour,” Chelsea said facing the stove.

“Does that mean you don’t want the flowers I got you?” I asked, laying the bouquet down on the counter.

She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. “That was nice of you, babe. Is it our anniversary or something?”

“No, I just thought they might cheer you up. I know you’re anxious about the casting call you went to today.” And I wanted to apologize in advance for anything offensive I might say about your cooking.

She stopped stirring the pot and walked around the counter to give me a hug. “You’re the sweetest, you know that?”

I shrugged and slipped my hands around her waist. “I’m the lucky one,” I said, going in for a kiss.

“No- don’t,” she said. “I’ve got whitening strips in.”

“Oh. Gotcha.”

“Save it for after dinner.” She pulled away from me and went back to the stove. “You’ll want to kiss me when you taste this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s called soya,” she said, stirring the pot.

Her bright green thong was poking out the top of her yoga pants which meant she was trying to channel good luck. She was the only girl I’d ever met who had certain panties for certain occasions- or at least she was the first one to admit it to me.

“I’m guessing that’s not a part of the cow I haven’t heard of,” I said, pulling one of the barstools out from under the high counter.

“No, it’s a protein made from soybeans. It basically takes on whatever flavor you cook it in.” Her long, blond hair swung back and forth while she talked.

“And what flavor might that be on this occasion?”

“Tomato.”

Maybe I should’ve gotten that burger. I turned towards the stack of mail on the counter. I recognized the top envelope as the rent check. Chelsea used to open it and chip in, not that I needed her to, but she hadn’t offered in about six months.

And I knew she wasn’t as lucky as I was, that she had to worry about money. Still, it kind of bothered me that I couldn’t remember the last time she picked up the tab for something.

“Can you stir this while I go take out my white strips?” she asked. “I’ll only be two seconds.”

“Sure,” I said, sliding off the barstool and heading for the stove.

I couldn’t hear Chelsea as she walked down the hall. She was the only person whose footsteps didn’t make my wooden floors creak, and I was actually kind of worried about how light she was getting.

I knew she needed to be thin for her job, but as far as I could tell, she was living on Diet Coke. And a few days ago, she bent over in the bedroom, and I could see her ribs through her back which really upset me. After all, I cared about her. I wanted more of her, not less.

I lifted the ladle and took a sip of the broth. The only flavor I tasted was oregano.

“Are you ready to eat?” she asked, appearing from nowhere.

“Ready when you are,” I said, trying to recall some of the despicable things I ate when I was drunk as a reminder that I could get anything down, even soy based oregano broth.

She tipped the saucepan over two bowls. “There’s some sourdough rolls in the breadbox,” she said. “I thought you might want something for dippage.”

“That was nice of you,” I said, untying the plastic bag. “Do you want one?”

She looked at me like I’d asked if she wanted me to slam her hand in a drawer.

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