Page 10 of It Started at the Lake

Bennett

The kitchen is blessedly quiet. Yanking open the double doors of the fridge, I pull out the containers of leftover taco ingredients. As the microwave heats the meat, a female voice shouts in triumph, “Finally, I found it!”

What? I’m too confused to process what is happening when Millie comes from the dining room into the kitchen. I freeze. Didn’t she go with Evie?

I purposely keep my back to her, sprinkling cheese onto my tortilla warming on the stove.

“Oh,” she says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone was in here.”

Great. I went on a run to avoid her just to have her hang around anyway. Turning, I say, “Same.”

She backs up a step. “I can come back after you’re done.” She spins to leave the kitchen.

The food is already out. It doesn’t make sense to put it away before she eats. “It’s fine.” I point to the toppings lining the island. “Everything is here. Come get a plate.”

“I’ll wait.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m sick of people telling me how I should feel, what I need to do to move on from Jen and what happened to her in the hospital. Earlier, those walls caved in and I snapped at Millie in the hot tub. After my run, I’m more level-headed. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you. It’s been a long day. I shouldn’t have said what I did. Can we start over?” I turn to face her, waving like an idiot. “Hi. I’m Bennett, Evie’s favorite cousin.”

“Oh,” she says, taken aback. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to imply you needed a babysitter.” She waves a hand around the room. “Evie didn’t give me a tour, so I was hoping that’s what we’d do tonight since I’m not a big fan of the bar scene. I’m more of a night-in kind of girl. But I can see how you might have thought my comment implied something else. So I’m sorry, too.” She rubs the side of her neck. “Anyway,”—she waves, her cheeks turning pink—“I’m Millie. It’s nice to meet you. Evie’s told me a lot about you.”

There’s a lot to unpack here. What has Evie told her? That I’m stuck in my grief? That I’ve changed over the years? Did she tell her about the old me? Why does she prefer to hang out at home instead of going out like everyone else her age? “Good things, I hope?”

She nods. “From everything she’s told me, it’s easy to see how much she loves you.”

That’s a relief. “My tortilla is done. Do you want to warm one up?”

She hesitates.

“Please eat.” I throw a tortilla into the pan and sprinkle cheese without asking if she wants it. But who doesn’t enjoy cheese? Lactose intolerant people and that’s it. “You can eat dairy, right?”

“Yes, I can. And thank you.” She comes to stand by the stove, watching over her food.

Working in silence, I pull the meat from the microwave and assemble my tacos. I sit at the counter and take a huge bite.

Millie turns around. “How do you like teaching at Amherst?”

I’m getting the sense Millie doesn't enjoy fighting or awkward silence. I swallow. “Good, mostly.”

Millie blinks.

I’m tired and emotionally exhausted from the day. Keeping a positive attitude and trying not to allow my grief to overpower me has stretched me as thin as a balloon blown as big as it will go. I should give her a more detailed answer, but I don’t have the mental bandwidth.

“Are you excited to keep teaching?” she asks.

“I am. Researching is also something I enjoy. I’m grateful I get to do both in my career.” And now I sound like a robot.

“What are you researching?”

“Ancient civilizations in Asia.”

Millie’s eyes go wide. “Wow. Good for you.” She puts her tortilla on a plate, moving the pan to a cold burner on the stove. “Are you enjoying living in Amherst? I bet it’s a big change from Boston.”

“It’s good. Less traffic and tourists.” I love Boston. It’s home. But Amherst was the change I needed after Jen. Somewhere she never lived with me. Grocery stores that didn’t remind me of shopping together. Restaurants we didn’t eat out at on our weekly date nights.

I bite off another chunk of my taco, chewing slowly. I steal glances of Millie assembling her taco. She snatches tomatoes from the bowl and tosses them onto her tortilla.

As exhausted as I am, as much as I want silence and then my bed, I drop my food onto my plate and ask, “Are you from Massachusetts?”

---