Page 49 of Scorched Hearts

Hanging up, Elle felt impatience creep up her back again. She felt such a strong urge to discuss everything with Maya, but there were still three hours left until she’d be able to get to Elle’s place. She wanted to do something active while waiting.

From her kitchen cupboard, she took out her mother’s old cookbook. Even though their relations had been sour for a long time, there was something tender about this spice-scented book containing the recipes Elle remembered from her childhood. She decided to prepare dinner for Maya.

Flipping through the book gave her a thousand ideas, and quickly, she became overwhelmed not knowing what to choose. An enchilada? A tostada? She remembered all the family dinners with ugly bowls and deliciously smelling dishes. Her own plates were beautiful, but she hadn’t cooked in ages. She’d figure something out.

The plan she settled for was lobster enchilada as the main dish and vegetable quesadillas as the appetizer. She had to get to work, go shopping and start cooking, otherwise she’d run out of time. She got out of the house, grateful for a multicultural store right next to her.

The first part of her shopping went quickly—onions, peppers, jalapenos, corn, tomatoes, tomato paste, cilantro, beans, cheese, and guacamole. She had to get the lobster from somewhere, but she had no idea where that would be in her neighborhood. She could almost hear the disappointment in her mother’s voice if she found out that Elle wasn’t cooking for herself. Her mother had tried raising her daughter to be strong, but not strong the way men traditionally are – hiding their emotions and flexing physical strength. She wanted Elle to know how to take care of herself and not depend on anyone. She taught her how to cook, sew, and effortlessly find her way in the big city, all accompanied by Elle’s childish complaining. Unfortunately for her mother, Elle’s father had always been the stronger influence, his ways shaping his daughter more than her mother’s teaching ever could.

She finally found a fish market. Going around in her wheelchair was still slowing her down significantly, though her technique was improving. She bought a big lobster, then questioned herself ever choosing a lobster dish.

Was she trying to show off? Probably.

Back home, she realized she had no time to waste. She had to put all of her half–forgotten cooking skills into the dinner, working tirelessly. She tried standing for most of the time, supporting herself against the kitchen counters, but whenever there was a need, she reached for her wheelchair or a stool. The kitchen was soon filled by the scents of her home cooking, and she began feeling very nostalgic. To share this with Maya would be a vulnerable gesture.

The enchiladas were safely nested in the oven when the doorbell rang. Elle wanted to run up to the door, but the cooking efforts had exhausted her, and she had to stay in the chair, rolling toward the door.

“Good evening.” Maya smiled, walking in. Soon, she began sniffing in the fragrant air. “Elle, have you been cooking?” She turned towards Elle, surprised.

“I made us dinner,” Elle said proudly. “What’s more, I was actually standing almost the whole time.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s amazing news!” Maya leaned in for a quick kiss, and Elle could smell her beautiful flowery fragrance mingled with the remnants of a hospital scent.

“Yeah, let’s sit down, though. The food is ready.” she sat at one of the dining table chairs. Ever since the injury, she preferred to sit with Maya—at tables, on couches, or in bed. Then, she didn’t feel strange being lower than her, the way she had to be when she sat in the wheelchair and Maya was standing.

Maya sat opposite her, clearly excited. Elle loved seeing her this way.

“I don’t remember the last time you cooked for me, Elle. This is amazing, I’m starving. Tell me all about the food, though,” she said, taking a quesadilla. “Bon Appetit!”

Elle also took one as she explained. “So actually, my mother left me her family cookbook. I don’t know whether you remember that one time we tried making dessert from it, but we failed and never tried again.”

“Hmm... I don’t remember the book, exactly, but I surely remember some of our failed dessert attempts.” Maya laughed, taking a bite. “This is so good. Thank you so much, Darling.”

“I’ll show you the book later, if you want. It’s full of the things I ate as a child. It feels quite nostalgic to cook from it, you know.”

“I’d love to see it!” Maya nodded excitedly, finishing her second quesadilla.

Elle smiled, remembering the lobster dish.

“Are you ready for the main dish?” she asked, carefully getting up and transferring onto her wheelchair. She thanked herself every day for making her kitchen large.

“Oh my god, of course.” Maya got up, too. “Do you need any help?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Elle said hurriedly, not wanting to be perceived as weak.

“Let me rephrase the question: Can I be around you in the kitchen so I don’t feel useless?” Maya tilted her head, waiting for the answer.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

They had to wait twenty minutes for the enchiladas, and in the meantime, got busy with each other. They finally were out of the hospital, free to make out whenever they liked, for however long they liked. It felt fresh and liberating, youthful even. It was golden autumn outside, but their kisses felt like spring, blooming in unexpected places.

Maya loved to steal Elle’s wheelchair and try rolling around the house. One time she bumped into the coffee table and knocked down a little ceramic vase, which scared her and then made her bump into a wall. It caused them both to laugh for long hours.

The timer rang.

“Let’s get the food out,” Elle exclaimed, realizing how hungry she felt. At first, she thought she wouldn’t eat as much due to sitting in the chair all day, but she quickly learned that rolling it with her arms cost her as much effort if not more due to the new nature of the movement. “I’m starving, too.”

“Let’s get the food out!” Maya clapped. “You’re my favorite chef.”

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