Page 28 of These Thin Lines

The post-its, the uncertainty at times like these when the tasks were a set of complex steps…

Chiara caught her staring and scrunched her nose, looking ten years younger and so carefree that all of Vi’s thoughts scattered.

Then she absentmindedly reached for the first thing on the counter, and it was like the earlier confusion didn’t exist. She was full of purpose now, emptying what looked like two different kinds of minced meat into a bowl, but not before she gave a tiny morsel to the daintily meowing Binoche. Chiara suddenly turned her eyes towards Vi, pinning her with a speculative gaze.

“Now that we have established your dubious understanding of cuisine, Ms. Courtenay, feel free to tell me what brings you to my door at whatever ungodly hour it is. And also, tell me why Aoife was crowing that you beat somebody over at Rue de Bretagne into submission. Oh and, I think I have figured out that Queen Anne issue I had with the cream lace.”

As Vi still sat silently, blinking in surprise at the stream of topics thrown her way, Chiara waved her free hand at her and reached for a couple of eggs, which she promptly broke into the bowl. Then, as Vi looked on, she took out a baguette and proceeded to tear it into strips, which she carefully added to the egg and mince mix. When Chiara coughed gently, Vi knew her staring time was up.

As Chiara set the bowl aside, she looked down at her white apron and stared at an egg yolk stain. Under Vi’s dumbfounded stare, she smiled a bit sheepishly and took off the apron, pulling another one from the cupboard.

“I can’t stand yellow stains.”

When she started washing the tomatoes and basil leaves, Vi found her voice. It was easier to let her words fly when she was directing them at Chiara’s back.

“I’m twenty-five years old, and although I know it’s ludicrous. I still think one day my father will suddenly love me.”

Chiara didn’t turn around, but the hands that were slicing the tomatoes stopped for a few seconds before her shoulders dropped slightly, and she went back to her task. Vi exhaled, feeling freer than she had in years, simply from speaking the words out loud.

“In his eyes, I can’t seem to do anything right. And yet I keep trying. I know that it won’t make any difference to him, no matter what I do. But I can’t seem to stop, you know?” She wanted to drop her head on the counter. Why would Chiara know?Howwould Chiara know?

“I do, actually.” And now Chiara turned, fingers covered in tomato juice, looking a bit like blood in the bright, strangely distorted light of the kitchen. “Sometimes we go our entire lives trying to persuade the people we love that we are worthy of them.”

Was Chiara talking about Vi’s father? Or was she talking about Frankie? Vi didn’t have the courage to ask. It seemed like such an intimate conversation.

“I don’t feel I’m worthy, though—”

“You are!” Chiara’s voice rang loud, and the knife sliced through the parsley with enough force to impale itself on the wooden cutting board. Binoche meowed, but it sounded more like a sign of support, especially since she was suddenly circling Vi’s feet, rubbing herself against her, a rarity in and of itself. She must seem really pitiful to elicit sympathy from a cat.

Chiara resumed her work, periodically giving Vi sidelong glances as if making sure she’d heard her words. A tiny drop of tomato juice splattered on the front of the apron and Vi lifted her eyebrows, but Chiara simply waved her on.

“It’s different. Red stains are fine, it’s the yellow ones that are a problem. Sue me. It’s my apron.”

Chiara took a deep breath, ignored Vi’s look of amusement, and went back to the stove with single-minded focus. Silence reigned once again, before Chiara turned back to face Vi, her eyes tumultuous.

“You should never beg for love. And you should never be made to work for it, Vi. It’s that simple. There is no earning it, there is no deserving it. You are a joy. And you are precious. Your family, those who vowed to love and cherish you, should not make you prove your worth over and over again.” Chiara looked at her with a particular fervor then, and Vi felt pinned by that gaze, imprisoned by its intensity.

When the amber eyes dropped back to the chopping board, Vi thought that it was a very strange choice of words Chiara had made. ‘Those who vowed’ didn’t necessarily describe family. But she refused to allow herself to drift down that pathway. That way lay madness and a glimmering hope that Vi surely was better off extinguishing. Too bad she wasn’t strong enough.

If Chiara was unhappy in her marriage, it was none of Vi’s business. If Chiara was unhappy, period, it wasn’t Vi’s business either.

She has a wife… She has a wife…

Meanwhile, the reason for said flickering hope moved to the stove where the iron skillet now sizzled and the sauce simmered.

“I normally bake the meatballs before I fry them. That was my mother’s secret. Neverfrythem to readiness, bake them, then put them in the sauce for a few minutes in the skillet. But sadly I’m too hungry, and our conversation is turning really sad, darling. Still, it’s nothing that good meatballs with tomato sauce and freshly-baked bread can’t cure.”

Chiara smiled as she stirred the sauce, and Vi found herself smiling back, basking in the glory of that joy that looked honest and true and so right amidst the storm outside and the turmoil in her own heart. Something to hold on to. Something to cherish. As Chiara should be, held and cherished.

* * *

They ate in companionable silence,dipping torn pieces of their baguette into the skillet that Chiara had placed between them on the island, Binoche in a food coma at their feet.

The sauce burned Vi’s mouth, hot, flavor exploding, and she tried to pretend that her eyes were watering from the spices.

Chiara reached over with her hand, and Vi felt her wipe away a tear, and it only made her want to cry all the harder. She willed herself to swallow both the mouthful of delicious food and her melancholy.

“I’m sorry. Here I am, single-handedly disproving your theory of how meatballs make everything better…” Vi deliberately took a big bite from her plate and dunked another piece of bread into the rich sauce.

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