Page 79 of The ABCs of You & Me

“I had a pillow. Like a little heart pillow with a pocket. I’d stick my tooth in there, and when I woke up there would be a shiny loonie.”

“You got a loonie? Cass and I got quarters.”

“It’s amazing that we didn’t figure it out earlier. Imagine the drama had we discussed how much we were making on our teeth.”

Foster pours a bit of oil into the pan and leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “It’s kind of creepy, if you think about it. A fairy trafficking in body parts, basically.”

My eyes are locked on his arms, is he flexing or are his arms always like that? Somehow my mouth conveys the one non-horny thought that I've got going. “I hadn’t thought about it before.” I shudder. “Although,” I say, dramatically flourishing the apricot-covered spoon, “my mom said it was fun to have a harmless lie to partake in.”

“Do you want to partake in the lie?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like with your own kids.”

My stomach drops at his words.

THIRTY-THREE

FOSTER

I could kick myself for bringing up kids. Things were going well until I mentioned her own. Maybe she doesn’t want them and she’s over telling people that.

“I think the oil is ready,” she nods toward the pan.

I look at her for a second longer before I turn back to the stove and start adding in the patties. I watch as she stirs the jam and garlic together and then hand her a bottle of soy sauce. “About ten shakes should do.”

She counts as she shakes the bottle, eyebrows drawn together in determination. I pull out my Microplane and a knob of ginger from my freezer and begin grating it into the bowl of sauce Sophie’s back to mixing together.

“That’s good,” I tell her, taking the bowl and setting it next to the pan before turning back to her. “What’s up, Soph?” I lean next to her fighting the urge to cross my arms or pull her into them.

“Nothing,” she says, smiling at me quickly before turning on the sink and beginning to wash things.

She’s lying. Something is clearly wrong, but I’m not going to force her to tell me. Instead of pressing, I carry on like nothing is wrong. I grab another frying pan and add it to the stove top. The sound of the meat cooking and garlic hitting hot oil are the only sounds in the entire apartment. Sophie and I don’t have trouble talking. We haven’t since the day we met as kids. Even on our first day together as adults, we filled the silence with words and laughter.

“Do you want to do the beans?” I ask while she’s drying her hands.

She looks over at me and then down at the pan. “If you think I can handle it.”

I roll my eyes and hand her the steamed beans. “I think you can handle anything. Add these into the pan and give it a stir.” She does as I instruct, and I hand her a jar of dried chilies followed by a small bottle of sesame oil. “Once there’s a bit of wrinkle to those beans, add in a drizzle of the oil and pull off the heat.”

While she does that, I finish the pork, dumping the sauce she made into the pan and spooning it over the caramelized patties.

“That smells amazing,” she says, leaning a bit into my space with her hand resting on my lower back.

The tension I caused seems to have evaporated, and we move around one another with ease with me plating our food while she sorts out the cutlery.

“Holy mother of mercy, this is incredible,” she moans after taking a bite of the meat and mashed potatoes. “Can you cook for me every night?” she asks in a tone that makes it hard to tell if she’s serious or not.

“No, but I will cookwithyou every night.” I mean it as a joke—well, kind of—but it comes out seriously, and I watch as Sophie’s chewing slows and her gaze moves up from her plate to my face. My god, she’s pretty.

“I can think of worse things than cooking with a friend.” No one has ever hit me as hard at the gym as the word “friend.” It’s a knockout punch.

“Sophie!” my friends call out as we arrive at the game.

“I guess I’ve been replaced,” I jest, following Sophie into the row.

“Jealous?” she asks over her shoulder.

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