Page 8 of Baking Battles

“Do you like Pad Thai?” Christopher asks from the back seat of the taxi, where Mattias has selfishly stolen the front seat next to the surly driver, who hasn’t said a word to either of them, apart from replying to Mattias rattling off a surly ‘Good evening’ with a grunt.

“No, not really” Mattias confesses. He’s much more of a normal food kind of guy. Then he feels like a twat again, because of his total inability to be polite. It’s honestly like something has crawled up on his insides and set him into this jackass mindset. Well to be real, he’s not the friendly type. He doesn’t do after work drinks. He doesn’t have hobbies outside of the activities he does with Emi. And he has successfully shaken off the few people that used to make up his carefully constructed and Sara-approved circle of friends. Apart from Alima. He is grateful for Alima, and Mattias is itching to shoot off a text to her, asking for the lowdown on this Christopher dude, knowing full well that he probably won't get a reply as Alima will be knee deep in bedtime stories and sultry kids.

“I’m willing to try it.” Mattias starts. Stuttering slightly. “If you think it’s good, I could probably eat it. I tend to stick to normal stuff. Burgers. Pizza. Chicken salad.” He blushes slightly at the sound of his own voice. Ungrateful and rude. Unnecessarily so.

“That’s fine. Can I interest you in burritos? Freddy Fuego’s deliver. They’re always tasty.”

Mattias nods in the dark, then clears his throat to speak, but Christopher is on a roll, shuffling around in the seat back there, the light from the phone in his hand flickering around.

“Stangeriet do good burgers, and Dino’s Pizza, mmm. They do this curried banana and prawn thing. Really yummy. I love it. I’m not that hungry though. Don't think any salad places deliver at this time, though. You sure I can’t interest you in Pad Thai? It’s only noodles and then you can get lots of extra veg and chicken. Peanuts. It’s good. Kind of half healthy. Sweet.”

Christopher goes quiet in the back, the light from his screen making the tip of his nose glow under his hair that has finally given up and untangled itself from his usual pristine look.

“Look, I’m really good with whatever you fancy, I will eat anything. It’s late and I’m hungry and I just want to get home and get to bed. Long day and all that.” Mattias tries. He tries to sound friendly and well, sane. Polite. Normal. Apart from that, he is still not very okay with this overnight thing, but then he should have said no. That would have been the right thing to do, not letting Danijel guilt trip him into taking this crap on. I mean, he doesn't know this guy, doesn’t remember him, despite Danijel’s claims.

“I will blow your mind.” Christopher replies. “The flavours are amazing. Sharp lime against a sprinkle of sugar over the crushed peanuts. It’s like an explosion in your mouth. And chili. You have to have chili.”

“Whatever.” Mattias sighs. He’s doing it again. Giving in. Not speaking his mind.

He’s not like this at work. He’s perfectly comfortable with challenging conversations between colleagues. He volunteers to speak to staff who underperform. He’s good with developmental feedback, but apparently can’t tell a near stranger that all he wants is a pizza and his bed.

He’s almost dizzy with tension when he gets out of the taxi, nodding at Christopher who pays the driver, adding a more than generous tip.

“The entry code is 2121.” He says, punching the number in with his gloved hand. The air is cold, his breath forming clouds in front of his face as he pushes the door to the apartment block open.

“Good to know.” Christopher replies, following him up the stairs like an unwanted ghost.

The flat still smells of Ikea. Of new mattresses and compressed cardboard. A little dusty and unlived in, apart from the tidy toy box in the corner and the stack of children’s books spread over the coffee table.

“Sofa. Toilet. Bedroom. Kitchen.” Mattias points, feeling stiff as he hangs his jacket on the hook in the hallway, toeing his shoes off before disappearing into the kitchen.

“It’s nice.” Christopher says quietly. He’s standing in the doorway, looking around.

“Beer?” Mattias offers, opening the fridge door and grabbing a small bottle of beer.

“Thanks.” Christopher smiles. And Mattias wonders how he can be this calm. I mean Mattias is a stranger, and here this dude is hanging his coat over a kitchen chair and taking a seat like he lives here. Like this is normal.

“Why don’t you stay in a hotel? I mean, your career is going well?” It’s a shit thing to ask, aggressive almost, and not welcoming at all. “I’m just curious. My sofa is hardly the Bristol Hotel. “

Christopher strangely laughs, leaning back on the chair, like the question seems to have put him at ease.

“Look, you know this industry as well as I do, and just because I am working this week, doesn’t mean I will be able to pay my bills the next. It’s a fickle line of work. And on top of that, the answer is simple. I really,really,hate hotels. Hate being alone, lying there in the dark in a strange place. It drives me mad. I end up lying there with all the lights on, thinking I am hearing things that aren't there. It’s just easier to crash with people. “

“Makes sense.” Mattias says, grabbing another beer from the fridge, opening it with a quick snap and taking a nervous sip. It does in a way. Make sense, and the beer calms him for a moment.

“I’m not a bad houseguest, I promise. I mean, I stay with my parents if I can, or with one of my sisters. They all have kids, and Uncle Christopher is like the king of babysitting and bedtime stories and loading the dishwasher. I do my bit to try to help. I know all the best takeaway places that deliver. And I am tidy. I won’t trash the house or have parties. I’m like the best house guest.”

He looks so sincere, and almost a little frightened, in a way that Mattias can’t help cracking a smile. “Chill.” He says instead. When nothing is chill. Really.

“You’re good with money. I saw your thing you did on Good Morning Norway. You dished out some solid advice.” Christopher says, checking his phone that is lighting up with messages. “Food is ten minutes away.”

“And you are not good with money?” Mattias counters. Yeah. Here we go again. Rude and intrusive.

“I’m actually damn good with money. I’ve got investments, and a property in Paris that kind of pays for itself. I’ve dabbled in shares, but I don’t really understand them. I could probably buy something here in Oslo, but it doesn’t make sense when it’s just me.”

“You need to get yourself on the housing market. Get a mortgage.” Mattias scratches his head. “It would make sense. Pay it off whilst you can, then you can relax or size up.”

He knows this stuff. It’s kind of a safe topic, money.

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