Page 89 of Saving Sparrow
Sparrow frowned as if he couldn’t comprehend why I’d do something nice for him. He sniffed the air, looking around for the source of the smell.
“It’s keeping warm in the oven. I wasn’t sure when you’d show up. I didn’t want everything to get cold.”
“Everything?” The question came out hard, giving the impression he wasn’t happy. But his raised brows suggested curiosity. I smiled. The move caused him to shutter his expression. It was too late, though. He was interested, and he couldn’t take it back.
“Sit—please,” I added when his nostrils flared at my order. “I’ll get the food.”
Sparrow glanced behind himself at the stove again, then glared at me before walking over, slowly lowering onto his chair.
“Are you okay?”
He seemed stiffer than usual today, unable to hide his wince of pain.
“I thought you were getting the food,” he snapped.
“Oh, yeah, right.” I hurried into the kitchen, slipping on the mitts to pull our warm plates from the oven.
“Careful.” I set his plate in front of him. “It’s hot.”
Sparrow leaned forward, investigating the food. His stomach growled, and he tensed before sitting back in his seat. I could tell from the stubborn look on his face that he didn’t plan on eating any of it now. That one sound, that one revelation of what he perceived to be a weakness, had screwed up everything.
“Everyone eats, Sparrow. Not doing it in front of me isn’t what makes you strong,” I whispered. “It’s everything else you do that does.”
He’d been about to shove away from the table, his palms already pressed against the edge. The latter half of my statement stopped him. No one had ever told him he was strong before. Of course not, becauseno one even knew he existed. No one but me. I was the only witness to the good he’d done in this world.
Joshua may have had the sensation of Sparrow’s arrival, that feeling of “someone coming,” but he didn’tknow. Amelia had been told, but she hadn’t believed. Not until it was too late, and maybe not even then.
Iknew Sparrow better than anyone else—even if there was still so much to learn.Iknew he existed, that he was real. I knew he had feelings, and I knew deep down, past his walls and guilt, he was kind. Because anything that came from Elliott could only be good. Sparrow just needed to feel safe enough to operate from that place.
My stomach rumbled, putting us on an even playing field. I cut into the salami first, dipping it into the egg yolk before taking a bite.“Tres Golpes.”I gestured around my plate. “It’s not as good as my mother’s, but it’s edible. It’s the Dominican version of comfort food. I had to improvise a bit,” I said when he eyed the potatoes. “You didn’t have any green plantains.”
I continued eating, pretending I didn’t notice him watching me with doubtful eyes. It wasn’t until I’d finished half my eggs that he took his first tentative bite. I felt victorious.
His second bite wasn’t as hesitant but still careful. Sparrow ate with precision, his utensils doing all the work while I’d used my fingers to scoop up the last bit of yolk with my meat. My rolled napkin still waited beside me, while his had been put to use, fastidiously dabbing at the corners of his mouth between every forkful.
Sparrow was the epitome of self-restraint, and watching the way he ate made me fully appreciate how hard it must have been for him to let his control slip with me the few times it had.
“I was surprised to see that you keepqueso de freiron hand. The unripe cheese,” I said when he frowned.
“I didn’t know I had.”
“Oh, maybe you thought it was mozzarella.”
Sparrow didn’t respond to that, perhaps not wanting to admit he could make such an easy mistake.
“What do you do for fun around here?” I asked, trying to put an end to the silence, and hoping there was something he did besides gatekeep and brood.
“Fun?” He said the word like it was beneath him.
“Yeah, you know, paint, play an instrument, watch the… news,” I landed on, because I couldn’t see Sparrow enjoying any other form of television.
“I’m not here forfun. And I don’t consume the news.”
“Why not?” My mind went to the last night I saw Elliott. What happened had made the news.
“Other than the weather, what happens outside of these walls doesn’t concern me.”
We were silent again, and as if he felt bad about that, Sparrow eventually asked, “How often did your mother make this for you?”
