Page 10 of The Care of Broken Things
“To rest my gut after glutenings, mostly,” Eli said. “Why is it that you can ask questions of me, but won’t answer any of mine?”
True to form, he ignored the question and upended his new purchases onto the bed. Eli’s eyes sprang open. “What—”
“No more fasting.”
Eli picked up one of the packages on his chest. Sardines.
“They’ve got Omega 3’s, right? That’s good for inflammation. There’s some salmon there, too, in those pouches.”
Eli sat up. Packages and pouches slithered off him and onto the bedspread.
Suddenly nervous, Samuel found himself rambling. “I wasn’t sure if your commissary account was up and running yet, and the stuff I gave you before were things you couldn’t eat, so I—”
The man was smiling. Not smirking. Not grinning. Honest to God smiling, with his teeth flashing, and eyes crinkling, andSamuel knew he was in trouble.
“You’re amazing,” Eli said, as if he hadn’t just ruined a man’s life. “Thank you. And you’re right. My commissary account still isn’t linked up yet.”
As if that wasn’t enough, Eli then swept a space clear on the bed and pointed his invitation. It was the smile Samuel would blame later. He was still dazed by it, and not in any fit state to make reasonable decisions. He sat where indicated, more pliant and cooperative than he’d ever been in his life.
Eli was impressed. “This is a better haul than I was expecting. I might actually survive on this, even if Nathaniel can’t manage the special meal order.”
Samuel was beginning to come back to himself. It was easier now that Eli was sorting through the food, like the spell of that smile had been broken—or at least weakened.
“Who’s Nathaniel?”
Eli flashed him a grin. “My murderer-hating husband.” He ripped open a bag of mixed nuts after checking the ingredients. “Don’t suppose I could trouble you to eat the M&M's out of these for me?”
He expected the man to dig in, but Eli only ate an almond, a cashew, and a peanut before setting the package down. That broke his brain a little. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Eli brought the pouch of sardines up to his mouth and ripped it open with his teeth. “Labels are useful, but they’re not foolproof. If I haven’t reacted in half an hour, I’ll eat a little more. I have to go slowly with unfamiliar brands.”
Samuel knew that if he’d gone more than two days without food, he’d have gnawed his own leg off, but there was Eli, calmly and reasonably explaining his plan, as if his stomach wasn’t eating itself to ribbons.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Hmm?”
“You knew you couldn’t eat what I bought you, and you knew they’d continue to keep screwing up the special meal thing. So why didn’t you come to me? We could have done this two days ago.”
Eli fished a sardine out with his fingers. The slimy things looked repulsive, and the smell alone was enough to knock someone out. Eli caught him staring and tilted the pouch toward him. “Pardon my rudeness. Would you like some?”
He clapped a hand over his mouth and nose and Eli laughed again. How could even the creases around his eyes be lovely? “Nathaniel reacts the same way. Though he can stomach them with mustard and a little hot sauce. It also helps if I toast them in a sandwich first. Do they have condiments in the commissary?”
He didn’t remove his hand until the offending pouch had been withdrawn. “Only ketchup and mayo, though the COs will sometimes give you their leftover packets if you ask for them. Carnivore—CO Park—is your best bet, but I’ve got a collection you can dip into in the meantime. Some are expired, but I read that expiration dates on non-perishables are arbitrary, and you can safely—what are you doing?”
Eli had tilted the packet of sardines up to his mouth and was letting the oil drip into it. He lowered the pouch. His lips were glistening. “A calorie’s a calorie.”
“That’s rancid fish gunk.”
“Rancid fish gunk full of Omega-3’s.”
He had to swallow bile. “Your husband’s never going to kiss you again.”
Eli set the pouch down and reached for the next one. “I’ve got four years to get the taste out of my mouth, don’t worry.”
“You’ll get out in two if you keep your record clean.”
Eli brought the next sardine to his mouth. “And we can have visits three times a week, right?”
