Page 48 of Faking Forever 1
Until then, I would have to sit and dwell on future events that haven’t even occurred. If I prepare myself for the grief now, it won’t hurt so badly when it’s time to leave for real.
* * *
Going to London meant extensive training. It was never too soon to start practicing new recipes or make an attempt at the more complicated ones. One recipe in particular that I knew 111
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was important was Roquefort Souffle. It was a requirement that another student had let me in on, and it was a must for London. Of course, I was getting a heads-up on learning it, but it wasn’t nearly as easy as I had predicted. It was much more demanding and time-consuming. At least it was distracting me, though.
I wanted my family to try it, and I wanted them to love it absolutely—or at least think I did a reasonable job. I was finishing my fourth attempt, and I was thoroughly fed up. I was so fed up that I had caved and called the person I’d been avoiding this entire time: Joshua. He didn’t respond, and honestly, I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I mainly wanted it to be done so I could look at anything besides food. I know that his brain has almost every fancy cuisine memorized from our days of binge-watching Hell’s Kitchen.
Sure, I’m aiming at a little more than only his help—I want his time and his company more than anything. I like his touch the most over other things. Still, I needed to get one opinion on the dumb souffle, at the least, even if it wasn’t a good one.
Mom, Dad, and Tate were set to arrive at any second, so all I needed to do was plate the souffle. Each plate was already on the counter, and carefully, I began to make my way from the oven to the counter with my dish in hand. As I walk over, a tall shadow appears in the doorway, taking his ball cap off before opening the door,
“I’m Sorry I never responded. I saw your message and figured I would just show up. What’s going on?”
Josh asks, slowly entering the kitchen.
“Hi. I need you.”
He sets his keys on the counter with no obligation, reaching his hands out to help me.
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“You’re tryna make souffle without me?”
A bundle of laughter creeps from his lips as he shakes his head.
I give him a sweet, silent smile. The door opens again, Tate rushing in behind us. It was quick—maybe milliseconds—but Tate had this momentum as if he desperately had to get to his room, or something might explode. He pushes past Josh, coming straight ahead at me. I hadn’t even thought to move—
I had no time to. Before I could even react, the souffle and I were everywhere on the floor. It was even on my clothes.
“Tate, what the hell—be careful!” Josh raises his voice, throwing his body down to my level.
“I worked hours on this!” I scream, my face burning as I choke up, “I can’t make it again…” I start to weep.
As pitiful as it is, I would sweep it up and use it again.
“We can make it again; I’ll help you—just hush.” Josh’s large hands hold my face, his thumbs clearing the tears from my face.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—I didn’t realize—”
Tate’s words come out like scrambled eggs.
“Just go, Tate.”
Josh says, looking at him as he reaches onto the table for the hand cloth, bringing it to my face.
“I thought if I called you, it might make it easier. Of course, I was wrong. I keep messing everything up.” I mumble, staring blankly at the souffle particles on the floor.
He gently wipes the muck from my cheeks, moving strands of my hair as needed. My parents entered the house shortly after, bearing bags from different stores. I could hear the comments 113
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about the mess before they even finished entering. Not the kind of comments I wanted and not the opinions I had worked hard for—but instead, comments on the obnoxious mess that Tate had caused.
