Page 54 of Fruit
“Yeah. They’re not worth the money. What about you?”
“I guess I just picked it up at home. I’ve always liked cooking. It’s calming, you know? Absorbing. There’s something cathartic about putting all those ingredients together to make something whole. And you get food at the end of it, so…”
“Yep.”
“The worst is when you spend ages on a dish and it turns out like shit, but you still have to eat it…”
“Once, I burnt a pasta dish so badly it was literally black.”
“And you still ate it.”
“And I still ate it.”
I grin. “When did you start living on your own?”
“Seventeen. I was emancipated.” He doesn’t elaborate, so I don’t push for the story behind that.
“Was it difficult? I mean, obviously it was difficult, but…”
“Yeah. It was. Especially after juvie. There’s so much structure there—you’ve got all these rules to follow, each with very immediate, harsh consequences if you break them. You don’t have a say in what you eat or what basic-necessity products you use. Even your books and what you watch on the common room TV is monitored. When I got out, I suddenly had to make every decision for myself. It was a bit…”
“Overwhelming.”
“Yeah. Sometimes I don’t really know how I made it. It was like…you know when you’re walking down a really steep flight of stairs and it feels like you’re going to fall at any moment, but you just don’t? It kind of felt like that. Like it was sheer luck.”
“What did you do, after juvie?”
“Well, I got my GED and went to community college to study business.”
“Whoa. You did a lot not to fall down those stairs. That’s not luck.”
“Maybe. Sure felt like it at the time, though.”
“Yeah. I get you. It’s, like, one of those things.…You don’t know you’re actually going anywhere until you make it.”
“Yeah.”
I think about the art therapy course we had looked at together. I had attempted not to think much about it since then, but the idea always crept back into my thoughts. I know I shouldn’t compare situations, but I suddenly feel a little ashamed of how unmotivated I feel in my own life when I have so much going for me.
We eat at the breakfast nook before moving to the couch to watch TV after washing up. We’ve spent so much time cooking and talking whilst we ate and cleaned up that it’s already late afternoon when we settle down. I lean against the arm of the couch and drape my legs over Sebastián’s lap without thinking much about it. His hand rests on my thigh casually. Nina leaps up and settles against me.
“She already loves me more,” I tease as I scratch under Nina’s chin.
“I don’t think so.”
“Your opinion is irrelevant. These are thefacts.”
Sebastián snorts. “That’s a pretty loose interpretation of the word.”
I make a face at him, and he rolls his eyes, smiling.
We fall into the lull of the TV, and I don’t realise that I’m paying Sebastián more attention than the screen until he turns to me, eyebrows raised.
“What?” he asks.
“What?”
“You’re staring at me.”
