Page 47 of Cakes for the Grump
He’s not there.
That’s so unusual that it takes me a few minutes to revive myself and notice the note on the counter.
I’m not feeling well. I didn’t want you to catch it, so I went straight to the office.
It feels strange to make my own tea, but I do, and it’s still not as good as when he makes it for me. Damn his narrow and very specially applied culinary skill. Sipping my lesser-made drink, I try to enjoy the silence.
That doesn’t last long.
He is really sick, isn’t he? He’s not avoiding me because of last night, is he?
I can’t keep still, which is why I pull out my phone and message him.
ME
Usually when a person is sick, they take the day off.
He doesn’t respond as quickly as he’s done before, but when I get his message, it is very much a normal reply for him.
LUKE
I’m not regular people.
So cocky. That’s good. Nothing to worry about.
When I begin pulling out ingredients from the fridge, I also notice the smoothies and lunch I made for him to take today are still there. Does he know? I send him a picture of what he left behind with a question mark beside it.
LUKE
I forgot.
Again, that’s not like him. He doesn’t skip steps in his routine. The opposite, actually. He’s a walking to-do list of rigidity. Either he hates me now or he is actually unwell.
I meal prep the next set of smoothies, taking my time to prepare and include a spoonful of homemade peanut butter. As I blend the nuts, my brain kicks around theories.
We’d gotten caught in the rain last night. Even for me, those few minutes of getting wet had me shivering in my flat when I got home. So is that what happened to him? Was it the rain? Is he sick because he caught a chill from it? That could be it, especially if he walked back to the bar after he left me.
It’s not my fault, we walked. Though he did mention “cab” a few times. It’s not like I knew it would get him sick…
Not because of any guilt, I start making him soup for dinner.
Two kinds.
Selfishly, I also want to practice two recipes, in case the next meal kit challenge incorporates soup somehow. A notebook is pulled out, and I’m scribbling ingredient pairings and going from there. It’s hard to think of an entire dish all at once, but if you decide on one or two components, it’s easier to build out.
I do this while preparing the soups.
The rhythm of the day is full of exciting research and relaxing prep. It goes by so fast that I stay longer than the end of my shift. Only when the light streaming in through the window changes colors do I notice how late it’s gotten.
I’ve been in the kitchen for hours.
It’s okay, I tell myself.He said I could use the space for myself too. I’m not technically doing anything wrong.
Having a cup of tea, I allow myself to rest. Be grateful. Smile. Because there’s no way I could do all this in my own kitchen. One out of two burners doesn’t work, there is no counter space, the knives are dull, and with little ventilation, the fire alarm goes off frequently. To have a space to do what I’ve done today, one he’s given me, feels so necessary. Like a key factor in any progress I make. I’m so?—
Totally gushing about Luke Abbot.
Who hasn’t come home.
