The Multitudes Within Me (Sequel to The Sound of Ice)

Bonus Chapter - Cooking

Cam's POV

~

In the kitchen, I chop the peppers slowly, and then the cucumbers, the way Sam taught me. I squint over the recipe. "'Blanch the asparagus.' Fuck does blanch mean?" I consider going outside to ask him, but decide against it. I told him I'd cook dinner. Blanch can't mean anything too important, anyway.

Sam and I are babysitting Hailey in St. Anne's for the weekend, as Mom's off visiting her cousins in Montréal and Veronica's at school. It's nice to be back. It feels domestic, with just the two of us and Hailey here. I love Toronto, and being in the city, but I miss the little things of St. Anne's, too. Even sitting at red lights at the nearby intersections makes me feel things. Those are the lights I drove through every day to get to school, and the rink - the coffee shops and the gas stations I always pass. I am so much older now and there they still are, and they look the exact same.

Sam likes to read poetry out loud with my head on his lap, and he'll run his fingers through my hair. I think all that poetry's made me soft. The poets have lots to say about nostalgia, and love. What would the poets say about cooking dinner for your boyfriend? That's gotta be up there, right?

I hear Hailey's giggle from the front yard and smile. I wipe my hands on the dish towel and turn the stove on, and the flame catches. Cooking is boring. I'd rather be the one playing outside. Last night, Sam was in charge of dinner, and there's no way I can beat him. He's a much better chef than I am.

Just as the water is close to boiling, Hailey runs in through the front door, shouting - "Cameron! Cameron! Sam cut his hand," and all the blood rushes to my face at once. "What?" I say, as I hear Sam follow Hailey indoors.

"I'm fine," says Sam immediately. "Just a small cut."

Hailey bounces from the doorway to kitchen, jumping in place, saying, "Eww, ew, ew! Blood!"

I turn off the stove. "Hailey, not helping," I snap, and then I am beside Sam, and I am holding his palm in mine. There's a long, thin cut that's pouring blood, and it stains my fingers. 

"Jesus, Sam," I say. "Does it hurt? What happened? Hailey, throw me that dish towel. We should put pressure on it."

She hands it to me and I wrap the towel gently around his hand. Bright blood blossoms on the cloth. "Am I doing this right? What should I do? Should I call 911?"

Sam laughs, and I finally pull my eyes up from his hand to glare at him. "Why are you laughing? This isn't funny!"

"I'm sorry," he says. "It's not. I just don't mean to scare you, is all. You seem scared."

"I am scared, you dick!"

"You're doing great. Let's clean it and then just bandage it. I promise it doesn't hurt too much."

"What happened?"

Hailey, who's bouncing by the front door, jumps in. "He was trying to fix my scooter and the whole metal thing broke and it cut him down the hand!"

"A metal scooter? Do you have your tetanus shot?"

Sam starts laughing again. I could kill him.

"Sam! Not funny!" 

Hailey wrinkles her nose at the bloody dish cloth. "Mum won't be happy about that."

"Hailey, can you - just go look for bandaids in the bathroom or something. Maybe some rubbing alcohol. Do something useful."

Sam smiles at me, his eyes flickering around my face. "I don't mean to laugh," he says once Hailey is gone. "I promise it's just a small cut, Cam."

"Okay," I say. "It's just - it's really bloody." I take off the dish towel and look at his hand again. It looks sort of deep. I can't tell. I'm not the fucking nurse here. Sam winces. "Jesus, Sam!"

"Don't panic," he says. "Let's go wash it with soap."

"I'm not panicking."

At the kitchen sink, he washes his hands slowly, wincing as the cold water hits the cut. Blood drips into the sink. I can tell that I'm hovering and I'm angry at myself for being so unhelpful. I can't imagine working with injured people all day long. 

"Does it hurt a lot?" I say as he winces again. "Are you sure I shouldn't call the doctor?" He glances at me sideways and smiles. Okay, fine, maybe I am panicking. Hailey runs back into the room with the bandaids.

"There's some gauze," she says. "And Barbie themed bandaids. That's all I could find."

Sam smiles warmly at her. "That's perfect," he says. "Thank you, Hailey."

He sits on the counter as I wrap up his hand with real gauze this time. Only after the bandage is done, and he flexes his newly-wrapped hand, do I notice how fast my heart is pounding.

"Thank you, Cam," he says, his long fingers slightly curved from the tight gauze. "You've done fantastic. The bleeding has mainly stopped.You should go into nursing."

Hailey sticks a Barbie bandaid on her hand for no reason other than to match with Sam. "What about me? Did I do good too?"

"Of course! You would be such a good doctor, Hailey," Sam says, and Hailey beams.

I get back to making dinner, ignoring the fact that I'm clearly shaken. Hailey goes to play alone in the living room. Sam stays on the counter, legs swinging, hands resting in his lap. I say, "Wait, what does blanching mean?"

~

In bed that night, in my childhood room, we stare up at the poster on the ceiling and the glow-in-the-dark stars Sam and Hailey had stuck up there one rainy day. Sam breathes so steadily beside me I think he has fallen asleep, but then he shifts to look at me, resting his head on his hand. 

"Sorry for scaring you," he says quietly. "And for laughing. I know you were worried."

"I was not worried," I say. "I just didn't want you to be hurt. And I didn't know how bad it was. Okay, fine, maybe I was worried."

Sam, in pain - it makes me think of him, way back then, in the hospital. Bruises all over his face. Labored breathing. Sometimes I still see it, in the back of my mind, or in my dreams. Sitting there, beside him, squeezing his hand. Maybe he is thinking of it too.

"Thank you for taking care of me," says Sam, and he kisses my cheek. "And for making dinner."

"Well, your dinner was better," I say. "And you would have done so much better too, if I was the one who had cut my hand. You would've been so calm. So good about it. I barely knew what to do."

He puts a hand, the healthy one, on my cheek and brushes his thumb softly. I press my head down into his palm. "No," he whispers. "You did amazing. You are the best I could possibly ask for, Cam. At everything. Including nursing me."

"And at cooking?"

Sam laughs. "Yeah, including cooking. Really - it was delicious. You should cook for me more often." He presses his forehead against mine.

"Okay," I say. "I will. But no more injuries. I can't stand it - seeing you hurt."

"I'll do my best," whispers Sam. And then he kisses me, slowly at first, and I think of what the poets would say. 

A/N - hi :)