A year and a half ago, Elijah and Gage swore to keep in touch. But inevitably, things fester and the two haven't really seen each other since Gage's 17th birthday party. But with Gage now starting his first year at Michigan State, and Elijah beginni...
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Elijah can cook.
A mere two hours ago, I had no idea. And I hadn't even cared. But now, as I watch him carefully measure a cup of white rice, I wonder how I could've ever lived without such a sight.
I stand beside the counter, watching as he pours the measured serving into boiling water, setting the temperature afterward.
He turns to me, a dark eyebrow quirking. "How do we feel about soy sauce?" He holds up a medium sized bottle of soy sauce, shaking it with emphasis.
I shrug, leaning my hip onto the counter. "I don't hate it."
Elijah pops the lid open, pouring it over the now fresh plate of white rice, biting onto his bottom lip in concentration. "Well, that changes tonight," I raise an eyebrow, astounded by the trust he has in his own cooking. "After this meal, soy sauce will be your favorite condiment."
"We'll see." I joke, "I think it needs a few more sides to be considered an actual meal."
He grabs our plates and sodas, carrying them over to his tiny kitchen table. He takes the chair across from me, the legs of it squeaking once supporting his weight. I blush when mine does the same.
The lighting in his kitchen is nearly nonexistent. But for some reason, I like it. The darkness of it all allows me to feel whatever I want to feel without him being able to tell. The overhead lighting hums above us while we take slow bites.
While I take my first bite, he stares.
I try and stop myself from smiling, but it's incredibly hard when he's sitting there smiling and watching me eat the dinner he cooked.
"How's the soy sauce?" His question is quiet, but louder than the background music coming from the credits of a movie he put on when we first got to his apartment.
I shove another mouthful of rice into my mouth, grinning lips surrounding the spoon.
Elijah doesn't need a verbal answer, "I told you."
After dinner, he cleans our plates while I dry, our fingers occasionally brushing as he hands me the now freshly clean plates.
Once the dishes are washed, towel-dried, and placed back into his cupboards, we settle on his bedspread after having picked a movie that we both agreed on.
I keep my distance from him, deciding on the far right side of his king sized bed and curling up into a ball. With my knees tucked beneath my chin, I take a moment to appreciate the comfortable silence surrounding us.
Elijah leans back on his headboard, legs spread out and arms crossed against his broad chest. He lets out a soft chuckle whenever something comical happens and I find myself laughing too.
