Saving Neba

𝐗𝐋𝐕: Sinking differences

For some reason, I went out of my way and made brown butter mushroom omelette. It took me less than twenty minutes to prepare but I liked to think that I had put a lot of work into it. With a huge proud grin on my face, I set both plates on a silver food tray and put a fork and knife beside each plate. Grabbing a can of juice from the fridge and two tumblers, I put them on the food tray.

When I stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, Cole was still getting his laptop ready. He was having problem with connecting the wireless headsets to his laptop. The only time I had seen Cole this serious was when he was on the court; he played basketball passionately. Perhaps it was the smell, perhaps it was my footsteps, but he looked up at me, at my apron, then at the tray, and beamed. "Wow. Pure housewife material too!"

"Oh, really? I don't know if I should take that as a compliment."

"You should. It is. And — my oh my — it smells delicious. King sure is a lucky guy."

"Can you stop?" I untied the apron as I stepped into the kitchen and carelessly hung it kn one of the stools. "It's not like I'm marrying King."

"You don't plan on?" I was back in the living room. He had successfully connected the headsets and was now trying to retrieve the downloaded movies from his drive. "Dating leads to marriage."

"What do you know about dating? You're a playboy."

"No I'm not. Give me three girls I've dated."

"Exactly. You don't date."

"Neither did you." Retrieval successful. An array of thumbnails of videos appeared on his screen. "How about. . .The Mother."

"That's the name? What's it about?"

He shrugged, taking one plate out of the tray. He cut a piece of his omelette and poked it with a fork. "Jennifer Lopez starred in that one. Something about protecting her daughter — wow it tastes even better than it smells," his voice came out in a muffle. "I have to give it to you, baby. The school cafeteria needs you."

"I'll just take that as a compliment."

"No joke, chick. How about. . .this one! Kill Boksoon!"

My forehead scrunched up in disgust. "It doesn't seem like something I'll like."

"Don't judge a book by its cover. It's good, you know."

"And how do you know that?"

"I've watched it."

"You have?" He nodded, more focused on the omelette now. "Then why are you trying to force yourself to watch it with me?"

"Who says I'm forcing myself? I mean imagine this. You're class president — a student walks up to you — What's your favourite movie — But, oh, sorry, I don't watch movies. What! Even I would cower in a shell." He did the honours of opening the can of juice and poured himself a tumblerful.

"So you're doing this in hopes I'll win."

"I'm afraid if Sandra wins, she'll make every girl wear shorts on Wednesdays. I mean, not like I mind though," he leered.

"She said that?"

He grabbed one headset and put it over his head. I did same, pouring myself a glass of juice. "No, not exactly," he chuckled, clicking a few things on his laptop. "Murder Mystery. I haven't exactly watched it if it makes you feel better."

"Whatever." And so he selected that one.

"Is your mum asleep? Haven't seen her since I stepped."

"Yes — no. She, uh, she left this morning. She said she had something to do." I took the other plate out of the tray and placed the tray on the floor to create more space on the table. Cole adjusted his laptop to the middle of the table. "Why?"