Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Kieran

Hank had been right. More than a week had gone by, he was still camped out at Ellie's place, and she hadn't said a word. At least he was going out during the day for longer and longer, and Ellie had stuck Post-its on ingredients in the fridge that said, DO NOT EAT—ELLIE'S JOB , which worked about half the time.

The toughness I'd seen when I'd borrowed Ellie's car was nowhere. Her face was pale, except for the purple under her eyes. She moved stiffly, and she winced every time Diane texted or Hank said her name. She needed a day at a spa and a solid week's sleep on an actual mattress.

My fantasies had changed shape when I was in my own bed. I wasn't thinking about sex with her.

No, that was a lie. But I also thought about tucking her under my comforter and stroking her hair until she slept.

When I got to her place on Friday morning, a white candle flickered on the little wooden table where she normally put her keys. "Vibes," I said.

"It's not for atmosphere," she said, distracted. She pulled a crisp out of the oven, and the warm, sweet smell of cooked peaches and vanilla didn't match her tense face.

The picture of Max and Ellie that normally sat on a shelf in her bookcase was on the table too, like a little shrine.

She yelped, "Butterfingers," and shoved her hand under the faucet. "Don't touch the hot thing after you take off the oven glove, dummy." Her phone beeped, and she sighed.

"What's going on?"

"Today's not a good day." Her phone beeped again.

"Should I go?" I asked when her shoulders slumped and she dried her hands. Though the last thing I wanted right now was to leave her.

"No, I want to keep working." She walked over and put her phone in the nightstand next to mine.

"Are you sure?" I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. "You can rest and I'll work."

"Can we start over?" she asked shakily. "Pretend today's normal?"

She looked so weighed down that she might collapse any second. I couldn't, wouldn't add to her burden. "Of course we can," I said gently. "What's on the list?"

"Could we try out the leek risotto with scallops for ‘Seduce'? I've only cooked scallops once or twice, so I'd like it if you could show me how to do them correctly."

The image of feeding a candlelit Ellie scallops popped into my head and I slapped it down hard. The same way I slapped down thoughts of holding her, soothing her. "OK." I clapped my hands and gave her a big smile. "Cooking scallops, aka less is definitely more."

I'd gotten used to narrating what I was doing so that she could listen back to it. As I trimmed the tough muscle and seasoned them, I described how to pick them at the store so they'd be super fresh and sweet. She stood on a stool and filmed over my shoulder as I seared them just until they were crisp on the outside.

Right after I'd put them on a plate, a tall shadow knocked on the door.

"Ben?" Ellie said when she opened it to the huge white-haired man.

"Hello, sweetheart." He turned to me. "And you must be Kieran."

"That's me," I said, when all I wanted was to ask him why he wasn't looking after Ellie.

He looked me up and down and must have decided I wasn't a threat. "It's good to meet you finally," he said as he reached out his hand and gave me a small smile. "You must be the reason that Ellie's been more cheerful for the past few months."

I stared at him as we shook. Me, making Ellie cheerful?

He turned to her. "I'm sorry to bother you when you're working."

She was already untying her apron. "Diane needs me."

"Can you come? I've tried everything, and she's just lying there."

"Can I do anything to help?" I asked. Fuck's sake, Kieran, how do you know what's going on? You've only ever seen the woman from a distance. "Would she like some soup? Or something?" I trailed off.

"Maybe she'll eat some soup," Ben said.

Ellie went to the fridge. "We've got some corn chowder we tested yesterday."

I immediately said, "Go ahead and take it. I wasn't going to eat it."

"Stay here and keep working," she said as she grabbed the container. "Please. Even if you're just recording notes. The schedule's tight, remember?"

"Ellie," Ben called, already halfway across the yard.

She closed her eyes like she hurt, and breathed, "Back soon."

I made the risotto, washed the dishes, ate two of the seared scallops, and she still hadn't come back. I knelt back down in front of the shelf of her notebooks.

Who did I want to hear from? Kid Ellie? Teenage Ellie? But ever since I'd seen that picture of Max and Ellie in love, I knew what I was looking for.

I pulled out the notebook from over a decade ago. Ellie started the year exploring the Asian grocery stores in Stockton and cooking her way through the Martin Yan books she'd found in the library. For her high school graduation, she'd bought herself Claudia Roden's book about Middle Eastern food, and the summer's pages still smelled a little bit like cumin and rosewater. She moved to Berkeley in August, where Nicole was her assigned roommate, and she wrote a little bit about the dining hall food—she hated how everything was greasy and underseasoned and plotted ways to make it taste better. Then, on November seventeenth:

Met Max.

She'd drawn tiny red hearts around his name. From there it appeared every second line.

Max was allergic to a lot of things. Shellfish. Citrus. Nuts. And he didn't like olives, or tomatoes. And the man was obsessed with chocolate. Ellie's homemade cake, brownies, truffles—he'd devour all of them.

I turned to the next notebook. Now Ben and Diane's names appeared too, with recipes for lamb tagine, rich with dried apricots and saffron, cheese blintzes loaded with cherry compote, an intensely boozy tiramisu. The gaunt woman I'd seen loved old-school recipes that dripped with olive oil, butter, and cream? I couldn't imagine it.

What had happened to them?

I grabbed the notebook at the end of the shelf. The back pages were empty, so I flipped and flipped closer to the front until I found the last page with Ellie's handwriting. "Single Lady Pasta," she'd written. She'd loved the shrimp and tomatoes in a buttery sauce, but she'd happily give up the shellfish if it meant that Max was home again. He'd be back from Paris soon.

Paris. Soon.

And there it was in her tidy handwriting: July 15.

Today was July fifteenth.

Fuck. No wonder she looked hollowed out.

Floyd hopped up on the loveseat next to me.

"Hi, pal," I said, feeling a little drained. "Your mom should be back soon."

His meow sounded like a whine.

"I know the feeling. But maybe I can help you out?"

When I went to the kitchen and cut up a scallop, he meowed again and went up on his hind legs, begging.

"Did you just twirl ?" I said, astonished.

I sat back down on the sofa and put my hand out, and he became a little furry seafood vacuum.

"I didn't know you could purr as you ate. That's kind of amazing."

He headbutted my empty hand, and I took a hint and ran it through his silky fur. I dug my fingertips around his ears and chin, and he closed his eyes and purred even more loudly.

"Such a good boy," I said, feeling a little better. "You like that? Is that, oof!" His big back feet drove the air out of me while he climbed onto my chest. "Jesus, cat, at least buy me a drink first."

He ignored my smartass comment and stretched out from my thighs to my shoulders.

"I guess this is me now. Your throne, forever."

Green-gold eyes blinked slowly.

"Are you smiling ?"

He rested his head under my chin and sighed.

We hadn't had animals when I was a kid. Too messy , Mom said. Too needy, Dad said.

But maybe this was the upside of being needed. Quiet, sweet moments like this one. "OK," I told him. "Just for a little bit."

Ellie

Was Kieran crooning? Maybe the wall of the cottage was distorting his voice?

"That feels so good, doesn't it, bud? Such a big, nice cat. Yes, you are."

Yes, he was. He rubbed Floyd's cheeks and my cat melted for him like fluffy butter.

I stayed as still as I could as I watched them together through the window. Kieran wasn't giving the cat the big toothy grin he gave everyone else. He was smiling like he was content.

Maybe the Tigger-ish bounce was a distraction. This was another side of him he didn't show much. Sweet and gentle, happy with something small to care for.

It was my first time being jealous of an animal. After an hour of holding Diane's hand while she cried, I wished I could curl up on Kieran's chest while he petted me.

"Cat, he's not here to be your mattress," I said as I opened the door.

"No, I like having him there." Kieran ran his hands down Floyd's sides. "It's like I can rev him. See?" I could hear the resonant purr from ten feet away. "But I know we need to work."

"We can talk about what to do next while you serve your new master." I tucked myself in next to him, and he smelled a little like pine, a little like plain white soap.

"Is Diane OK?" he asked softly.

I sighed. "As much as she can be…" I spotted the notebook open next to him, where Max's name was written with hearts around it, and the other books scattered on the coffee table.

"I know you said not to touch," Kieran said quickly.

Almost nine years of my life, wide open. "I…"

He winced. "I'm sorry, Ellie."

Me, wide open. I waited for anger, but instead I felt almost relieved. No more hiding. "Don't be." I took a deep breath. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Then he surprised me. "Do you miss him a lot?"

As I considered, I let myself remember Max in pieces. His arm resting easily on my shoulders as he argued an obscure literary point with his mentor Jack. His hand tugging me into a spin as he danced with me in our kitchen to the Ella Fitzgerald I liked to play, singing along off-key to "Night and Day." His mouth whispering mine and alway s and forever over and over again in my ear as he made love to me in our huge bed. Passionate, determined, so confident in himself, in us.

I settled back into the couch. "I miss how certain he was. I'd just turned nineteen when we met, and he was so far ahead of me in everything. He knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. He talked about running away to Vegas after we'd dated for two weeks." I rubbed my temples. "I felt safe for the first time ever, because I knew exactly what would happen to me. When I was afraid, he'd always hold me tight." I sighed. "But then he was gone, and I didn't have anyone to hold me anymore."

Kieran's head tipped back and he closed his eyes tightly. "I'm so sorry."

"My in-laws put on a memorial dinner every year, invite all his friends over. So I'm working on that for Saturday on top of our stuff, while Hank is staying here. Meanwhile, Diane's so depressed she hasn't left her bed for twenty-four hours."

That was enough venting. Soon enough Kieran would nod, and his eyes would drift away like everyone else's when I talked too much about myself. My preoccupations and fears weren't as vital to other people as they were to me.

But his eyes stayed on my face, like he really wanted to know my worries. Like he wanted to help. "How many people are you feeding?" he finally asked.

"Sixteen." A little of my gratitude snuck into my voice.

"That's no joke," he said thoughtfully. "But these are people you know, right? Maybe they'd help you out."

The automatic "sure" jumped into my mouth, but I didn't let it out. We could be honest with each other. "No. They were Max's friends. I cooked for them, and listened to them moan about job searches, and laughed at their terrible jokes. Then he died, and they were nowhere."

Kieran's hand stopped in Floyd's fur. "What the hell? They didn't bring you food, or call, or just stick around for you? They sound like shitty people."

I appreciated his indignation. "I don't blame them for feeling like if they came near me, their lovers would die young. I felt contagious, too. Like I just radiated doom." So contagious that I hadn't left our apartment for weeks, didn't shower, barely ate. Nicole and Tad had been the only ones who visited. "But Diane wants them there, so I have to make nice."

Even though smiling would make me feel like the scars on my heart had torn open again.

He reached and tugged lightly on one of my arms. They were twisted around my torso, my hands in my armpits as I rocked myself.

"Give me a second. I'll be OK soon," I said without thinking, even though his touch was gentle and I wanted more of it.

"No, give me your hand."

He wove his fingers through mine. His scars and calluses against my skin, rough and warm and familiar. He squeezed, like he was saying silently, I see you, I hear you, I'm on your side . He was so good at touching me.

But I couldn't have that. I shook off the deeply unprofessional thoughts and said, "We need to get back to it."

Floyd buried his head against Kieran's neck, like a small child pretending to be asleep.

"It's like he can understand you," Kieran said.

"Come on, sweet boy." When I slid my hand between them, Kieran's chest was toasty warm, and his T-shirt was the velvet that came with a lot of washes. The cat grunted in protest, reaching his legs back toward his new favorite perch as I put him on the floor. "I know, you were so happy, life is one disappointment after another," I told him. He didn't bother to respond and stalked off in a catty huff.

"Listen," Kieran said quietly. "Can I help you for tomorrow?"

I squinted at him. "But you're going to be at the restaurant."

He nodded. "Yeah, but you have me right now," he said matter-of-factly. "What are you making?"

I listed the dishes on my fingers. "Prime rib, baked potatoes, creamed spinach, Yorkshire puddings. Chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream for dessert. All Max's favorite dishes."

He studied my face. "Which you're not crazy about."

"I like them all fine, and what Diane wants right now, Diane gets."

"Well, I definitely know how to make creamed spinach," he said, cracking his knuckles. "We sold a ton of it at the Pacific, and it's easy to make in advance. You have all the ingredients?"

"Yup, it's all in Ben and Diane's fridge. But you really don't have to."

"Ellie? I want to."

He sounded so sure, and all of a sudden I wanted to cry in relief. I hadn't cried in front of anyone in years. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Thank me when I get it done."

I moved for the door, but realized I was missing something.

"What's that?" he asked as I grabbed the rings from the top of my bureau.

I slung the chain around my neck. "A necklace."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not blind," he said dryly. Then more seriously, "But you're always wearing it."

He was too perceptive for my own good, and if I kept dumping my feelings all over him, he wouldn't stay. "You could say that. Let's go."

When we walked into my in-laws' kitchen, patches of purple and green light from the art nouveau stained glass danced across his face. With his red hair and sharp features, he looked like a young David Bowie.

"This is beautiful," he said. "I'd kill for this kind of light in my place."

"Yeah. They kept as many of the old Craftsman features as they could when they renovated, but they tried to open things up, too."

He clapped his hands. "So, how long do I have to make creamed spinach for sixteen?"

I checked my watch. "We've got another hour or so."

"Oh yeah, plenty of time."

I started to pull out chopping boards and he waved me off. "I can find stuff. Your job is to keep me company and answer questions."

"You're the boss." I slung myself into Ben's usual chair.

"For now," he said as he opened the fridge door. "You can order me around again later, if you want."

Images skittered across my vision, thoughts I'd never had with Max. Telling Kieran exactly how to please me, Kieran listening to every word and taking his time, making sure everything felt amazing, worshipping me with his hands and his mouth.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he said as he plunked a sauté pan on the stovetop.

I shoved the involuntary gasp down. "Nothing. Not thinking anything at all."

"OK," he said slowly. "Did you buy frozen or fresh spinach?"

"Frozen." I exhaled in relief. "The boxed kind."

"Smart woman. Less work. And do you like it with béchamel or with cream?"

"I mix heavy cream and crème fra?che. I like a little tang in it, and I think béchamel smothers flavors."

"I get that. I like it with super-bitter things like broccoli rabe, but you're right, it's kind of a blanket. And shallots instead of onions? I'm into it. Very Frenchy."

He hummed to himself as he defrosted and minced and melted butter. I understood a little now why Ben liked to sit here. It was soothing to watch someone be quietly industrious, confident that the end result would be good.

Kieran's "Ellie?" popped my bubble.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" I said.

He squeezed the spinach like it owed him money. "What's your favorite thing you've ever made?

I closed my eyes and reached for that sense of security and comfort I felt when I chopped and stirred. A carousel of happy faces flipped through my memory, until I stopped on one from decades ago. "It was the first meal I ever made from scratch, start to finish," I finally said. "I was twelve. It was my mom's birthday dinner. She loves fish, so I made salmon teriyaki. Rice, spinach with sesame dressing I found in an old Japanese cookbook from the library. Lemon bars for dessert."

"That sounds delicious," he said as he poured cream into the pan.

"She was so happy with me. Like she was lit up from inside."

"Did you like it, though?" he asked.

The warm glow of memory fell away, and I was left standing on an edge I didn't want to look over. "Like what?"

He lowered the heat and his voice. "The salmon and the spinach. Did you like them?"

I shook my head hard. "Why does that matter? It wasn't my birthday dinner."

"Who's this, Ellie?" Diane asked from the doorway. The bags under her eyes were the color of plums.

I hopped off Ben's seat. "Did you sleep, Ema?"

"Who's your friend?" she said curtly, staring at Kieran.

"I'm Kieran O'Neill. Ellie's helping me with my book. Great to meet you, Diane." He pulled out his biggest Happy Pirate Leprechaun smile, but she just shook her head.

"He's helping me prepare for the dinner tomorrow night," I said.

"But you always cook all the dishes," she said. Was that a little bit of peevishness in her voice? I hadn't heard that before.

"She's delegated this one," Kieran interrupted. "I'm her servant for the next hour." He froze, his skin flushing pink.

I was so busy glaring at him for his double entendre that I didn't notice her hand until it was at my throat. "I never understand why you wear your rings inside your clothes."

Kieran stopped stirring, and I felt his eyes on my chest, on the jewelry where she held it to the light.

Béchamel-thick silence blanketed us.

She rubbed the rose gold ring between two fingers, its miniscule diamond flashing. "I remember when Max asked me for this. My father's family had fled Berlin, lost everything to the Nazis, and when he met my mother, he was scraping by. But he took a job at a shoe factory in Brooklyn, a horrible place, straight out of Dickens, and worked every hour God sent to afford this ring."

Kieran was frozen. I was frozen. Except for my face, which was red-hot. "I know, Ema."

"Max didn't want to give you just any fancy piece of jewelry. He wanted to give you a history. A family. Remember?"

"Yes," I finally said, glad I didn't scream it. "Do you want anything to eat?"

She shrugged. "No. Just came in to see who was here." She dropped the rings and wandered out again. I slumped back into the chair and closed my eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, the shame clogging up my throat. "I told you today was bad."

"You wear those for her," Kieran said quietly.

"I wore them for me at first. But for the past year, yes. It makes her happy."

"Ellie?"

I opened my eyes, and Kieran was in front of me, arms wide. "I'm all right," I said quickly. "You don't need to hug me."

His arms stayed open. "What if I need you to hug me ?"

I gaped at him. I wanted to be held so badly. His hand on my back last week had already made me want to strip off my shirt so he could stroke bare skin.

"Please, Ellie? Just for a second. All you have to do is stand up."

As if he'd commanded it, my body unfolded, and then I was in his arms. It felt like chicken soup when I had a snotty mess of a cold, like a glass of icy apple juice when my body was on fire with fever. I didn't disappear into his embrace like I had in Max's, but he was still strong and comforting and almost like relief. I buried my face in his shoulder, and he found the sweet spot on my back again, rubbing it until I wanted to purr.

But then my skin prickled, and suddenly I genuinely felt feverish. It was only supposed to be a hug with a friend, not me climbing him like a tree. Especially when we were still standing in Ben and Diane's kitchen.

"Is the spinach almost done?" My falsely chirpy words filled the space between us as I pulled away. "Thank you so much for helping me out."

He shook himself awake like he'd been dreaming. "Probably, and you're welcome."

After we both tasted it, he scooped the spinach into a Tupperware box I found for him, then packed up. When he shouldered his backpack and headed slowly for the door, glancing at me as he went, I almost begged him to hug me goodbye, to do more than that, but for the millionth time in my life, I shoved down what I wanted to say.