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A few minutes later I was raising my knuckles to Adrian’s door, but it opened before I could even knock. He ushered me in with a smile, took my coat, and kissed me on the cheek. The whole thing happened in one smooth motion.
“Where’s the baby?” I asked, looking around eagerly.
“Sleeping already. You hungry?”
I tried masking my disappointment. The apartment was every bit as cozy as it always was, except now it was filled with the smell of something utterly delicious. Two place settings rested opposite each other at the kitchen table. Before I could even answer, Adrian began piling thick strands of fettuccine on both plates.
“You made dinner?” I asked, incredulously.
“I did.”
“Why?”
He chuckled as he set down the bowl of white pasta. “I know it’s been a while, but you still eat dinner, don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Good. Could you grab us the garlic bread over there?”
Steam was still rising from the warm loaf of buttery, garlicky bread on the nearby butcher’s block. I brought it strategically past my nostrils before setting it on the table. My stomach practically ate itself.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” I told him. “You’ve gotta leave here in what… five minutes?”
He poured us each a glass of water and a glass of wine. “More like five minutes ago, but yeah.”
I’d gotten the call from Adrian not long ago. His meeting tonight was impromptu and late because there was a big storm sweeping in, and they wanted to beat it. Now it looked like he might be even later.
“Adrian—”
“Look, I figured it was the least I could do, after… you know. Last night.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. I picked up my fork and began twirling.
“By the way, here. Take this.”
He slid something across the table. I didn’t see what it was until he took his hand away.
“What’s this?”
“The key to my place,” he shrugged. “If you’re here watching my son, you should certainly have one.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I took the key and bit into the fettuccine, which was covered in a delicious cream sauce and tasted very familiar. It was also cooked perfectly al dente. Exactly like—
“Is this from a foil pouch?” I laughed. “The ones your mother made us as kids?”
“Knorr,” he smiled. “Sure is.”
The taste was unmistakable now, just as the memories that came with it. My father left when I was only ten, and my mother mentally checked out immediately afterward. Dinner at home, the few times my brother and I actually got it, was always a shitshow. It’s probably why I was at Adrian’s house so often.
“Screw it,” I swore digging back in. “If it ain’t broke…”
For the next few minutes we ate like we used to, scarfing down cheap food while laughing and talking about old times. Adrian’s parents didn’t have much, but they’d always been good to me. Their house had always felt like a second home.
“Look, I felt terrible after you left last night,” said Adrian. “I felt like you went home angry.”
I kept my eyes on my plate, wondering what he’d say if he knew the truth. That I hadn’t gone home at all.
