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“No, it wasn’t you. At least not that I can remember. I feel like a burden every day of my life.”
Charlie stared at her.
Oh, fuck.
“I… I mean-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Charlie said, his expression clearing. Violet felt her shoulders loosen. He wasn’t going to pressure her on it. Good.
The last thing she wanted was for him to pity her.
Most people hated being pitied because it was shameful. She hated being pitied because it made what she went through real.
Sometimes it was easier to pretend it wasn’t.
“I’m going to make breakfast," Charlie said, instead of pressing her on it any further. “Do you want anything? I’m making oatmeal for me, which I know is boring.”
Aw, fuck. She loved oatmeal.
“You eat oatmeal?”
Charlie sighed, as if it was a question he heard before.
“It’s an easy breakfast. I know it’s boring.”
“But it’s the most nutrient packed breakfast you can make within ten minutes.”
“That’s … exactly why I make it.”
“I used to make it too. Before my apartment flooded. Since I’ve been eating fast food, I haven’t had real oatmeal in forever. Only the sugary packets.”
“I make it like an old man who’s retired. Usually it’s oats, milk, and then maybe some fruit if I have some.”
“That sounds so good,” she said. “If I have to look at another breakfast fast food wrapper, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Charlie broke out into a smile, looking relieved she had admitted what she wanted. It lit up his entire face and dispelled her fears.
“So, oatmeal works?”
Violet still felt flustered from being on the receiving end of one of his smiles. “Yep, make it like an old, retired man.”
“Come on, I’ll show you where I keep everything so you can get familiar with the kitchen.”
Violet nodded and followed him. She watched him curiously. He told her where he kept his food, where his pots were and where his Tupperware lived. His kitchen was so organized and clean. Violet could only imagine having so much space for storage.
“Is milk okay?” Charlie asked after he had given her the quick tour. “I might have some oat milk, but I don’t know if it’s still good.”
“Milk is fine.”
“Are you not still avoiding dairy?”
God, that was six years ago, and she had mentioned she had cut out milk in passing to him when they first met. Either this man had an incredible memory, or he knew more about her than he ever let on.
“No, I’m not. Turns out dairy wasn’t the root of all my problems.”
It had been her mother, not that she’d tell Charlie. Stress had destroyed her body in high school. It was part of the reason she did yoga now.
Charlie didn’t ask questions, though. He simply made the food as if he did it a million times. Violet let her eyes roam over the kitchen, admiring all the original cabinets and tile work. The appliances were upgraded, but that was it. The green kitchen reminded her of being in nature, which she didn’t get to do enough of until summer.
