33. Brynn
THIRTY-THREE
brYNN
Noah
We’re just heading home now. She said yes to coming over for dinner, but she seemed hesitant about it. Can you talk to Maxi; let him know she’s coming over?
The message evokes mixed feelings. I’ve missed Rosy being here in our space, but worry follows for how it will go for both her and Max.
He’s been…sullen this week, subdued. I’m not looking forward to letting him know Rosy will be here this evening. That he needs to pull his head out of his backside and not make her feel more upset about it.
Me
Yeah, sure, I can do that. I’ll see you in a bit. Tell Rosy I’m looking forward to seeing her.
Deciding that tonight calls for comfort food to help put everyone at ease, I take out the semolina and 00 flour, then weigh them out before tipping them onto the clean work surface. Breaking the eggs into the centre of the flours, I slowly mix them in, pulling the flour into the egg bit by bit.
People and emotions are messy; they’re real and uncontrollable.
But here, in this space? I know the outcomes. I know what ingredients, what quantities, and what actions are needed to produce something. In this case, it’s pasta. To me, pasta is a comforting hug in a bowl. It’s warmth and love.
I might not be able to fix both of them hurting, but I can make this for them to show I care, that I’m here.
Just as I’m wrapping the dough up to rest, Max walks in, having had a shower after getting home from work a little earlier. As he walks past me, heading towards the sofa in the living area, I call, “Maxi? Can we talk real quick?”
His back stiffens before he spins around, pasting a disingenuous smile on his face.
It’s been like that all week; all his smiles feel forced and heavy.
He walks over, slipping onto one of the stools on the other side of the island.
Grabbing the surface spray and a cloth, I wipe down the area to remove the excess flour.
It’s easier to talk when my hands are busy, but it still doesn’t quash the fizzle of worry.
“Noah spent the afternoon with Rosy at the farm.” I pause, waiting to gauge his reaction, but other than tapping his fingers silently against the worktop, he doesn’t say anything.
“She’s going to come over for dinner tonight.
I wanted to let you know, so you don’t feel blindsided or uncomfortable when she arrives. ”
His fingers halt their movement. “Why would I be uncomfortable? We had a conversation; I said I just wanted to be friends. So we’re friends, and friends hang out.”
His voice sounds too high, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to remind himself or me. But either way, I don’t push it. Instead, I grab a couple of the pinwheel pesto pasties I made earlier, placing them on a plate and pushing them in front of him.
An offering of understanding.
“Thanks,” he mutters, taking a bite into one as he starts scrolling on his phone. The silence lingers between us as I start making the sauce: a nutty lemon feta cream. It’s not awkward, but with Max, it’s unusual. He’s never stuck for conversation; he usually finds it more difficult to be silent.
As I’m placing the tray of nuts into the oven to toast, the front door opens. Keys hit the dish and shoes thunk on the floor, then Nate drops onto the seat beside Max. Without warning, he swipes Max’s elbow, so his arm slips sharply. A snort leaves me as I watch Max bite air instead of pastry.
“Dick,” Max huffs, then stuffs the pastry into his mouth.
“Fuckface,” Nate quips back with a smirk. He turns back towards me. “Smells good. What’s for dinner?”
“Lemon feta pasta, with some pesto pastries. Rosy’s coming, so I’ll make some chicken on the side for you.”
Nate sits up taller, then turns to Max. “Be nice to her.”
Max’s fist clenches on the table. “What’s with everyone giving me shit? I’m nice. She finds me funny, remember?”
“Did.”
“Did, what?” Max asks.
The tension simmers, and whilst the two of them have always bantered, this is more heated, and I’m not sure if I should get in the middle or not.
“You did make her laugh. Then you made her hurt,” Nate grinds out, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest as he glares.
“Okay, how about we leave it at that? She doesn’t need you two creating tension she’s going to feel as soon as she comes over,” I interrupt, hoping the two will see some sense in my words. “Either ignore each other or at least pretend to play nice.”
Carefully folding the rolled pasta dough, I slice it into strips to create the tagliatelle shapes, keeping an eye on the water heating to boil.
Noah’s already home now, so Rosy should be here soon. The anticipation’s building, the flutters cresting in waves in my stomach. Should I get this excited to see her already? Does she feel the same?
She’s had a lot going on this week; with work, the talk she had with Max, and our first kiss…
I didn’t want to overwhelm her on top of that.
But it’s been hard not to message. Not to dump all my feelings into her lap, but to just check in and see how she’s doing.
How do I appear attentive, but not too clingy?
Should be a rule book for these sorts of things.
Scrap that; each person should come with a manual. “How best to make me happy.”
But that kiss…I really want more of them. It doesn’t have to be all her kisses; sharing them with the others doesn’t seem as daunting as I thought it would be. As long as she includes me, I think I can do it.
The pop and sizzle of the water pulls my mind back into focus. Dammit. I need to turn it down; it’s boiling too quickly. I don’t want to put the pasta on until Rosy arrives, as it takes minimal time to cook.
Dropping a clean cloth over the cut pasta so it doesn’t dry out, I take the salads I’d prepped earlier out of the fridge and drizzle the homemade sesame and miso dressing before mixing them.
I hope I haven’t missed anything. Should I make another dish for her? Is it enough?
A knock sounds at the door, and my heart bolts into a sprint. Nate, having remained seated at the kitchen island, rises from the stool and heads down the hallway to greet Rosy.
Quiet murmuring, too quiet for me to decipher, can be heard for a few moments. What’s taking them so—
Oh.
With her cheeks flushed a soft pink and fingers pressed to her lips, she walks into the room tucked under Nate’s arm. It’s obvious now why it took so long for them to enter.
She’s even prettier after she’s been kissed.
Wiping my hands on the kitchen towel, I round the island. “Hey, Rosy. How was your day?”
Tugging her hand, I pull her into my space and duck my head to bring our faces closer together.
“Hi,” she answers breathlessly, “It was good. Noah came to help scrub some troughs for a couple hours. How was yours?”
Being this close, I can see her pupils expanding, her lashes framing soft grey eyes.
Lashes that aren’t quite black but appear to be a deep brown.
I place my mouth on hers, needing to remind myself of how she feels against me.
We may have only had our first kiss a few days ago, but the imprint of it has been on my mind ever since.
Reluctantly, I pull back. “So much better now you’re here,” I tell her. I know I’m being too keen, but I can’t help it. I want her to know how much I love spending time with her, how much I crave her company.
Her lashes flutter, and her mouth rounds as she utters, “Oh.” Pushing up on her tiptoes, she places another kiss on my lips. “That was sweet. Thank you.”
“If you offer kisses for every nice thing someone says, they’re going to be inundating you,” Max quips with a laugh, but it falls flat when he sees her stricken face.
“What? I don’t go around kissing everyone or anyone.” She shakes her head, glancing between us, panicked. “I promise, I don’t.”
“Maxi, fuck off,” Nate growls.
“Fuck. No. That’s not what I meant,” he says in a rush. “I meant everyone, as in these three. Not everyone, everyone. I was trying to make a joke. A shit one, because apparently, I’ve lost my touch and it wasn’t funny. I’m really sorry.”
Her shoulders drop at his explanation, but she’s rigid and unsure now. I’m frustrated on her behalf, but I think Max is trying, even if it’s getting lost. Nate wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her back into him and placing a kiss on her crown.
Unable to resist, I swipe my finger down the slope of her nose. “Are you hungry? Dinner’s almost ready. I just need to put the pasta in to cook. It will only take a couple of minutes.”
She groans, and I freeze midway through walking back into the kitchen.
That sound.
“So hungry! I forgot my lunch, and my stomach is protesting. Loudly.” She laughs.
Max makes a sound of sympathy, but Nate and I don’t join her.
She hasn’t eaten in hours.
Rounding back into the kitchen, I continue getting dinner sorted. “I can make lunches for you if you’re too busy?” I offer. I need her to let me help take care of her.
She’s not incapable; I know that. Whether it was her nan, her work, or the animals…she always spent so much time putting everyone else’s needs above her own. It feels like she needs someone—someones I correct as I glance at Nate gripping her tightly—to do the same for her.
“What? No.” She shakes her head quickly. “I don’t mind taking any leftovers from dinner, so they don’t go to waste, but you definitely don’t need to spend more time cooking just for me.” Her brows draw in as she frowns, but all it does is make her look cuter.
“You just give the leftovers to Steph,” I tell her, daring her to deny it. “I make lunches for all of us, anyway. It’s no bother to make one more.”
Her lips purse with her indecision. What is she struggling to decide?
Saying yes to make me happy, but feeling like an imposition?
Or saying no and worrying she might offend me?
I don’t completely know how her mind works yet, but I know she must be going back and forth between deciding what would be the least difficult decision for me.
“Please?” I add with a twinge of what feels like guilt trailing the words. Because I know that plea will make it harder for her to turn me down, but this is for her too. She deserves to be looked after, whether she thinks she does or not.
Shoulders slumping, she drops her head and stares at the ground. “Okay.” She nods, fingers twisting the sleeves of her jumper into knots.
Nate leans in and kisses her cheek, and she leans back into him. I know letting me do this for her is hard, so she should get all the kisses in return.
“Good. Saying no means you’d miss out on the best lunches. Bry promised years ago he’d never leave, because then I’d just starve,” Max quips.
Rosy laughs softly, even though it looks like it pains her slightly to look at him. Whatever was said between them, there’s still a lot of hurt there.
Turning the burner off, I remove the pan, then add some of the pasta water to the sauce before adding the drained tagliatelle and stirring it all together.
Just as I start plating, Noah walks in, finished from his shower. After seeing the muddy water splashes all over his clothing when he came home earlier, it was needed.
Rosy looks his way, and a flush crests her cheeks as he smiles at her, which is…interesting. Everyone grabs a plate, except Rosy. She gets intercepted by Nate, who takes hers as well as his. She offers a playful eye roll to his back as she follows him to the table.
She just completes us all perfectly.