Chapter 12. Liam #2
I nearly drop a pear slice, but I don't say anything. The three women exchange a knowing look. Do I really look this gay? Probably. But they don't press. Instead, Lu sets down her knife, wipes her hands on her apron, and leans against the counter.
"When I met my husband," she says with her thick accent, "I was fifteen.
He was seventeen. My dad said I had to become eighteen before being with him or he'd kill him.
He worked two jobs and went to church on Sunday like God was his boss too.
" She picks up a piece of apple from my tray, pops it in her mouth.
"I thought he hated me because he never talked to me.
Turns out, he was terrified of me. The tough ones build walls to protect what's soft inside.
They think if they let you see it, you'll break it. "
Dora nods, scrubbing a pot beside me at the sink.
"My first husband was army," she says, even though she’s still scared of speaking too much English, then she smiles at the memory, the way you smile at something that hurt once but doesn't anymore. I have a bunch of memories like that. They hurt but sometimes it’s good to feel it burn.
I don't say anything, but I wonder if they know about Ethan.
They probably do, we are together all day long, including meals.
I keep arranging fruit, pear then apple then orange, and I think about Ethan standing over me in the cafeteria, sliding my tray back in front of me, his voice low and furious.
Eat. The way I hated him for it, but he stayed anyway.
My throat tightens. I swallow it down.
"No boy troubles," I say, and all three of them smile like I've just confirmed everything they suspected.
I turn to the dishes, hands in warm soapy water, and I keep thinking of Ethan, It's all I do anyway, all of the time.
When my shift is over, Lu appears beside me as I'm heading for the door, one hand catching my arm while the other extends a small plastic container, the kind they use for leftover portions. Inside, neatly arranged, is a selection of the fruit I'd been cutting all afternoon.
"I can't take that," I say automatically, even though my hand is already reaching for it.
"You're not taking it. I'm giving it. If Griff gives you a hard time because of this, you tell him to come to me, and I’ll have a little talk with him,” she says, and it’s cute and a little scary.
I bet Griff does anything she wants. She pushes the container into my hands.
"For you and your friend," she says, emphasis on friend.
My face goes hot, the blood rushing up from my neck to my cheeks, and I know she notices it.
"Just so you know, he's not my… we aren't anything."
"Mhm." Lu pats my cheek once, her palm rough. "Go."
Margarete catches me before I make it through the swinging doors. She's drying her hands on a towel. "Next time you come, I'll teach you how to make rice the real way, not the way they do it here."
"The way they do it here is a crime against humanity," I agree, and she laughs.
"You're a good boy," she says, simple, like it's a fact, like it's obvious. And my fucking eyes sting. Nooooo, this is the worst type of reaction I could possibly have. I blink rapidly, turn it into a cough, and say something about the steam getting to me. None of them believe me. All of them let me get away with it. Good, because if they keep being kind to me for a second longer, I’ll break down and then proceed to die from embarrassment.
The walk back to the dormitory block takes three minutes, through one security checkpoint where a bored guard glances at me and waves me through, past the courtyard where a few guys are kicking a soccer ball.
The air smells like cut grass and concrete, and the shadows are getting long.
Quiet Time is over, so there are kids everywhere, getting the snack they give to us before exercise time, talking loudly, playing ball, shoving each other the way boys do.
Our room is quiet when I push open the door.
Jack and Harry are outside, probably, Miles is gone too, on detention.
I don't expect to see Ethan either, as he should be working or starting to exercise.
But he's there, sitting cross-legged on his bed with a pharmacology textbook open on his lap, a highlighter capped between his teeth.
He looks up when I enter. His green eyes catch the light, and he is so fucking hot.
"Hey!" I say, too happy to see him, which is spectacularly stupid.
"Hey." He removes the highlighter from his mouth. "Kitchen?"
"Yeah. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?"
“I was waiting for you,” he says, as if it’s nothing. Waiting for me!
“Yeah?! You were?” I ask. He doesn’t smile but he also isn’t sarcastic or anything, so he probably means that.
Ugh, my heart. I get closer to him and stop, standing there in front of his bed, holding the container of fruit like an idiot presenting an offering to a god.
"Lu, one of the kitchen ladies, she, um. She packed this. For us.”
I hold it out. Ethan looks at the container, then at me, then back at the container.
His jaw works slightly. He takes it, pops the lid, and studies the neatly arranged fruit, and by now I’m praying that he won’t find it stupid.
"She said 'for you and your friend,'" I add, and immediately wish I hadn't.
Then Ethan picks up a slice of pear, and, get that, he actually smiles for a second.
"Thanks," he says.
“I was the one cutting all the fruit!" I’m ridiculously proud of it.
"Figures. The slices are uneven."
"They are not. Lu literally taught me how to…!"
"Sit down, Marsal." He interrupts me and taps the edge of his bed. "Come eat some of this with me."
I sit very close to him. Very. Our legs touching. He doesn't move away. IIIIIGHHHH, he doesn't move away!