Chapter 8
Simon
I'm in the middle of folding laundry when Ira appears in the doorway. "Boris is here."
"Here?" I glance at the clock. It's only a quarter past twelve. Didn't he say afternoon? I haven't fed Ira lunch yet.
Ira nods and stares at me. I swallow a curse, leave the laundry, and head for the front door where I expect Boris to be.
He's not.
Instead, I find him in the kitchen. "Boris?"
"Oh, hi. This is nice."
I look around the kitchen. It's nothing special. "Eh...yeah, it's...eh...a kitchen."
He grins, and there is something wild in his eyes. He looks the same as he did yesterday, and yet he feels...feral. I shiver, and not in a good way. Fuck, is he dangerous? I glance at Ira.
"I have your cookie order." He waves the papers at Ira, and I almost object when Ira walks closer.
"Did Zahrah agree to buy any?" I try to sound calm. It would be so good if she did. If she bought one pack, and Boris bought one, I'd only have to buy eight.
"Sure, the others did too."
I stare at him. "The others?"
He shrugs. "My pa--family. Mom and a few others."
I keep on staring. My voice has stopped working. His mother? Ira's eyes are wide as he hands me the order form. I take it and glance at the lines. A surprised sound leaves me. It's full. Boris' name is listed at the bottom, below the last line.
"There were only twenty-two lines, but I wrote at the bottom.
I think it's readable." He isn't looking at me as he speaks, so he doesn't see my stunned expression.
He's too busy studying the fridge door, which is filled with photos of Ira and me.
There is one of Irene holding Ira when he was only a few days old, and his eyes are coming back to it over and over again.
"Boris, you shouldn't have...This is too much."
He snorts. "Who says no to cookies?"
"But...there are twenty-three names on this list." My gaze lingers on the name above Boris'--Maia Gifford. His mother? She ordered ten packs. Most of the others listed one or two, but this woman ordered ten fucking packs. She filled the quota all on her own.
I swallow hard.
The first name is Zahrah Durant. She ordered five different kinds. My hand trembles.
"Hey, are you okay?" Boris steps closer to me, and I look up from the order form.
"Yes, fine. Just...surprised. I believed you'd ask Zahrah."
"I did."
"Yeah, but...I believed you'd only ask Zahrah."
He shrugs. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little pale." He places his large hands on my shoulders and guides me to one of the kitchen chairs. "Maybe you should eat something."
I sit, still clutching the order form.
"Ira, my man, when did he eat last?"
"Breakfast."
Boris sighs dramatically. "Not good enough." Then he walks over to the refrigerator, and I wince. There isn't much in there.
"What are you in the mood for?" He moves a few things around before looking at Ira, who remains silent. Next, he opens the freezer, hums, and moves on to the pantry. I should say something, but I'm too shocked to speak.
Ira glances at me, and I widen my eyes to show that, yeah, this is weird behavior. I get a tiny smile in return, and that little smile makes this entire day so much better. I hold the order form out to him. "Put this in your backpack. It's full already." And I didn't have to buy a single thing.
He beams, and my heart cracks. Never; he's never had a fully filled form. A lump forms in my throat as he scurries off with the papers.
The second he's out of the kitchen, Boris is behind me. "Are you okay?" He speaks low, close to my ear, and I do my best to suppress a shiver, but fail.
I turn a little so I can meet his eyes. "Thank you so much. He's never...We have no one, so whenever the class does things like this, he's the weird kid."
A warm hand squeezes my shoulder. "Anything I can do to help, Simon. All you have to do is ask." He runs the pad of his thumb over the skin on my neck, and then he's gone.
A second later, Ira re-enters the kitchen. Did Boris hear him coming?
"Ira, come help me." Boris waves him over to the counter. He rinses a red bell pepper I'd forgotten I'd bought. "Chop this for me."
I'm about to object. Ira isn't used to helping with cooking, and I don't know how well he can handle a knife, but Ira rushes over to the table and pulls a chair toward the counter. Next, he grabs a cutting board and a small knife from the knife block.
I hold my breath as he slices into the bell pepper, ready to rush off to the ER and reattach a finger. Boris, on the other hand, watches him over his shoulder and mumbles a few words of praise.
Ira nods.
"You think you can do carrots? They're a bit harder to cut." Boris makes quick work of peeling two carrots. Then he grabs another cutting board and a bigger knife before going back to the refrigerator to fetch an onion and a few cloves of garlic.
When he starts chopping, I hold my breath. He moves the knife like a chef, and I watch in wonder.
Soon, there is both rice and some chickpea thing cooking on the stove, and the kitchen smells of spices I associate with Indian food. I didn't know I owned the right spices for Indian food.
When Boris raids the pantry and puts a tablespoon of unsweetened cocoa powder into the pot, I splutter. "What are you doing?" Did he take the wrong box?
"Cooking."
"With cocoa powder?"
Boris looks at Ira, raises his eyebrows, and shakes his head as if I'm the crazy one. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, Simon. We've got this."
I huff, but Ira looks so pleased I don't say anything else.
"Can you set the table, Ira? And maybe we should have some veggies to go with." He walks to check the refrigerator again, and I wince. There isn't much in the way of fresh produce. Veggies are fucking expensive this time of year unless you like kale.
I don't like kale.
I'm about to apologize when he grabs three carrots, peels them, throws away the outer layer, and then continues to peel them until he has a pile of carrot strips.
Then he grabs a bowl, puts them in, sprinkles some spices on top, then some vinegar and a little bit of honey before tossing it, and tops it with some sesame seeds.
I stare.
Boris brings the pots to the table, and we dig in. It's fucking fantastic. Creamy and flavorful without being spicy--kid-friendly. "This is amazing. Thank you."
"Yeah, Ira, thank you." Boris winks at him, and my heart melts a little.
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