Chapter 34
Damien
“Damien,” Ellie’s shock calms all of my nerves when she opens the door. Honestly, I am just as surprised as she is that I am standing in her doorway, my hands full of bags. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought dinner,” I tell her, holding up one of the bags. “And wine. I know you love wine.”
“That’s so…I mean, wow, but um…Luca–” Ellie is cut off by Luca, who opens the door the rest of the way and slides in between us, “...is here.”
“That’s what I assumed,” I say. “Which is why I was thinking homemade mac and cheese.”
“Mac and cheese for dinner? That’s my other favorite…besides grilled cheese. Cheese is my favorite. Mommy, can Damien have dinner with us?”
“I also brought this,” I say, holding out one of the bags. Ellie gives me a what’s that? Look, but I make her wait for Luca to pull the box out.
“A slime kit!?” he exclaims, and Ellie’s eyes widen.
“Oh yay…slime,” she says dryly.
“From scratch,” I say as Luca runs off with the box, and I bite back a smile. “What? You said he likes science and things like that.”
“Right,” she says, taking a few of the bags from me. “You know you better be glad there’s wine in here or I’d be slamming the door in your face right now,” she says. I wait until she turns around to walk inside before allowing myself to smile.
I watch Ellie as she nervously picks things up around the home.
She wasn’t expecting me, so I’m not surprised to see her house in disarray.
Laundry is dumped out on the living room floor, half of it folded.
A 90s sitcom is playing on the TV, and she grabs the remote, turning it down.
A train set is tracked from one room to another.
It’s messy, but it isn’t dirty, and I don’t expect any different now that I know what her life entails.
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” she says, and I set the rest of the bags on the counter. I open one of the drawers that is not surprisingly well organized and pull out a bar key. I smile at that. Only people who have worked in the restaurant business use bar keys instead of fancier corkscrews.
“That is exactly why I don’t expect you to clean up for me,” I say as I take the piece of laundry from her hands that she is frantically folding and place it on the couch, handing her a glass of merlot instead. “In fact, I don’t want you to do anything but relax.”
Ellie giggles at that. “I don’t remember the last time I relaxed. In fact, it’s been so long I wouldn’t put it past myself to do it wrong.”
“Try.” I tell her, and I’m sure she knows my tones well enough to know it’s not a suggestion.
Her lips pucker in an attempt to hide her smile, and she sits down on one of the counter stools. As I take the groceries out of the bag for the mac and cheese, I notice the drawings on the fridge.
“Luca did these?” I ask, nodding over to them.
“Yes,”
“They’re really good,” I tell her.
“He’s very talented.”
“I’ve noticed. He’s a really special kid, Ellie,” I say.
Something flashes across her face—something I can’t read, which is kind of abnormal. Usually, she wears all her emotions on her sleeve. Right now I’m a little stumped.
“He is,” she says after clearing her throat and taking a sip of her wine. “He has always been different from most kids. Exceptional really.” She takes another sip.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I say as I set everything up.
Ellie’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, and I swear I see tears in them.
“Did I say something wrong?” I ask.
After a moment, she blinks and shakes her head, her expression going back to normal. “No. Not at all. You’re sweet.”
Another sip.
Whatever she’s hiding, she’s hiding well.
She watches as I boil the water for the pasta and unpackaged several different kinds of cheeses to grate. She’s almost done with her glass of wine, which tells me one thing–she’s nervous about something. I hate to think it’s about my being here.
“I like your house,” I tell her, and she nearly chokes on her last sip. “What? I do. It’s cozy.”
“It’s small. And messy. And outdated. And–”
“And a home. It feels the way a home should feel for a kid to grow up in.”
Not cold. Not pristine. Not absent of every memory that brought me comfort. As if Ellie can read my thoughts, she tips her chin up with a questioning look.
“Do you still have anything of hers? Your mom, I mean?” she asks.
I sniff and shake my head, grating the white cheddar. “No. My father got rid of everything.”
“Everything?” she asks with a hollow voice.
“Everything. Before the funeral even started.”
“My God,” she whispers. “That must have been devastating.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I offer nothing more than a small, one-shouldered shrug. I’m doing it again, cracking open my heart for her in ways I’ve never done for anyone. This woman will be the end of me, I swear to God.
“Everything in your home shows your presence, Ellie. Your hairbrush on the bookshelf by the door. The shoes lined up outside the closet.”
“There’s a shoe rack in the closet. We just tend to be a little chaotic,” she snorts. Then she gets up to stir the pasta. I’m not surprised she can’t just sit there. She’s not used to being taken care of by anyone.
“The puzzle on the coffee table. The blankets on the couch. The pillows on the floor.”
“He’s a big pillow for a kid,” she adds.
“It even smells like you. If I had to guess, there isn’t a single corner of this place that doesn’t reassure Luca that you are here. Always. That’s priceless. Imperative really.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” she says softly. She helps me strain the pasta and finish grating the three cheeses before making the roux. I stand behind her as she stirs the cream, butter and cheeses together on a low simmer until it becomes creamy.
“Damn,” she giggles. “This sure beats the boxed stuff.”
I am pressed softly against her, my hand on hers as we blend the roux. “Blows it out of the park,” I say.
“If I have to make mac and cheese this way every time now, I’m going to be mad at you,” she teases.
“I guess I’ll just have to come over and help,” I answer before thinking about it. My heart does a backflip in my chest. Warning signs flash. I ignore them.
We pour the cooked pasta and the roux into a pan and blend it together before sprinkling it with more cheese and seasoned breadcrumbs. Then into the oven it goes.
“Where did you learn to cook?” she asks as we make our way over to the couch with wine glasses.
I help her clear away the blankets and a few toys.
The couch is a bright reddish-pink, like the color of fruit punch, with a turquoise paisley print.
Something familiar flashes at the front of my memory, and I swallow hard.
“My grandmother,” I tell her as we sit down. “My mother’s mom.”
“Oh. You had family around?”
“Momentarily,” I answer. “She came around a bit when my mom first died, for about six months. Then she got sick, and that was that. She taught me to make mac and cheese from scratch, claiming up and down there was no other way. Oh, and grilled cheese. Sliced cheddar on sourdough. Sometimes with tomatoes. Her uh, her couch looked like this. This pattern.”
“I got it at a yard sale,” she admits. Then she opens her mouth and closes it again. I nod my chin up, prodding her to say what she was about to say. “How old were you? When your mom died, I mean.”
“Luca’s age,” I answer before taking a sip of my wine.
Ellie lets out the smallest of gasps, pressing her hand to her chest. “I can’t imagine.”
Suddenly, Luca comes running into the room. “It’s ready!” he says, holding what looks almost like a volcano full of blue and green slime.
“Ready?” I ask, and then I realize what I bought him. It’s not just slime. It’s–
“It’s a volcano!” He jumps for joy, nearly spilling it. “All we have to do is push this button, and it will ooze out!”
“Buddy, maybe we should do it on the kitchen tab–”
But it’s too late. Luca presses the button, and the volcano erupts. By the way, it’s not an ooze. It’s a full-blown explosion, covering everything within a five-foot radius with splats of slime, including Ellie and myself.
“Holy cow,” Ellie lets out as she wipes it off her eyes.
Meanwhile, Luca is just laughing. She looks over at me, and her smile fades.
“Oh god. Damien, I am so sorry. How expensive was that shirt? It looks expensive. It can be saved if we do some pretreatment now; although it’s probably dry clean only, isn’t it? Shit. I mean shoot. I’m sorr–”
But Ellie stops when my attempt to smile is defeated by the laugh that rumbles out of my chest. Once it starts, I can’t stop it. This whole thing is just ridiculous. I cover my face as the laughter rolls from deep in my chest and fills the room.
“Wanna know the best part?” Luca asks. Then, he dips his finger into the volcano and pops it in his mouth. “It’s edible. You bought edible slime!”
Then I lean back, laying my head back on the couch. Luca is still laughing too. After my abs begin to ache, I turn my head to look at Ellie, who is just gaping at all of it. She’s probably still in shock from getting a slime rocket to the face. She’s also never heard me laugh before.
Luca dances off, eating the slime off every surface, and I sit up, turning towards Ellie, who is now laughing too.
“You have–” she says, leaning in and wiping it off my cheek. Then she pops in her mouth.
“You still have some on your face too,” I say. It’s on her lips. Instead of wiping it off, I cover her mouth with mine for a momentary kiss.
When we pull away, Luca is in the kitchen rinsing the volcano out. “Wanna know what else?” he calls out to us.
“What’s that, buddy?” Ellie laughs, her cheeks still pink from the surprise kiss.
“There’s another package of slime mix in the box. Orange! We can do it again!”
I bite my lip, and Ellie shakes her head.
“You are in so much trouble,” she says.
And in that moment, with the oven timer going off and the slime-drenched room and Luca no doubt whipping up batch number two, I realize she is right.
I am in so much trouble.