Chapter 34 #2
Pale and sunken in actually. I reach up with one hand, running my knuckles down his sallow cheeks, frowning as I look into his weary eyes. There’s a wall threatening to come up, but he looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks and the urge to feed him is rising inside me.
“Hungry?” I ask, loosening my grip on him slightly.
“Yeah,” he admits with a nod. “I’m starving actually.”
“I have food, you know. You’re welcome to help yourself anytime, Shiloh.”
“I didn’t think about it until now, I guess.”
I run my fingers down his cheek once more before letting him go and turning away to wander into the kitchen.
I open the pantry and take stock of all of the stuff I have on the shelves to see what I can whip up for us quickly.
He’s lucky he’s hit me on a week where I actually went shopping and filled the cabinets with more than just the canned beans I always buy but never seem to eat.
“What interests you? I can do pancakes. Eggs. Bacon…. um… I also have just cereal and milk… Oh. Soup. I can do soup and grilled cheese?”
“I don’t know.” I glance back and Shiloh is peering around me into the cabinet, eyes darting around the boxes and cans like being made to pick one is hard.
“Do you want macaroni and cheese?” I ask, softening my tone as I pull two boxes from the pantry.
Shiloh stares at them for a few moments like he’s worried they may come to life and attack him, but finally he nods.
I lean over and place a kiss on his cheek before grabbing the biggest pot from the cupboard beside the stove and filling it with water, placing it on the burner to boil.
He’s lucky I’m a champion of mac and cheese, having eaten many boxes of it during my lifetime.
When I was younger, it was a common supper in my house because it was fast, cheap, and easy for my mom to make before she’d have to head off for a shift at one of her jobs.
It may not be the same for him, since it’s not his mom making it, but I’m sure gonna damn well try to make it the best mac and cheese I’ve ever made.
As I cook, Shiloh wanders back to the living room and settles on the couch, eyes glued to the TV again.
While the water heats up, I grab my phone, and I’m about to shoot a text to Oakley when a message comes through on Instagram that makes my irritation rise.
It’s a different nameless account, but it has to be from the same person as before.
I shouldn’t open it, but I do anyway to find a message that is absolutely a threat.
I will get what I want, Myers.
You can’t stop me.
I growl as I consider Kyle Penton and the message he refuses to understand.
I’ve done what he wants and brought Oakley to him in the only way Oak wants to be seen by him.
Not my fault he’s a creep. I sigh and put my phone away, debating shutting down my social media entirely.
Krystal will have a meltdown, but it’s gotta be better than these messages coming at me and shaking up whatever calm I’m trying to collect for myself.
The water boils and the noodles cook in no time at all as I move around the kitchen, stirring the sauce packets into milk and butter with a whisk like I’m Gordon fucking Ramsey making the fanciest meal in the world.
I can feel Shiloh watching me as I make our food like he can’t wait for it to be done, but when I finally place his bowl of steaming hot macaroni and cheese from a box in front of him, he hesitates.
He takes a deep breath, then leans over the steam, inhaling the smell of the dish into his nose and holding it there for a few seconds before letting it go.
I take a forkful from my own bowl, watching as he reaches for his own fork with an unsteady hand. It clatters against the ceramic of the bowl as he scoops up the tiniest mouthful of electric-orange noodles, opening his mouth to place his baby-bird-sized bite on his tongue.
Then he puts his fork down.
Closes his eyes.
And chews so slowly I’m sure the noodles in his bowl will go cold before he takes another bite.
“Good?” I ask, shoving another forkful of macaroni and cheese into my mouth as my stomach growls its approval.
Shiloh nods as slowly as he chews, then swallows the small bite of food in his mouth. He opens his eyes and I’m stunned to see tears spill out from beneath his lashes. “It’s good. It’s… good.”
“Hey,” I murmur, putting my bowl down and moving to his side. He looks away from me, so I reach out and curl my finger beneath his chin, lifting his face up to mine. “What’s going on?”
Shiloh hesitates, then sighs, clearing his throat as he blinks back more tears.
I move my hand from his face and step back, giving him space to answer.
“I haven’t had this since she died. It makes me remember afternoons painting with her, learning how much I loved art.
It’s… I haven’t thought about it in a while. ”
He offers a melancholy smile, and I can’t help myself from leaning in and kissing him as my heart aches for the child he once was.
Shiloh should have had more than what life handed him, and while I can’t say his means of dealing with it all aren’t anything short of horrific, I also can’t help but see who he could have been.
Who he could still be if he wanted to.
He picks at his bowl of macaroni, but I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t like it. Every bite seems like a rekindling of something long hidden inside him, and I sit back in awe, watching him and falling more and more in love every time he places a noodle into his perfect mouth.
“Fuck,” he says, wiping away tears. “This is stupid. It’s macaroni and cheese.”
I put my fork down and stare at him for a moment, watching his cheeks turn red like he’s embarrassed by how he’s responding, but it’s more than that, I know. It’s Godzilla. It’s Mothra. It’s the love of a mother that he never really got to know.
It’s a purple skate lace.
I pull my wallet from my back pocket and open it, digging deep into the little pocket I keep my most precious item in. Shiloh watches me, confusion in his eyes as I pull it out and put it on the counter in front of him.
“I saw this in your wallet when I first took it,” he says, reaching for it. He picks it up, grabbing both ends and holding it taut between his fingers. “What is it? A lace?”
“The last skate lace my mom ever touched,” I reply.
“She bought them for me for good luck, and I wore them on every pair of skates I owned until long after she was gone. One snapped one day and I threw it away, but I couldn’t get rid of both of them.
They’re my good luck charms, like Mothra and the helmet you painted for me.
You have macaroni and cheese. I have a skate lace.
It’s not stupid. It’s just the pieces that were left behind for us when we lost what we should still have. ”
Shiloh runs his fingers over the lace a few times before placing it on the counter again. I pick it up and tuck it away where it belongs, then put my wallet back into my pocket.
“You’re my Mothra, Donovan,” he whispers, before picking up his fork and taking another baby-bird bite of the food his mother once cooked him with all her love.