Chapter 3 A House Without Warmth #2
Now he understood that it had simply been familiar.
There was a difference.
Peace was the sound of someone breathing beside you.
Peace was music playing quietly in another room.
Peace was the smell of dinner cooking.
Peace was knowing that when you opened the front door, someone might look up and smile.
Adrian looked at the clock again.
Four fifty-two.
He waited.
And for the first time, he admitted something he wasn't ready to say aloud.
He wasn't simply getting used to Riley being in his apartment.
He was beginning to miss him whenever he wasn't there.
The First Laugh
By early evening, Adrian had decided he could handle dinner.
It was a simple conclusion.
He had managed thousands of complicated surgeries.
He had spent years making decisions under pressure.
He could certainly prepare one meal without assistance.
Riley had left for the art center again, promising to return before dinner. Adrian had told him there was no need to hurry.
He regretted those words almost immediately.
The apartment was quiet.
Adrian looked toward the clock.
He told himself he wasn't waiting for Riley.
He was simply hungry.
He opened the refrigerator and examined its contents.
There was chicken, vegetables, rice, and several containers Riley had prepared earlier in the week.
Adrian chose the chicken.
He placed it on the counter and searched for a recipe.
The first result looked simple enough.
Season the chicken.
Heat the pan.
Cook until done.
Adrian could follow instructions.
He had spent half his life following protocols.
This should have been easy.
He seasoned the chicken.
Then he added more seasoning because the first amount seemed insufficient.
Then a little more.
He turned on the stove.
The pan became hot.
Adrian placed the chicken inside.
The sizzling sound seemed promising.
He glanced at the recipe.
Then at the chicken.
Then back at the recipe.
The smell changed.
Adrian frowned.
Smoke began rising from the pan.
He lowered the heat.
The smoke increased.
He reached for the spatula.
The door opened.
Riley walked inside carrying his art supplies.
He stopped.
Adrian stood at the stove.
Smoke filled the kitchen.
The pan contained something that had once been chicken.
Riley slowly put down his bag.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
Riley looked at the smoke alarm.
"It looks like something happened."
"I'm cooking."
"I can see that."
Adrian reached for the pan.
Riley moved quickly toward him.
"Don't touch that."
"I have it under control."
"You are holding a pan that is smoking."
"It's fine."
"Adrian."
Riley turned off the stove.
Adrian stared at him.
"I was cooking."
"You were attempting to carbonize dinner."
Adrian looked down at the chicken.
It was darker than it should have been.
Riley pressed his lips together.
Adrian noticed.
"Are you laughing?"
"No."
"You are."
"I'm trying not to."
Adrian crossed his arms.
"This isn't funny."
Riley finally laughed.
The sound filled the kitchen.
Adrian stared at him.
Riley tried to stop, but that only made him laugh harder.
"I didn't realize you could do this," Riley managed.
"Do what?"
"Burn chicken."
"I didn't burn it."
Riley pointed toward the pan.
"That chicken has seen things."
Adrian looked at it.
Then back at Riley.
For a few seconds, he remained completely serious.
Then something unexpected happened.
He laughed.
Not a polite laugh.
Not the restrained amusement he sometimes allowed himself.
A real laugh escaped him.
Riley went quiet.
Adrian looked at him.
"What?"
Riley smiled.
"Nothing."
"You were laughing at me."
"I was."
"Then why did you stop?"
"Because I was listening."
Adrian frowned.
"To what?"
"That."
"That?"
"Your laugh."
Adrian looked away.
He hadn't realized how rarely he laughed.
At the hospital, there were moments of humor, but they were usually brief. He had trained himself to remain composed even when other people joked around him.
Riley seemed to understand that.
He didn't make a big deal of it.
Instead, he looked at the ruined dinner.
"All right. Let's try again."
Adrian glanced at him.
"I can do it."
"I know."
"Then why are you taking over?"
"I'm not."
Riley rolled up his sleeves.
"You cook. I'll supervise."
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
"That's different."
"Very."
Riley took another piece of chicken from the refrigerator and placed it on the counter.
"Start again."
Adrian followed his instructions.
Less seasoning this time.
Lower heat.
Patience.
Riley stood nearby but didn't touch anything.
"How do you know how to cook?"
"My grandmother taught me."
"She must have been patient."
"She was."
Riley smiled.
"She believed food was one of the easiest ways to tell someone they mattered."
Adrian looked at him.
The words stayed with him.
"That's a nice way to think about it."
"It is."
Adrian turned the chicken.
"Like this?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Very."
They continued.
The second attempt smelled considerably better.
Adrian looked pleased.
Riley smiled.
"See?"
"I knew I could do it."
"You nearly burned the first batch."
"That was a test."
"A test?"
"To see whether you were paying attention."
Riley laughed.
Adrian smiled.
"There it is again."
"What?"
"Your laugh."
Riley shook his head.
"You really are impossible."
"I've been told."
Dinner was ready twenty minutes later.
They sat at the table.
Adrian took his first bite.
He waited.
Riley watched him.
"Well?"
Adrian considered it.
"It's acceptable."
Riley looked offended.
"Acceptable?"
"Very acceptable."
"You are incapable of complimenting food."
"I complimented it."
"You insulted it politely."
Adrian laughed again.
Riley smiled.
They ate.
The conversation moved easily between small things.
Riley talked about his day at the art center.
Adrian asked questions.
He found himself interested in the details.
A little girl had painted a picture of her family.
A boy had spent an hour drawing the same house.
Another child had refused to use any color except green.
Adrian listened.
The stories made Riley animated.
His hands moved when he spoke.
His eyes brightened.
Adrian found himself watching him more than the food.
"You like your work."
Riley looked at him.
"I love it."
"Why?"
"Because children don't always know how to explain what they're feeling. Art gives them another language."
Adrian considered that.
"That's useful."
Riley smiled.
"That's the most surgeon answer possible."
Adrian laughed.
"What does that mean?"
"You look for usefulness in everything."
"There's nothing wrong with that."
"No."
Riley's expression softened.
"But sometimes things can simply be beautiful."
Adrian looked at him.
The words seemed strangely appropriate.
After dinner, they cleaned the kitchen together.
Adrian washed.
Riley dried.
Their shoulders occasionally brushed.
Neither moved away.
The ordinary intimacy of the moment made Adrian feel something he couldn't name.
When the kitchen was clean, Riley picked up his bag.
"I should finish some work."
Adrian nodded.
"Of course."
Riley walked toward the hallway.
Then he turned.
"Thank you for dinner."
Adrian looked at him.
"I didn't exactly make it alone."
"You made it."
"With supervision."
"Still counts."
Riley smiled.
Adrian watched him disappear into the other room.
The apartment became quiet again.
But this time the silence didn't feel quite as empty.
Adrian stood in the kitchen and looked at the pan.
He thought about Riley laughing.
Then he thought about his own laughter.
It had felt strange.
Unfamiliar.
But good.
Very good.
He realized that the apartment had become a place where he could laugh without worrying about looking unprofessional or appearing weak.
He could simply be himself.
And Riley had somehow made that possible.
Adrian looked toward the hallway.
He could still hear Riley moving around.
A drawer opened.
Paper rustled.
Then Riley hummed softly.
Adrian smiled.
He didn't know when it had happened.
Maybe it had started with the first breakfast.
Maybe with the affirmation card.
Maybe when Riley had refused to let him collapse alone.
Whatever the reason, Adrian knew one thing now.
He wanted to hear that laugh again.
And the realization didn't frighten him nearly as much as it should have.
· ? ·