Chapter 9 Mia #2
“It’s nice to see someone enjoying my cooking. I don’t have too many people to cook for these days.”
“How does anyone divorce you when you can cook like - Is that a lasagna?” I jab my spoon in the direction of the dish cooling beside the stove. I stare back at Dominic. “Did you make me a whole lasagna?”
“I did. I’ll portion it up so you have it ready in the freezer, it tastes better after it’s cooled anyway. Pop it in the oven at 180 for half an hour when you get home from work, and you’ll have yourself a proper dinner.”
I give up on the spoon and cup the bowl in my hands, drinking the soup down. It must be some magical recipe, because I already feel a little better.
“I can’t believe you made me a whole lasagna,” I mutter, licking my lips and gazing around the kitchen. “And all that food in the pantry, what’s all that?”
Dom casts a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, just easy breakfasts, some canned drinks, things like that. Char told me you’re terrible at taking care of yourself so-”
“Char? My Char?” I put a hand to my chest. “My best friend Char? You talked to her?”
Dom rubs the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle. “Maybe.”
I cross my arms over my chest, sniffling and trying not to cough. “Why are you two talking about me?”
“Because she was worried about you, and she’s not here to look after you. When you said you were ill, I asked her if you were any good at looking after yourself, and she told me in no uncertain terms that no, you’re not.” He shrugs. “So I thought I’d come and help out.”
“I can look after myself fine,” I mutter, before I’m accosted by a sneezing fit, which sends Dominic darting across the kitchen to push a box of tissues under my nose.
I glare at him once I’m done, feeling snotty and pathetic and awful, while he looks all calm and groomed in his tight white t-shirt, tattoos on display. “I can, you know.”
“The state of your pantry says otherwise,” Dom says with raised eyebrows. “Nothing but dog food and some mustard that went out of date five years ago.”
“I don’t cook much, no one ever taught me how.”
The look on his face has me clamming up instantly - concern, knowing. I don’t like that he knows just enough about my life to know things weren’t good for me, but not enough to not ask questions.
“Your parents, they never-”
“I was with them til I was 13, Dom.” I get to my feet, snatching up the bowl and stalking to the dishwasher. “Not a lot of time to teach me much.” I pick up the kettle and move to fill it in the sink, but Dom’s in front of me, towering over me with a frown.
“I’ll do that.”
I jut out my chin at him, holding fast to the kettle. “I can fill a bloody kettle, I’m not dying.”
“All the same, I can do that.” He wraps his enormous hand around mine, and we stand like that for about 15 seconds.
I’ve never noticed the colour of his eyes before, not really.
They’re a deep navy blue, flecked with golden brown.
I’ve also never been chest to chest with Dominic before.
I’m 5’10, I’m hardly small. But he’s so much taller than me, and I don’t like that his imposing presence feels anything but intimidating.
It feels warm, like his hand. Like I could lay my head against his broad chest and tell him all my woes.
Snap out of it, girl, he’s a million years old with a silver beard and he’s your fucking father-in-law in case you forgot.
“Fine.” I loosen my grip on the kettle, and Dominic scoops it out of my grasp. “Since you insist.”
“I do.”
I throw myself down on the oversized black velvet armchair just beyond the counter and watch Dominic move around the kitchen.
“My dad was Albanian,” I say suddenly, and I don’t even know why I say that. It must be the drugs.
Dom’s head snaps up to look at me, and he gives me a crooked smile. “Really?”
“Well, half Albanian. My grandma was, um, yeah. I only met her a few times when I was little. I barely remember her.”
“Is that where you get your beauty from?” Dom asks, and I know it’s just the flu making me blush. I’m sure it is.
“I suppose I do look like her,” I say, fidgeting with the sleeve of my jumper. “I think, anyway. Like I said, I haven’t seen her since I was a kid.”
“Do you know where your parents are?”
I swallow hard, an action that really hurts since my throat feels like it’s filled with oversized gumballs coated in razor blades. “No. No idea.”
Dom nods, turning to the kettle as it starts to whistle. “That’s a shame.”
He fixes me a cup of tea, not even asking how I take it but somehow knowing. I trawl back through my memory, trying to think if Dom’s ever made me a cup of tea before to know this bit of information.
He sits down on the settee opposite me, and cradles his cup between his hands, which makes the cup look like a mere thimble.
“I’ll stay until the repair man comes, and then I’ll take the tiny terror for a walk. You can go to bed if you like, I’ll lock up when I leave.”
“You don’t have to do all that.”
Dom’s mouth shifts and he gazes at me carefully. “You know, it’s always easy to tell someone who’s had to make a go of it on their own. They’re terrible at letting anyone else look after them.”
I shrug, taking a sip of my sweet black tea. “One of my many faults.”
“No, I don’t think that’s your fault at all.”
I want to push away the sweetness of his tone and the tender look in his face, because I want rid of this family, not to be drawn into something that won’t last. I’ll be away from them soon, there’s no sense in letting Dom in now. It’ll just hurt me later.
“Maybe it’s not, but the fallout is mine whoever’s fault it is.” I clutch onto the cup, warming my hands. “I just have to live with it.”
“Why didn’t this Albanian grandmama take you in when your parents couldn’t?” Dom asks.
I frown at my hands, and I suppose it must be the medication that makes me want to talk about this, and feel just a bit sorry for myself.
“My grandfather, he was… He was violent. He was English and thought marrying an Albanian woman would mean he’d have a submissive housemaid at his beck and call.
Imagine his shock and surprise when she had actual needs and wants, like a human being.
” I sigh heavily, feeling a little sleepy.
“By the time child services came to collect me, my grandfather had too many misdemeanours on his record for them to even consider placing me with them.”
Dominic frowns and shakes his head. “And she never left him?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Too dedicated to him. I don’t know. Maybe I inherited more from her than I thought.”
His face darkens instantly. “Archie’s hit you?”
I quickly shake my head, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh god, no no that’s not what I meant. I meant staying in a bad relationship to prove something to yourself, or whatever it is we think.”
“Right.” Dom relaxes visibly, looking down into his cup as he tips it back and forth. “Well I’m very sorry she never got to know you properly. She’d have loved you, I’m sure.”
“Thanks.” I give him a weak smile. “Maybe she could have taught me how to cook.”
“Albanian food is incredible,” Dom replies with a grin. “Have you ever been?”
“No, I’d like to. One day.” I put the tea down on the table beside me, and curl up into the armchair. I yawn widely, wrapping my arms around myself. “Thank you for cooking for me.”
“Not a problem at all.” Dom gets to his feet and heads back into the kitchen, saying something about packing up the rest of the food.
My eyes are heavy and I start to drift off to the sound of his voice, and at some point I wake a little to the sound of the doorbell, but I quickly fall back asleep.
When I wake up in the morning, I’m in my bed, with Tank curled up at my feet. My body still aches and my nose is stuffy, but my head isn’t pounding and my throat no longer feels like it’s stuffed with razorblades.
I look around, confused, because I don’t remember going to bed. My face flushes with heat, because oh my god, that means Dom carried me here? Like a little kid.
“Oh my fucking god,” I mutter to the empty room.
I roll onto my side, and there’s a note taped to the base of my bedside lamp.
Didn’t want to wake you, so put you to bed. Hope you feel better. Heating’s fixed. Call me if you need anything. D xx