Chapter Thirty-Three #2
I whip my head to the left and Adam whips his to the right so we’re both facing Marcia, whose forehead wrinkles are more pronounced as she looks between us in confusion.
“Nothing. He’s right. I did say I had this entire meal covered.” Adam thinks he’s being clever, but all he’s really doing is demonstrating to Marcia that he’s an entitled brat. I’ll be the bigger person. I reach for the wine.
Except he does too. Our hands touch over the bottle. My skin tingles and I let go first.
“I got it.” He pours me a glass and slides it my way with a glint in his eyes. “You worked so hard on dinner, you deserve it.”
I lean forward and look at him from under my eyelashes. “Thanks.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches.
“I’ll take one too,” Marcia says.
“Are you sure?” we both ask at the same time.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
Adam and I lock eyes and shrug in a moment of solidarity that reminds me that we both essentially want the same thing—good health and happiness for Marcia. We also want the second bedroom… and each other, but those things are secondary.
Standing, he says, “Let me get you a glass,” a subtle reminder that I only brought over two. When he gets up, I snatch the bra from where it’s dangled over the edge of his chair and sit on it.
When we’re all back at the table, we raise our glasses.
Marcia says, “To Sabrina, for making this delicious meal.”
“Maybe you should try it first.” I squirm. If Carley were here, she’d tell me to cut out the self-deprecation. I sit up straighter.
“I’m sure it’s wonderful and can’t wait to find out,” Marcia says.
“Even if it’s just north of edible, it’s still a big deal and you should be proud,” Adam says.
My head swings his way, expecting to see a cocky grin or smirk, but his eyes are soft. It’s not exactly a glowing prediction, but he’s giving my effort more credit than I expect under the circumstances.
“Thanks.”
We all drink.
Adam licks his lips. “I needed that.”
“Rough day?” I joke. As far as I know, he was either on the couch or spying on me for most of the afternoon.
He leans back in his chair. “Yeah, actually. I changed the filter on Gram’s vacuum cleaner and cleaned all the attachments. They were full of hair and other debris. It took over an hour, but it works like new now.”
Marcia looks absolutely delighted by this. “I don’t think the filter’s been changed since I bought the thing years ago! Sabrina tried to do it and couldn’t figure it out. Right?”
I take another sip of wine. “Right.”
“Glad I could help.”
I feel him looking at me but refuse to give him the satisfaction of gloating. Instead, I gesture to the food on the table. “Help yourselves.”
I let them each take a piece of garlic bread and spoon portions of salad and lasagna onto their plates. While they take their first bites, I fill my own plate to avoid watching their first reactions. But I hear the crunching of the bread, the clanking of utensils, and chewing and swallowing.
It’s only when Marcia says, “This is delicious, Sabrina!” that I dare to look. She’s beaming at me.
“Really?”
She nods enthusiastically.
I break into a huge grin. “Yay! Carley deserves some of the credit too. It’s her recipe and she walked me through the entire process.”
“But you made everything yourself. Take the credit,” Marcia insists.
Her soft and encouraging tone reminds me of Nana Lena’s when I was little and helped her make latkes at Hanukkah.
Even after I got potato pieces all over the floor and cut myself while grating, she said I was the best sous chef ever.
“I’m trying to compensate for all my previous failed attempts to prepare anything that requires more than a can opener. ”
“And it shows. Thank you.” Marcia smiles.
I notice Adam hasn’t said anything. I dare to look at him.
He meets my gaze and keeps it there while he chews and swallows. I stare back while squirming on the inside. I shouldn’t care what he thinks, but I do. Marcia watches the exchange with amusement. Even she can see he’s toying with me.
He’s still staring me down as he wipes his mouth with a napkin then finally drops it to his lap. “It’s good.”
There’s no exclamation point at the end of the most anticlimactic phrase in history, but I’ll take it. I’m about to thank him with the same level of enthusiasm when he says it again.
“It’s really good, Sabrina. Well north of edible.”
I smile cautiously at him, afraid he’s toying with me. His sincere comments mixed with reminders that our competition is still alive and kicking, not to mention the suffocating sexual tension, is making me dizzy.
He winks.
Not helping.
Dinner continues without drama. Marcia entertains us with tea from her morning spin class: the married thirtysomething guy who stares at the ass of the woman whose bike is in front of him each time she stands in second and third positions; the woman who wears the same smelly heavy sweatshirt and pants to every class; the man who grunts the entire time like he’s having painful sex.
Soon we’re cracking up and I start to forget what truly motivated me to make this dinner in the first place.
“Speaking of smelly gym lady,” Marcia says with a chuckle. “She mentioned a dog comedy event in the park tonight.”
Adam blinks. “The comedian is a dog?”
At the word “dog,” Rocket comes flying into the room and sticks his head on my lap. I lean down and kiss it. “Rocket should headline. He’s the funniest pupper ever. Aren’t you, sweet boy?”
Rocket bites a piece of cucumber right off of my plate. “Okay, maybe not so sweet, but definitely funny.”
Marcia laughs. “It’s stand-up about dogs with pet participation from the audience. Rocket would love that. Wouldn’t you, Rocket Man?” Rocket barks. “You in?”
I open my mouth to accept the invite when Adam says, “I’ll go. Unless Sabrina needs help cleaning the kitchen.”
I glance around the room and my breath hitches.
I’d been so focused on preparing the meal, I didn’t think about the “after” part or the mess I was making in the process.
The room looks like a plane crashed into a train wreck at a bus station.
The sink and counters are piled high with all the pots, pans, dishes, and utensils I used.
And there’s… fuck … a sauce stain on the wall by the stove.
My heart palpitates. Maybe no one will notice.
“I hope that comes out,” Adam says, pointing right at it.
Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.
Marcia follows the direction of his finger with her eyes and low-key cringes.
I vault off my chair. “I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it right away.”
“It’s not a big deal. I can always paint over it if it comes to that. I worked for a house-flipping company one summer during college. Paint is expensive but we might get lucky with a sale,” Adam says. Apparently, one of us didn’t forget about our competition.
“Or maybe it will come out with soap and water. It’s not blood.” I stop short of making a dig at yet another of his many short-term jobs.
“Just scrubbing it with soap and water on a paper towel might make it worse. Gently rub it with baking soda and water and let it dry. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try apple cider vinegar and some ammonia when we get home.” His expression softens as he looks at Marcia. “Don’t worry about it.”
She reaches for his hand across the table. “You’re the best.”
“So are you.” He stands. “I’m gonna change, but then I’m ready for the park whenever you are.”
Picturing them enjoying a fun evening in the park, laughing at dog jokes while I stay behind to clean the kitchen, leaves a pit of sadness in my belly.
It’s something Marcia and I would normally have done together, like when we watched Forrest Gump in Bryant Park last summer and a cooking demonstration at the Big Apple BBQ in Madison Square Park.
If I end up moving out, will we ever do things like that again?
“I’ll help Sabrina with the dishes so she can come with us,” Marcia says.
My breath catches. “You will?” I’m probably supposed to turn down her offer to help. I’m the one who insisted I had dinner covered from beginning to end, but I desperately want to come with them.
She stacks her dirty dishes over mine. “Of course. Like I’d really let you stay back and clean up after us while we have a fun evening in the park laughing at dog jokes? Please .”
I breathe out a laugh while also blinking back tears. “Thank you.”
She furrows her brow. “Are you okay?”
I answer her with a nod and stand to bring more dishes to the sink.
“I’ll help too,” Adam says.
He’s at my side in a moment. “How about Grams clears the table, Sabrina rinses the dishes, and I put them in the dishwasher?”
“Teamwork,” Marcia says.
Here is where I should quietly brag that his plan to leave me out of the evening’s festivities backfired. But he willingly got with the program, and I have no idea if he’s actually cool with it (maybe even secretly happy) or pretending while silently tweaking his strategy to beat me.
“Nicely played,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.
My muscles tense. I turn to face him and we’re so close that my boobs brush against his belly. It wasn’t on purpose, but when he sucks in a breath at the contact, I feel victorious just the same. “I wasn’t playing anything. Marcia clearly enjoys my company and wants me around.”
He places a rinsed plate in the dishwasher. “I’m sure she’ll invite you to join us when you move out. Maybe your octogenarian roommate can come too.”
“What is this about an octogenarian roommate? I’m not there yet!” Marcia says.
Adam mutters “shit” under his breath while I think quickly on my feet. “I suggested that if Adam wants to stay in New York City on a library page’s salary after he moves out of here, he should check out ads on the RoomBridge app. It worked for us, right?”
“It sure did.” She glances at her watch. “We should get going in a few minutes. Leave the rest for later.” She excuses herself to freshen up.
When she’s gone, I turn to Adam. “Now that was nicely played.”