“I always get the cheap powdered packets of hot chocolate. I haven’t had homemade cocoa in years.”
I grab the dish towel and dry my hands. Hanging it back on the stove, I turn around and mimic her stance against the sink. I don’t say anything. Hell, even if I wanted to say something, I wouldn’t know what to say. Besides my mom and sister, I haven’t had a woman here since Clara died. What surprises me is that having her here isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. What surprises me more is her total lack of interest in my mangled face. Not once have her eyes lingered on the scars. Even now, she’s looking directly into my eyes.
“You have a nice place here. It seems very cozy and quaint,” she says idly.
“Thanks,” I mutter, pushing off from the counter. “Going to grab a shower. Make yourselves at home.”
My abrupt departure startles her. Her mouth parts slightly with surprise and she turns and watches me walk out of the kitchen. I need to be alone. Her being here, talking with her soft, gentle voice, smelling like vanilla, and complimenting my cabin is too much. I don’t know how to act around women anymore. It’s been years since I’ve had to.
As I pass by the living room, the little boy stops playing with Gigi and looks up at me, his smile disappearing as his eyes go to the right side of my face. I’m used to the looks, so they don’t bother me anymore. When he asked what was wrong in the truck, it was no shock to me. It was actually refreshing to have someone say their thoughts out loud. The people in town, the ones I used to be friends with, always keep their concerns and thoughts to themselves or whisper behind their hands, worried they may offend me or some shit. I grew up in these parts, but the people seem like strangers to me now.
Gigi leaves the boy’s side and trots over to me. I pat her head when she puts her front paws on my lower stomach.
“Hey, girl. You havin’ fun?” Her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth is my answer. She jumps down, and instead of going back to the boy, she takes off for the kitchen and the doggy door separating her from her pups.
I catch sight of Gwen standing at the bar looking at me. Her eyes drop when she notices I’ve caught her staring. I turn on my heel and walk down the short hallway, anxious to get away for a few minutes.
I take a hot shower and push away the weird feeling of having strangers in my house.
Twenty minutes later, I emerge from my bedroom dressed in jeans, a green thermal shirt, and bare feet. The TV is on when I walk out into the living room. The boy is sitting on the floor leaning against the couch, watching a bunch of meerkats run around on the screen, while the girl has her head bent over a book she’s writing in.
A pang hits me square in the chest at the sight. Once upon a time I wanted this scene to be my reality, and while this is reality, it’s not my reality. It’s fake, it’s someone else’s. It’s the woman’s who’s in the kitchen cooking something on my stove.
Seeing the fire has dwindled down, I walk over, crouch, and throw a couple small logs into the fireplace. Standing, I walk into the kitchen. Gwen is scooping the potato soup into bowls. When she hears my approach, she turns with a smile on her face.
“What’s that smell?” I ask.
She grabs one of the bowls and hands it to me. “Sugar cookies.”
I nod and dip my spoon into the soup, bringing a chunk of potato to my mouth. She watches me eat for a moment before grabbing the other bowls and setting them on the bar.
“This is good,” I mumble around a mouthful.
“Thank you.” She fidgets for a minute. “I feel strange being in your kitchen. Like I’m imposing in someone’s space. I don’t feel right looking through your cabinets with you standing there.” She laughs. “So, where are your glasses?”
Carrying my bowl with me, I walk over to the cabinet by the fridge and open it, showing her the shelf of glasses and cups. She smiles gratefully and grabs two glasses and two plastic cups. She sets them on the counter, then opens the fridge and takes out a jug of juice.
“Juice?” I nod.
“What are your kids’ names?”
Handing me a glass, she takes the cups over to the bar and sets them down beside the bowls.
“Daniel and Kelsey.”
She calls the kids, and the boy, Daniel, rushes and takes his seat, wasting no time in digging in to his food. Kelsey comes at a more sedate pace. I watch with interest as she sets the book down on the bar—I can now see it’s a crossword puzzle book—sits on the stool, and starts eating. Her eyes don’t show any emotion at all as she stares down at her food, just disinterest. This girl is holding something deep inside her, it’s there in her eyes. I just don’t know what it is. I lean back against the counter across from them as Gwen picks up her own bowl and starts eating.
Minutes later, the stove’s timer goes off and she sets her bowl down to take a tray of cookies out of the oven. The smell is stronger once they’re sitting on the stove, and although I’m currently eating, my stomach still rumbles. I haven’t had homemade cookies in years, and these look and smell really fucking good.
“Hey, mister,” Daniel says, and I turn my head to regard him. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Gigi.”
“What kind of dog is she?”
I lay my empty bowl in the sink, then turn back around.
“She’s a Lab mix.”