“It’s funny… Chris was the first real friend I ever had. All my other friendships fell apart when I moved away or when college ended. But Chris has always been there for me.”
“Seems like he has a vested interest in sticking around.”
She gives a little start as she glances at me.
“Stumbled across a secret, have I?” I ask, as something dark twists in my stomach.
“No. Of course not. It’s just…”
“Yes?”
“Another one of my friends—well, neighbor, friend, I’m not sure… She suggested the same thing after she met Chris.”
“Do you think it’s true?”
“I hope not. If I can’t reciprocate, I’d rather he not feel that way about me. It would just end our friendship. And I don’t want to lose Chris under any circumstances.”
The darkness inside me releases slightly and I feel lighter. I shouldn’t give a fuck about what she just said, but I do.
“He was the first person to suggest I become a chef,” she says. “For me, it was more of a hobby. Then I cooked dinner for Chris one night while we were both cramming for finals. He told me it was the best meal he’d ever had and that I should switch my major and become a chef instead.”
“Did you?”
“No,” she laughs. “I’m stubborn, in case you haven’t noticed. I finished my business degree, which in hindsight was a waste of money. Then I took a two-year culinary course that my parents weren’t happy about. But it turned out to be the best thing I ever did. At the end of the course, the best students were placed in different restaurants in the city. I was one of them.”
“How did you start cooking in the first place?”
“Out of necessity,” she says with a shy smile. “My parents were always busy. I was left on my own from the moment I was old enough to take care of myself. I used to just pour myself a bowl of cereal and call it a day. But then I got bored with eating the same thing day in and day out. So I learned to cook. And then I kinda fell in love with it. I realized I liked not knowing what I was going to end up with. The mystery of it. It feels like magic, sometimes.”
Her face softens as she talks. Even her voice changes. It gets a little dreamier, a little more tender. Perhaps she’s not as bitter as she makes herself out to be.
“You’re beautiful when you talk about what you love,” I murmur.
Jessa does a double-take. “Do I need to get my ears checked?”
I laugh. “Life is cruel and cold and ugly. Passion makes it worthwhile.”
“Right,” she scoffs. “‘Cause you’d know a ton about passion. You’re, like, Jack Frost himself. The Abominable Snowman. Ice-cold all the way down”
“You’re not the first woman to voice that complaint.”
“Did Jhené beat me to it?”
I can tell she regrets asking the question at all. Her eyes squeeze shut for a moment before she bites down on her bottom lip.
“You noticed Jhené, I take it.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “How can you not notice that woman? She’s a knockout.”
I snort. “First of all, she’s not a woman. She’s still a girl. And also… I’ve seen better.”
“Seriously?” she asks. “You’ve seen better than Jhené?”
I nod. “My ex-wife was far more beautiful.”
I take a long, indulgent look at her features, which are screwed up so tight I know she’s uncomfortable with my description of Marina.
“But,” I add, “Marina was also fucking insane. Which detracted a bit from her beauty.”