Great. Just great.
I lower the temperature this time, and when I whisk the yolks and then beat in the butter, my wrist screaming, it actually turns into a smooth sauce instead of a lumpy mess.
“Holy shit. I did it,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief as I give it a taste. Creamy. Perfect. I add a pinch of salt just to be safe.
Moving quickly, I put down the plates and fold napkins underneath the utensils and even make sure to have a flower centerpiece.
A branch of cherry blossoms.
I ran to the park earlier just to make sure they’d be here, so a few of the blossoms look a little worse for wear.
While the rib eyes reheat, I pour the sauce into tiny ramekins instead of over the meat, since Marley is particular with her sauces. The second one takes a long time to fill, the sauce pouring out at a glacial pace. Impatiently, I tap the bottom of the saucepan, and of course, it all comes rushing out at once, overflowing past the top of the ramekin and onto the countertop like a damn mudslide.
I’m crushing this cooking thing.
Sighing, I grab a towel and clean it off, then plate the meat and get everything on the table with just enough time to sprint downstairs to change my shirt before the doorbell rings.
Marley.
I smooth down my hair as I take the steps by twos, then slide into the entryway to pull open the door.
She’s wearing a lemon-yellow rain jacket, the color standing out against the cloudy gray sky, the rain falling all around her.
“Hey,” I say, leaning casually against the doorframe.
“Hey,” she says, squinting to look at me through the rain. She nods up at the steady downpour. “Can I maybe… come in?”
“Oh, right. Yeah,” I say, pushing the door fully open. She steps inside and pulls her hood down, her hair wavier than usual because of the rain. I find my eyes zeroing on a stray strand trying to break out of her ponytail.
I want to tuck it behind her ear like she always does, but instead I take her jacket from her. I hang it on the basement doorknob to dry while she looks around the entryway at all the pictures. She stops in front of me, peering down the steps.
“What’s down there?” she asks.
“A couple of dead bodies,” I joke, to which she rolls her eyes, nudging my shoulder, the tiniest bit amused. “My room’s down there.”
She looks intrigued. “In the basement?”
“Yeah. I moved down there my sophomore year of high school, after my mom got it finished,” I say as I nod down the steps. “Sam and Kim used to sneak in through a door down there. Leads straight to the backyard.”
She smiles at that, definitely amused now. “Ah, a bad boy,” she teases.
I roll my eyes. “You ready for dinner?”
“Am I?” she asks warily, understandably doubting my cooking abilities.
We head into the kitchen and Marley smiles at the cherry blossoms on the table, so at least my manic, limping run to the park this morning was worth it.
I’m about to sit down when I realize I forgot to put water on the table. Pulling open the cabinet, I hear a car door slam shut outside.
“Hey, my mom’s home early,” I say as I crane my neck to look out the window, catching a glimpse of her getting her stuff out of the backseat, the rain barely a mist now. I knew she had a mischievous glint in her eye when I asked her to get out her recipe card last night. Of course she couldn’t stay away. Classic Lydia. “She’s going to be so excited to meet you.”
I head out of the kitchen and into the entryway, then pull open the door to greet her. “Hey, Mom, this is…” I turn around, but the hallway behind me is empty—no Marley. My mom’s excited expression fades to confusion, which I return with the same kind of energy.
“One sec,” I say as I backtrack to the kitchen, but even the seat where Marley was sitting is now empty. What the…？
I pause, noticing the door to the basement is ajar, her yellow rain jacket gone.
“Marley?” I call as I push it fully open, jogging down the steps. I’m met by silence, the French doors in the corner of the room flung wide open. I peer out into the backyard for a trace of her yellow jacket.
“Marley!”
Still nothing.
I grab a hoodie from the back of my desk chair. “Hey, Mom!” I call upstairs as I pull it on. “I’ll be right back.” I jog outside and around the house, squinting as I search for her.
Where did she—the pond.
I run-limp out of my neighborhood and along the path, my chest heaving by the time the glittering surface of the water comes into view, the air warm after the rain, the sky a blend of pinks and oranges and purples.