Allysa grabs the vase again. “I run into old friends every day. They don’t bring me lunch.” She slides the vase back to me. We’re using it like a conch shell, as if we need it for permission to speak.
“Your friends probably aren’t chefs. That’s what chefs do: They cook people lunch.” I slide the vase back to her, but she says nothing. She’s concentrating so hard, it’s like she’s attempting to read my mind to get past all the lies she thinks I’m spewing. I pull the vase back from her. “It’s honestly nothing. Yet. You’ll be the first to know if anything changes.”
She looks momentarily satisfied by that response, but there’s a flicker of something in her face before she looks away. I can’t tell if it’s concern or sadness. I don’t ask her, because I know this is hard for her. I imagine the idea of any man bringing me lunch who isn’t Ryle probably makes her a little sad.
In Allysa’s idea of a perfect world, she would have a brother who never hurt me, and I would still be her sister-in-law.
Chapter Seven Atlas
“When you’re working with flounder, always hold your knife like this.” I demonstrate how to start with the dull end at the tail, but Theo looks away as soon as I begin to scale the fish.
“Gross,” he mutters, covering his mouth. “I can’t.” Theo moves to the other side of the counter, putting space between himself and the cooking lesson.
“I’m only scaling it. I haven’t even cut it open yet.”
Theo makes a gagging sound. “I have no interest in working with food. I’ll stick to being your therapist.” Theo pushes himself onto the counter. “Speaking of, did you ever text Lily?”
“I did.”
“She text you back?”
“Sort of. It was a short text, so I decided to take her lunch today to see where her head is at.”
“That was a bold move.”
“I’ve spent my life not making bold moves when it comes to her. I wanted to make sure she knew where I stood this time.”
“Oh no,” Theo says. “What cheesy thing did you say to her about fish and beaches and shores?”
I never should have told him what I said to Lily about finally reaching the shore. I’m not going to hear the end of it. “Shut up. You’ve probably never even spoken to a girl; you’re twelve.”
Theo laughs, but then I notice an awkwardness settle over him when he thinks I’m not looking. He grows quiet, despite the ruckus going on around us. There are at least five other people in the kitchen right now, but everyone is so focused on their work, no one is paying attention to the conversation I’m having with Theo.
“You like someone?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Kinda.”
The discussions I have with Theo are usually one-sided. As much as he likes to ask questions, he doesn’t answer very many, so I tread carefully. “Oh yeah?” I try to act casual with my response so he’ll expand. “Who is she?”
Theo is looking down at his hands. He’s picking at his thumbnail, but I can see his shoulders sink a little after my question, like I did something wrong.
Or said something wrong.
“Or he,” I clarify. I whisper it to be sure he’s the only one who hears it.
Theo’s eyes dart up to mine.
He doesn’t have to confirm or deny anything. I can see the truth written in the fear that’s resting behind his eyes. I give my attention back to the fish I’m preparing, and as nonchalantly as possible, I say, “Do you go to school with him?”
Theo doesn’t immediately answer. I’m not sure if I’m the first person he’s admitted this part of himself to, so I want to make sure to treat that with the care it deserves. I want him to know he has an ally in me, but I also hope he’s aware he has an ally in his father, too.
Theo looks around to make sure no one is hovering long enough to follow along with our conversation. “He’s been in math club with me all year.” His words are quick and concise, like he wants to release them and never say them again.
“Does your dad know?”
Theo shakes his head. I watch as he swallows what look like nervous thoughts.
I put down my knife when I’m done scaling the fish and move to the sink closest to Theo to wash my hands. “I’ve known your dad for a long time. He’s one of my best friends for a reason. I don’t surround myself with people who aren’t good.” I can see the reassurance settle in him when I say that, but I can also tell he’s uncomfortable and probably wants to change the subject. “I would say you should text this person you like, but you’re probably the only twelve-year-old left on earth without a cell phone. You’ll never date anyone at this rate. You’ll probably be single and phoneless forever.”