“Yeah, I wanted it to arrive in time for the dinner party. Make our home look more cozy to everyone.” She gave me a winning smile.
“Are you saying our home isn’t cozy?” I asked her and she smirked at me. I saw her smiling and realized that I’d said “our home,” as opposed to “my home.” It was weird that I was starting to think of this as our home now. I wasn’t sure how it was going to feel when she moved out. How cozy and homey all her little knick-knacks would feel once she was gone. I’d most probably pack them up into a box and take them to Goodwill. I wouldn’t want to be reminded of her time here. Not once everything came out. It would remind me too much of all I’d lost.
“What do you think, TJ?” she said and then shrieked and ran back to the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” I followed behind her and watched as she hurriedly opened the oven door.
“I’m roasting some potatoes and I didn’t want them to burn.” She pulled out a tray from the oven and placed them on top of the stove. “You like herb-roasted potatoes, right?” She turned to me with a sweet smile. “I remember you used to scarf them down when you’d come over. My mom used to call you the potato monster.”
“She did, didn’t she?” I laughed as I remembered all of the meals that I’d eaten with her family. I’d never thought that one day, we’d be here and she’d be cooking for me. “Her potatoes were the bomb.”
“Yeah, so are mine, though.” Mila laughed.
“As long as you don’t burn them.” I winked at her. “Your mom would never burn them.”
“Shh, you.” She grabbed a towel and swatted me with it as she laughed. “If you keep insulting me, you won’t get any dinner.”
“Hmm, let me hear what’s for dinner, first.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Then I’ll decide if I want to keep insulting you.”
“You’re incorrigible.” She giggled. “I’m making a roast chicken, with roast potatoes, gravy, Brussels sprouts and carrots.”
“Sounds delicious.” I licked my lips.
“And an apple pie with ice cream for dessert.”
“Okay, I’m sold. No more insults.” I paused. “For the day.”
“TJ Walker.” She laughed. “Come on now.”
“Come on now, what?” I grinned. “What are you going to make for the dinner party?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I was thinking of grilling some steaks.”
“Steaks are always good.” I nodded. “Who’s coming, again?”
“Sally and Cody,” she said as she closed the oven door and went to the fridge.
“What about your parents?” I asked. “And Nonno.”
“Nah, didn’t invite them,” she said with a shake of her head. “We can have them over soon.”
“Have you spoken to Nonno recently?” I asked hesitantly.
“Not really.” She shook her head again. “I’ve been busy.”
“So you’ve not seen him, either?” I frowned, my heart feeling heavy. I was the one who was keeping her from him.
“No, I’ll see him soon.” She smiled at me. “I’ve been busy trying to turn this place into a real home. Maybe we’ll have my folks over and your dad.”
“Yeah.” Over my dead body.
“And is your dad seeing anyone? We can invite his latest paramour as well.” She giggled. “I swear that man goes through women like some women go through underwear.”
“I’m not sure what he’s doing right now or if he’s still dating the same lady, or one or more ladies.” My mind immediately flew to Barbie and I could feel myself growing uncomfortable. What would Mila say if I told her that Barbie was sleeping with my dad? If I just dropped it casually into the conversation like it was no big thing, would she react as if it were no big thing? Would she smile and say, “Oh really? That’s funny. Wow, Barbie really gets around.” I half-smiled as that thought crossed my mind. Yeah, right. There was no way that my Mila would ever act that calmly. She’d go quiet first, thinking about what I’d said and then when she processed everything and realized she’d heard correctly, she would lose it. Maybe she’d start shouting. Maybe she’d cry. But I knew that she’d be anything but calm and accepting. That was not a small lie that I could just sweep under the rug.
“Aw, yeah, who can keep up with him,” she said as she took out a bag of Brussels sprouts from the fridge. “Do you have any kosher salt?” she asked me as she started rinsing the sprouts in the sink and scrubbing them.
“I have salt.” I shrugged. “I have no idea what kosher salt is. I’m not Jewish.”
“Oh, TJ.” She rolled her eyes at me. “Pass me the olive oil and black pepper and all the different salts that you have. I’ll check.”
“All what different salts?” I laughed. “I have one regular salt and that’s it.”
“Fine.” She sighed. “Just pass me that as well, then.”
“Yes, boss.” I saluted her and she laughed. “What’s all this for?”