I remembered after returning to my mother’s house all those years ago, devouring a sandwich in much the same way.
“You’re going to choke, Imogen,” Mom had scolded, her eyes wide as I cleaned my plate in a matter of minutes.
It took months, maybe years, to not eat as though my life depended on it. It was hard to explain to people who had never experienced hunger, how hard it was to break the habit of fear. Fear that tomorrow I wouldn’t be able to find food. That I’d wake up in the morning with the hollow feeling in my gut that signaled another day without anything to eat.
Watching Yoss eat the food that I could now take for granted, I remembered that feeling. That emptiness.
And I wanted to cry. Because while I had left that feeling behind me, Yoss still experienced it every single day.
“You can have seconds. There’s more than enough,” I told him, breaking the silence.
Yoss nodded, not quite looking at me, getting to his feet and walking to the stove where he scooped more pasta onto his plate.
“Thank you,” Yoss said softly after he finished his second plate. He carefully wiped his mouth with a napkin, balling it in his fist.
“You don’t need to thank me. Seriously, it’s just pasta—”
“Not just the pasta,” he interrupted. “Never just for the pasta.”
I picked up our empty plates and carried them to the sink, dropping them with a clang. I braced myself against the counter, my knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white.
“Let me show you the spare room. There’s a double bed in there. The mattress is new, so it should be okay. The duvet is yellow. Nothing girlie and pink, I promise,” I chuckled nervously. Why was I so nervous?
“I’m sure it’s fine. You’ve seen the places I’ve slept before.” A laugh with no humor. “I’d take anything over that hospital.”
I pushed away from the counter, knocking into him. I hadn’t realized he was behind me. He stumbled back, his hands coming out to grab me.
Hold me.
Touch me.
Please…
His fingers never made contact.
The moment fizzled into nothing.
Always nothing…
“Okay, let me show you the room,” I said, wishing I didn’t sound as disappointed as I was.
What do I expect having him here?
But I knew, without a doubt, that there was still hope.
I led him down the narrow hallway, opening the door to the left and pushing it open. I flipped the switch on the wall and light flooded the small and overly cluttered room.
The spare room, like the rest of my house, was piled high with stuff. Random ski equipment I had only used once, old furniture, cast iron collectables, a collection of vintage fabrics I had thought to use for a re-upholstery project that never actually happened.
“I know there’s a lot of stuff in here.” I picked up a wicker basket overflowing with ribbons and hair ties.
Yoss looked around, his eyes flitting across things. Slowly he walked to the far corner and ran his hand along the wall. Over three distinct splotches of color that stood out against the cream background. Pink. Yellow. Green.
“What’s this for? Are you planning to paint the walls?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to where I stood.
“I was going to. A long time ago.” I smiled. “This was going to be Gabby’s nursery. I liked the yellow. Chris had wanted the pink. I hate pink. It’s such a stereotypically girly color. We fought about it of course. We compromised on the green.” I bit down on my bottom lip. But not to control the tears. There were none. Not anymore.
“Obviously we never painted it,” I finished, putting the basket back on the dresser. “But I finally got a yellow comforter for in here.”
“I like the yellow,” Yoss said, his attention on those three strips of random color that I could never bring myself to paint over. “I think it would look nice in here. Brighten things up.”
I snorted. “Since when have you decided to become an interior designer?”
Yoss grinned and then looked down at a pile of stuff that leaned precariously against the desk in the corner. “No way,” he breathed.
What was he looking at?
He lifted up a pair of worn roller skates I had bought on a whim many years ago.
Roller skates almost exactly like the ugly brown pair he had given me for my seventeenth birthday.
The pair that had been destroyed in the fire.
“Yeah, there should be another pair around here somewhere,” I said offhandedly.
I didn’t know why I bought two pairs of roller skates. Chris had looked at me as if I were crazy when I brought them home, so excited about my purchase.
“I hate roller-skating. Why would you buy those stupid things?” he had asked me.
So I had put them with the rest of the junk I accumulated but could never throw out.
“Did you ever figure out how to stay on your feet?” Yoss joked, putting them down again.
“I haven’t really been since—”
“Maybe we should go sometime. If you can find the other pair that is,” Yoss suggested, surprising me.
He smiled.
I smiled.
“Yeah, that sounds nice,” I agreed, my heart expanding.
“Thanks,” he said again and I waved away his statement.