Always (Bold As Love 4)

“Does she cook when y'all are in Charlotte?” Drake asks, directing his question to Jake, who nods.

“I'm sorry.”

Again, it's like I'm not even in the room. “What's going on? Jake? Drake?”

“I'm sorry, Emily, but unless it comes in a box, you can't cook it,” Drake confesses. “Scratch that. If it's not mac and cheese, you suck.”

“That's not true. I cook for y'all all the time and y'all both eat it.”

“Sweetness,” Jake begins and I can see where he is going with this by the hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Oh no, Jake. I can cook. You love my cooking.”

Then it clicks. He always eats out, if he can. “To avoid making you have to dirty up dishes,” he says. This doesn't make sense. I eat my food. It's not that bad. It's good. Dad eats it too. What the hell? I hit Jake on the arm once more and storm off to the kitchen. I'll show them just how great I can cook. I'll fix spaghetti. I mean, who can mess up spaghetti? Like really?

“Sweetness? Whatcha doing?”

I ignore him. I'm fuming. If I can't cook, then why didn't someone say something before now? Because Drake realized this is what he's going to have to eat in Chicago? Seriously? I can't believe this! How am I not a good cook when everyone eats what I fix? Ugh! These thoughts replay in my mind as I cook the meal.

“Oh no, she's really going at it,” Drake comments from beside Jake. They are standing in the threshold of the kitchen, watching me not so silently. They've been making comments the entire time.

“Do you think it'll be better this time?” Drake asks.

“I don't think you're helping, buddy. She works hard at this, but will it pay off?” he adds after a pause.

“Who's helping now, Jake?”

“Hush.”

It goes back and forth. Jake tries his best not to make comments, but it slips out every now and then. I'm furious and praying that this meal is downright delicious. With grace, I set the pot on the table and stand back with my hand on my hips. I'm not even hungry anymore. They took my appetite and stomped it to death. Tentatively, the boys take a seat at the table and scoop noodles and sauce onto their plates. They take their time, sprinkling on the Parmesan cheese.

Finally, they each take a bite simultaneously. I watch Drake carefully, because let's be honest. If anyone is going to immediately show facial expressions, it's going to be Drake. Slightly, his nose scrunches just the tiniest bit.

I've failed.

My shoulders slump and Jake stands to come towards me as he was watching me.

“Don't.”

Quietly, I leave them in the kitchen and head up to Jake's room. I close the door softly and crawl into his bed. If only I could sleep. This isn't something I want to think about right now. It's not a situation that I want to dwell on. But who am I kidding? I am who I am and that means I'm going to worry.

How can I ever be a good wife, mother, anything, if I can't cook? What are we going to do? Eat out all the time? That's expensive. We can't sustain on macaroni and cheese for the rest of our lives either. Maybe the most important question is how did I mess up spaghetti? It's so simple and I ruined it. Why do the women cook most of the time anyway?

Suddenly, there's a creak coming from the bed as weight is pressed onto it. Jake. I know without looking that it's him. He's come to make me feel better, but I don't want his comfort. Right?

“Sweetness, it's fine.”

“No, it's not, Jake.” I roll over to look at him. “How can I step into the role of a wife if I can't cook?! I can't believe y'all. You should have told me sooner. Then I would know that it isn't worth trying.”

“What isn't worth trying?” he asks calmly.

“I don't know. Jake, I feel like I've failed.”

“It's just cooking, Sweetness. All your other attributes makes up for your lack of skill in the kitchen. Trust me, in the grand scheme of things, you have succeeded.”

As if knowing exactly what I wanted and needed, Jake pulls me up and hugs me, kissing my cheek as well.

“When have you been practicing?” I ask now that we are alone, and I have his attention.