That’s it. No more feeling sorry for poor Zoey.
Inside our kitchen, I lay out all the ingredients on the countertop and start prepping just like Mom said. Sometimes I wonder why I don’t do this more often. I’m pretty sure there must be some law against feeding your kids pizza every day.
With the lasagna in the oven and the timer on, I wait patiently at the table reading Drew’s medical textbook which was left on the countertop. I’m engrossed in the chapter about heart surgery when voices enter the apartment.
Shit, is someone else here?
There is no time to think or escape.
“Hey, you’re home. And what’s that smell? You’re cooking?” Drew states, shocked.
Behind him is the same brunette I saw him with earlier today. I wipe my hands on the apron and offer a fake smile. Fake, because something about her, about them being together, just doesn’t sit right.
“Yep, where else would I be?”
“And you’re wearing a dress?”
“So? It was nice out.”
“You went out? On a Sunday?” He scratches his head, pausing, then continues to watch me with inquiring eyes. “And are you reading my textbook?”
“What’s with the fifty questions?” I push past him and cordially reach out my hand. “Hi, I’m Zoey.”
“Hey, I’m Kristy.” She smiles, shaking my hand in return.
The timer goes off, and I move to the oven. With my mitts on, I open the door and see my perfectly cooked lasagna sitting inside. The creamy béchamel sauce looks to die for, bubbling at the surface, jus
t the way my mom makes it.
Taking it out, I place it on the cooling rack and pull out a plate. Then, I realize they’re still watching me. Drew’s in shock. His face couldn’t be any more transparent. I turn around to be polite and offer him a plate. “You guys want some?”
They both decline, having eaten not long ago.
Whatever.
With my plate in hand, I make small talk for a couple of minutes before retreating to my room and eagerly shutting the door behind me, careful not to slam it and display my anger. The nerve of him to bring her back here.
Does he not care about me at all?
Who cares that Zoey almost drowned?
Let’s just carry on!
Okay, that’s selfish. I could audition for a Broadway play with an act like that.
I’m hungry, and with the lasagna cooled down, I devour the plate, licking my lips in delight. Seconds would have been great, but I decide against it, not wanting to disturb their alone time in the living room.
No, they’re probably screwing in his room. Argh! I pick up a sneaker off the floor and throw it at the wall, creating a loud bang. Do you really think that will stop them?
Minutes pass and nothing. No sounds, no giggling of any sort. Bored, I sit at my desk and scroll through my emails, then browse some travel sites just for fun. My neck and eyes become sore from staring at the screen for a long time. Leaning down to my ankles, I unstrap my sandals and toss them in the corner. What’s missing is some tunes. When I press the shuffle button on my iPod, Eye of the Tiger blares through my speakers, and just like always, I play my air guitar, singing along.
My sweats tease me, hanging over the small armchair. It’s late, and while attempting to remove my dress, the zipper gets caught midway down my back. Letting out a frustrated groan, I feel hands against my back causing me to yelp as I turn around in shock. Drew’s standing in the middle of my room. He carefully unzips my dress, then walks to my iPod and turns down the volume slightly.
“Fucking hell, you scared the shit out of me,” I shout at him.
“Well, you didn’t hear me knocking. What was I supposed to do? We’re ordering pizza. What do you want?”
“I’ll pass,” I say casually. “Besides, I cooked. Remember?”