“It isn’t necessary. I have to cook for me, and putting twice as much food in the pan isn’t a particularly daunting task.”
“Well, I feel like I’m getting the hang of this cooking-over-a-fire thing, and I want to try something new. I’ve been told I’m a good cook.” She smiles broadly.
“Who told you that?”
“My mom. My sister. Ex-boyfriends.”
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“So,” she asks again
, “what else do you have?”
“There are a few fresh vegetables that need to be used before they go off,” I say. “There are potatoes, carrots, and squash, which last the longest. You could do something with the broccoli and zucchinis.”
“Yes! I can definitely do something with that. Do you have cheese?”
I show Seri where the other food is stored in the kitchen. I also give her a rundown of what’s in the barn but explain that I don’t really want to trudge through the snow to get anything until it’s absolutely necessary.
“I guess getting all that gear on just to grab something out of the freezer is a bit much, Seri says with a laugh.
“It’s not the effort,” I tell her. “It’s the cold. Getting up on the roof this morning still has my lungs burning. It’s not safe to go out when you don’t have to.”
“Yes, that’s true,” she says. “Sorry, I’m not used to thinking that way.”
“It takes some time to get in the mindset. You also haven’t been out since you got here. If you went outside, even just for a minute, you wouldn’t forget.”
“I’m not even sure I could get out the way you did, climbing up that pile of snow.”
“You would if you had to.”
“I guess so.”
Seri gathers up a pile of food to cook later while I tend to the fire. It has finally done its job, and the room is warm again. I move from the front of the fireplace to the chair and page through one of my books while Seri entertains Solo with a stick. She wiggles the stick on the floor near him, and he tries to pounce on it. Sometimes he arches up and hisses at the stick, which makes Seri laugh.
I give up on reading and watch the two of them play. The whole scene is surreal, as if I were watching a television show instead of looking from the chair to the floor of my cabin. Solo is growing, filling out, and his hair isn’t so scraggly anymore, and Seri looks completely at ease playing with him while I watch. Normally, I would feel like an outsider to the scene, but I don’t. I’m not sure if it’s because they’re in my place or what. Everything seems very natural, and I’m starting to feel like the subject of a Norman Rockwell painting.
This is not normal. Not at all.
I should feel uncomfortable, but I don’t. I’ve had Solo less than a week and only first met Seri four days ago, but she looks perfectly natural in front of my fire, playing with my cat. I would never feel this comfortable with Margot here, and I’ve known her much longer. I’m actually enjoying watching Seri and the kitten play, and I even laugh along with her when Solo steps on a piece of loose bark, scares himself, and goes running off under the bed, no longer willing to face the evil stick.
We spend the day like this, Seri and I taking turns playing with the cat and not really talking about much other than the weather and what Solo should be eating aside from milk. Though I usually bristle when someone tells me what to do, I don’t get tense when she tells me cow’s milk probably isn’t best for Solo, and we talk easily about whether or not he should drink broth made from caribou.
That evening, Seri cooks vegetables along with chunks of caribou meat and seasons everything with spices she found in one of my cabinets. The meal is far tastier than anything I ever cook. It must smell better, too, since I have a hard time keeping Solo off of my lap while I’m trying to eat.
After I finish the dishes, Seri asks about bathing, and I help her fill the basin in the bathroom with hot water so she can get herself clean. It’s not a large enough container to be considered a bathtub, but it gets the job done.
She comes out dressed in a clean pair of sweats I handed her earlier, and the unreal feeling of normalcy hits me again. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the strange sensation and then wonder why the hell I prefer to feel uncomfortable.
“I really am grateful to you, Bishop,” Seri says softly. “I know if it hadn’t been for you, I probably would have died out there.”
I shrug. I feel like we’ve already been over this, and I have nothing else that hasn’t already been said to add to the conversation. Though I am definitely getting used to her presence, I still don’t like the idea of sharing my space with her, and I’m waiting for the unease to come back. Her extreme reaction this morning didn’t help. I expected something like it the first time she woke up and found herself here, but she remained calm then.
Maybe this morning was some kind of delayed reaction. Maybe the reality of it all finally hit her, and even though she initiated sex, she’s realizing I’m more physically powerful than she, and she is concerned about her safety.
She has every right to be concerned. If she had any idea what kind of person I am, she’d go running into the snow, preferring to take her chances with the elements. Strangely enough, I hope she doesn’t figure it out. Once she got over her morning conniption, our conversations had been rather pleasant. If she knew about my past, would she continue to speak with me so freely?
Probably not.