But fake it ‘til you make it, right? I’m going to fake the faking fakest fake out of this dinner. I’ll cook it like a rock star—like a gourmet chef in a five-star establishment.
I stare at the ingredients I’ve set out on the amber flecked granite counter—time for my pre-game pep talk.
“I can do this. Yeah. We’re all able to transform ourselves. I can become a cooking master. I can whip this into shape and cook like there’s no tomorrow. I can chef this up and cook the shit out of it. The internet is my friend. Recipes are my friend. Tutorials are my friend. Macaroni is my friend. Sausage is my friend.” No. That just sounds wrong. Sausage is not my friend. Not sausage.
I inhale a deep breath, getting myself Zen ready. This isn’t the first time I’ve made myself a meal. Come on. I can use the stove and a microwave.
How hard can it be?CHAPTER 5LukeI have low expectations for dinner. Seriously low. But what I’m not expecting? For Feeney to burn the house down. Literally.
“Look, dad!” Shade points excitedly as the football goes whizzing past his head. I turn to see what he’s pointing at.
Big, thick clouds of grey smoke are billowing out the kitchen window.
“Holy bananas! Stay right here!” I check to make sure Shade is going to obey, but he looks scared at my obvious surprise. He’s not going to go anywhere.
I dart up the deck stairs and let myself in the sliding patio door. I leave it open to clear the smoke out. In the kitchen, I can barely make out Feeney’s shape. The smoke detector is ringing shrilly overhead, but I can still hear her coughing and choking.
I rush past her to the source of the smoke. There’s something in the frying pan on the stove, charred into a hunk so black that it’s entirely unrecognizable. But that’s not the only thing going wrong. There’s a pot that’s smoking away too. I remove them both from the burners and throw them not so gently into the sink.
“What were you trying to do? Burn the place down?”
“Obviously not!” Feeney shouts from behind my back.
I can only guess what’s in those pots. I bend closer to inspect it as some of the smoke clears away. I can’t tell what was in the frying pan, but I think I can make out the elbow curve of a piece of macaroni in the pot.
“Did you boil the macaroni dry?!”
“What do you mean boil?”
“You mean you didn’t add water?! Don’t you know you have to boil water, then put the pasta in?! Sweet cheese and crackers, don’t you know even the basics?”
“That’s cute,” she snaps. “I like that you make an effort not to swear when Shade’s around. Just like I do. Because yes, I know the basics. Sorry I was too busy being stressed about how to make what little is in the cupboards and the fridge and got preoccupied trying to figure out what I’m going to feed your child tomorrow and going through a hundred other things in my head. Yes, I know you have to boil water. I just…forgot.”
My god, this is never going to work out.
Shade saves me from saying something that is best left unsaid. I’m not sure what, but I know it would be foul, coming out. Like those silent but deadly farts that you’re afraid of because you know they’re going to linger for hours after, and everyone will smell it and know it was you.
“Are you barbequing hamburgers?” Shade sniffs. “I think they might be a little bit burned.”
I stare at Shade’s big eyes and innocent expression, and my doubt and anger evaporate. If nothing else, Shade needs this. He needs someone who can be there for him in ways I will never be able to be. Feeney might not know the first thing about cooking, and I might get an alert in the middle of my workday that my house is on fire. She might not be much in the way of an actual nanny, but Shade needs someone he can trust, and I can tell, somehow, that Feeney, if nothing else, is nice. She seems kind and compassionate, which goes a long way. It might even stretch far enough to cover the fact that she doesn’t even know how to cook pasta.
She does seem intelligent, though. The looks she gives me hints at dark, deep, brooding thoughts. You can’t have those if you’re not smart.
It’s not really like I have any other choice. I’ve already agreed to this.
I get my phone out of my back pocket, and Shade’s grin is automatic. He’s a smart kid too. Terribly smart. There’s very little I can sneak past him, but there’s so much he still just doesn’t have the capacity to understand yet because he’s too young. It’s hard to find a happy medium. It’s been hard to find a happy anything around here after Britt passed.