I met his eyes. “You embarrassed me first.”
By five o’clock the house was crowded. Cars lined the street. His mother brought the cake. His brothers showed up with beer. Everyone walked in smiling, asking what smelled so good.
Nothing smelled good.
Because I wasn’t cooking.
Then Ryan’s aunt Linda pushed open the kitchen door, expecting to see trays of food covering every surface. Instead, she saw spotless counters, an empty stove, and a single plate in the sink from my lunch.
The silence that followed spread through the house like a sudden blackout.
And then Ryan’s mother turned to him and asked, “What exactly is going on here?”
For a moment nobody said anything. Then everyone began speaking at once.
“Where’s dinner?”
“Did the food get delivered already?”
“Ryan, what happened?”
