Levi: Any favorites?
Me: Anything’s good. I’m not picky.
“You two square?” Audrey asks, scraping up the last bit of waffles and syrup off her plate.
“Yeah, we’re good. He said he’ll make dinner tonight.”
“Yes!” she pumps her arm.
I stare at her in fascination. “You don’t even know what he’s making.”
“Doesn’t matter. Levi’s an amazing cook. He learned from his mom and she’s like legit Italian. Makes insane pasta dishes.”
“Those pancakes he made were yummy.”
“Oh, that was nothing,” she scoffs. “Especially if he’s in an apologetic mood...” She rubs her hands together. “Dinner’s gonna be delicious.”
“What, does he lose his temper often enough to be making you dinner all the time?”
“No, the opposite. Levi rarely loses his cool. That’s what makes it so special.” She walks around the corner into the kitchen and rinses off her plate.
“So, what, you like it when he gets angry?” I pause, eyeing her speculatively. “You try to rile him up, don’t you?”
She throws her head back, a throaty laugh escaping. “Oh I like you, Sam.” She sets the plate in the dishwasher and closes it up. “He doesn’t fall for it. He knows my tricks too well. Every so often something gets him, though. It’s the Italian in him. He can’t help it,” she grins.
She goes over to the entryway and picks up her purse, slinging it crosswise over her body. “Well, I have to run some errands. What are your plans today?”
“Cleaning up in there,” I motion to my room.
She grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that. We didn’t want to touch it. Chris could be a little gross.”
“Yeah, I got that,” I deadpan. “No, it’s fine. One time cleaning and then it’ll be good as new,” I smile brightly.
“I like your attitude. I could use some of that positivity myself. And your bracelets too. Where’d you get them?”
I self-consciously adjust the cool metal on my wrists. If only she knew why I really wear them. “Oh, they’re nothing special. Just from Forever 21.”
“I love that place. They have the cutest crop tops.”
She grabs her keys and sunglasses, opening up the front door. “I’ll see you for dinner. It’s gonna be so delicious,” she sing-songs on her way out before stopping and turning back around, looking more sober. “I’ll give Levi a heads-up about the pow-wow.”
I nod and she leaves, the apartment silent once again. I’m insanely curious about this meeting tonight. What happened with Levi and Velvet Swan?
My mind wants to brainstorm but I better put the time till then to good use. I don my rubber gloves, ready to tackle the room while I’m still motivated.
Several hours later, I’m a sweaty mess, but satisfied in the way you get from a job well done. After a good scrubbing, the walls are white again, the carpet free of stains, and you can actually see light coming in from the window. One of my better clean-ups, if I do say so myself.
“Holy shit. It looks like a different place in here.”
I let out a shriek, whipping around, and Levi startles at my sudden movement.
I hold my hand to my chest, my heart racing. I was so in the zone, I didn’t even hear him come in.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His black button-up strains at the seams of his sleeve as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. I just stare at him, waiting for anything else he has to say. “It must have taken a long time. The cleaning, I mean.”
I nod silently, curious to see how much he’ll speak unprompted. I had to practically force it out of him in the laundry room.
“I got stuff for dinner,” he motions behind him after a minute. I nod again, bringing a hand up to my mouth to hide my smile. He’s so clearly uncomfortable trying to continue a conversation single-handedly. It’s adorable.
He was completely at ease when I saw him with Audrey yesterday morning making breakfast, so it’s not that he can’t converse easily. Even when I joined in, he was fine with her there as a buffer. Maybe you have to work your way up to that point with him.
Well, we’re just going to have to accelerate that timeline if I’ll be living here. I have no reservations about talking to anyone at any time, a skill that comes in handy waitressing.
I strip off the rubber gloves and swipe the hair out of my eyes. “Show me what you got.”
He leads me into the kitchen where potatoes, flour, eggs, and a big tub of ricotta cheese sit on the counter. What’s the possible combination of these ingredients? Definitely not anything I’ve ever had at home. That’s laughable, though. My mom’s never cooked a meal in her life. It was microwave meals, fast food, or nothing.
“I’m making gnocchi,” he says, washing his hands at the sink.
Gnocchi? “That sounds made up.”
The corner of his mouth lifts the slightest bit. “It’s real, I promise.”
I glance at the food again. Everything there is delicious at least.
I sidle up to him as he fills a pot with water, setting it on the stovetop to boil. “Is it one of your mom’s Italian recipes?”
He pauses, glancing over at me. “How did you... oh, Audrey. She talks too much,” he mutters. “Yeah, she taught me how to make it.”
“Is this like some age old tradition passed on from generation to generation?” I ask, bouncing on the balls of my feet.
He side-eyes my obvious excitement, but I can’t help it. I love the idea of traditions, ceremonies, rites of passage. Really anything that represents the bonds of family. I’ve always wanted that for myself. Something that connects you other than just blood. Shared experiences you can rely on, take comfort in. The closest I have is getting to spend Christmas at my aunt’s house, but even that was taken away from me this past year when Mom forbid me from going. We had to see stupid Rob’s family instead. What a waste.
“I guess you could say that,” Levi muses. “I know my Nonna taught my mom and then she taught me.”
“That’s so cool,” I breathe.
Maybe he can hear the reverence in my voice because he asks carefully, “Would you like to learn?”
“You’d teach me? You’d share your family’s secret recipe?”
“Well, it’s not really a secret. It’s just gnocchi-”
“Yes,” I grab his arm. “I absolutely want to learn.” I jump up and down in place, beyond ready to immerse myself in ancient Italian traditions.
He pointedly looks at my hand on him, his forearm firm and warm beneath my fingers, and I let go hastily. He must not like touching. Got it.
“Okay,” he says, shaking his head. “Go, uh, wash your hands.” I scoot past him over to the sink, inadvertently brushing against him in the cramped space, and he steps away. Oops, I did it again.
I give a surreptitious sniff to my armpits. Maybe I’m sweatier than I realized. The shirt I’m wearing was pretty ratty to begin with, so it’s hard to gauge how much worse for wear it is.
“I’m pretty gross from cleaning. How about I shower and help you after?”