A Thousand Memories

Twelve

Leah texted me on Tuesday afternoon.

Come over at 6. Bring nothing.

I replied fast.

Okay. What are we doing.

Her reply came a minute later.

Cooking. Don’t ruin it.

I stared at my phone and smiled. Then I tried to stop smiling because Leah always noticed when I looked too happy.

At 5:55 I was at her door. I knocked once. She opened almost immediately, like she had been waiting near the door.

“You’re early,” she said.

“It’s five minutes,” I replied.

“It’s early,” she repeated, then stepped aside so I could come in.

I took my shoes off without being told. That felt like progress. Leah watched me anyway like she was checking.

“Wash your hands,” she said.

“Yes boss,” I replied.

She gave me a look.

“Yes,” I corrected.

I washed my hands in the kitchen sink while she moved around getting things ready. She had ingredients laid out already. Chicken, onions, tomatoes, garlic, spices, rice. It smelled like she had already started something.

When I turned around, she handed me a cutting board and a knife.

“Onions,” she said.

I looked down. “You trust me with a knife.”

“I trust you to follow instructions,” she replied.

“That sounds like you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t,” she said.

I laughed. “Fair.”

She pointed at the onions. “Cut them small.”

I started cutting. Leah watched me for a moment, then said, “Not like that.”

“I’m cutting them,” I replied.

“You’re struggling,” she said.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

Leah stepped closer, took the knife gently, and showed me the motion she wanted. Then she handed it back.

“Like that,” she said.

“Okay,” I replied.

She stayed near me for a second, watching my hands. It made me nervous in a stupid way. I wanted to impress her with onions, which was a new low for me.

I tried to copy her method. Leah nodded once.

“Better,” she said.

That was praise, in Leah language.

While I cut onions, she started cooking. She moved fast and confidently. She knew where everything was. She didn’t waste time searching for things. She measured spices by instinct.

I wanted to comment on how good she looked doing normal things, but I remembered her rule.

Do not make it a big thing.

So I stayed quiet and focused.

After a few minutes, I rubbed my eyes.

Leah glanced at me. “You’re crying already.”

“It’s the onions,” I said.

“It’s also your personality,” she replied.

“That’s rude,” I said.

“It’s accurate,” she replied.

I finished chopping and slid the onions toward her.

She looked down. “Not bad.”

I straightened up. “Thank you.”

She sighed. “Don’t act like you won a prize.”

“I did win,” I said. “I won your approval.”

Leah stared at me. “Stop talking.”

I smiled. “Okay.”

She handed me tomatoes next.

“Chop,” she said.

I chopped. This time she didn’t correct me. That felt like another win.

While she stirred the pot, she asked, “How was your day.”

“Fine,” I replied. “Long. Yours.”

She shrugged. “Fine.”

That was her normal answer. I didn’t push.

As we cooked, the kitchen got warmer. Leah took her cardigan off and hung it on a chair. Her sleeves were pushed up. She moved around the stove and the counter with her hair tied back, focused on the food.

I stood at the cutting board and tried not to stare.

Leah noticed anyway.

“What,” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“You’re looking,” she replied.

“I’m listening,” I tried.

She stared at me. “That makes no sense.”

I laughed. “Okay. I was looking.”

“Don’t,” she said.

“Why,” I asked.

She paused. “Because you make me self-conscious.”

I softened my voice. “Okay. I won’t.”

Leah looked slightly relieved, then turned back to the stove.

After a while she handed me a spoon.

“Taste,” she said.

I tasted the sauce. “It needs salt.”

Leah nodded like I had done something correct. She added salt.

“Now taste again,” she said.

I tasted. “Better.”

Leah nodded once. “Okay.”

That was another kind of trust. She asked my opinion. She used it. She didn’t argue just to argue.

I kept my smile small.

We ate at her small kitchen table. Leah served the food in bowls. Rice, chicken stew, vegetables. Simple, but it looked good.

“Eat,” she said.

“Yes boss,” I replied.

Leah narrowed her eyes. “Do not start.”

I raised my hands. “Okay.”

I ate. It was good. Better than good. It tasted like home, even though it wasn’t my home.

“This is very good,” I said.

“I know,” Leah replied.

I smiled. “I like when you say that.”

“Say what,” she asked.

“I know,” I replied.

Leah stared at me. “Why.”

“Because you don’t pretend,” I said. “If you know you’re good at something, you say it.”

She looked away. “Everyone pretends.”

“I don’t,” I said.

Leah glanced at me. “You pretend you’re calm.”

I laughed. “That’s true.”

We ate quietly for a few minutes. Leah looked relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen much lately. Not fully relaxed, but more present. She wasn’t checking her phone. She wasn’t watching the door. She was just eating.

That felt important.

When we finished, Leah stood up and started washing dishes immediately.

“Let me wash,” I said.

“No,” she replied.

“Leah,” I tried again.

She looked at me. “Fine. You wash. I dry.”

I moved to the sink and started washing plates. Leah stood next to me with a towel, drying and placing dishes on the rack. The kitchen was small, so we kept bumping elbows.

“You’re in my space,” she said.

“This kitchen is tiny,” I replied.

“You’re still in my space,” she repeated.

I moved slightly. “Better.”

“Not really,” she said.

I smiled. “You want me close.”

She stopped drying. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting,” I said.

Leah stared at me for a second, then went back to drying. Her cheeks were slightly pink.

I washed a plate and handed it to her. Our fingers touched briefly. Leah didn’t pull away. She just took the plate and dried it.

That simple contact felt bigger than it should.

When the dishes were done, Leah wiped the counter. I dried my hands and leaned back against the fridge.

“So,” I said. “Did I ruin it.”

Leah looked at me. “Not yet.”

“That’s good,” I replied.

She nodded. “You followed instructions.”

“I can follow instructions,” I said.

Leah raised her eyebrows. “You wore your shirt inside out last week.”

“That was once,” I said.

“That was last week,” she replied.

“That still counts as once,” I argued.

Leah shook her head. “You are not serious.”

“I am serious about you,” I said, without thinking.

Leah’s face changed immediately. Her eyes narrowed slightly, not angry, just careful.

“Don’t,” she said.

I swallowed. “Sorry.”

Leah turned back to the counter and kept wiping even though it was already clean.

I hated that I had made her tense, even for a second.

I cleared my throat. “Okay. I will be normal.”

Leah didn’t respond right away. Then she said quietly, “Come here.”

My heart jumped. I tried to keep my face calm.

I walked toward her slowly. “Okay.”

Leah turned to face me. She looked at my mouth for a second, then up at my eyes.

“Do not make it a big thing,” she said.

“I won’t,” I promised.

She moved closer and kissed me.

It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and clear, like she had decided and wanted me to understand she decided.

I kept my hands at my sides at first, then lifted them slowly and placed them lightly at her waist. Leah didn’t pull away. She moved in closer, just slightly. She kissed me again, longer.

When she pulled back, she kept her face close to mine.

“Okay,” she said softly.

I nodded. “Okay.”

Then she stepped away and said, “Now you can go.”

I smiled. “That’s it.”

“That’s it,” she replied.

“Can I have one more,” I asked.

Leah stared at me like she was deciding if I deserved it.

Then she kissed me again. Shorter this time. Sweet.

“Go,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied.

I walked to the door. Leah followed me.

At the door, she said, “You did not mess it up.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said,” I replied.

“It is not nice,” she said.

“It is,” I insisted.

Leah rolled her eyes and opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I said.

She hesitated, then kissed me once more, quick and firm, like she wanted to end it on her terms.

Then she stepped back. “Go.”

I left.

On the way home, I kept thinking about how normal the night was. Cooking. Eating. Washing dishes. A kiss in the kitchen that didn’t feel like a big moment but still felt important.

Leah was letting me into ordinary parts of her life.

And the ordinary parts were starting to feel like the best parts.