Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Stop stealing my bacon then.”
He lets out a choked laugh but covers it up with a cough. “If you recall, I gave you bacon this morning but you found the toilet to be greater company than I.”
“For future reference.” I look at his profile, he should smile more often. He doesn’t have any of those little crinkles around his eyes that tell you you’re in the presence of a happy person. Something about this makes my chest ache. Caleb had the lines, he was always smiling. How can his brother seem so different? “And me too, I think it’ll be good if we at least try to tolerate each other,” I say and hold out my hand. “Shake on it?” He stares at my hand like it’s a foreign object. “Oh, right, the no touching of the hands thing. Sorry, I forgot.”
He falls silent for a moment, I see the cogs working in his head as if he’s making a decision. He pulls out onto the street and finally talks, “I don’t like germs.”
“Come again?”
“I have an issue with germs.” He adds when he sees the look of shock on my face, “It’s a real condition.”
I nod slowly, “Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”
“Good. Don’t bring it up, it only aggravates me. Just ignore it.”
I nod, appreciating his honesty and wanting to respect his request. “I won’t mention it.”
He seems to let out a breath but I can’t be sure as I only saw his chest deflate slower than before with no sound to accompany it.
We fall silent once more. This time it’s comfortable.
******
It’s dinner time, I’m starving. After searching the fridge and cupboards I decide on spaghetti. I make a mean spaghetti Bolognese according to friends and it’s been forever since I cooked. Genuinely, I want to go up to my room and bury my head but I need to start taking better care of myself. I’ve lost six pounds putting me one pound under my recommended weight for my height and size. Which in reality means I’m about four pounds underweight because the baby obviously weighs something.
This scares me. Caleb would never let me go more than a few hours without food. He’s done nothing but force me into the kitchen throughout my entire pregnancy. I know if he could cook he would’ve but after a while of trying and failing on so many different dishes, he just started putting me in there and helping in every way he could.
Caleb… just… I…
Sigh.
Nathan went upstairs as soon as we arrived home three hours ago and hasn’t been back since. Maybe he’s hungry. I should make some for him too.
Oooh, I’ll even be able to make some homemade garlic bread. Brilliant.
I tug the apron on, groaning with frustration when it only just reaches around me enough so I can tie the very ends of the strings together, and set about making dinner. I’m one of those people who cleans as I go along so even though what I’m doing is quite messy there isn’t a huge mess left when I’m done.
It smells delicious as it simmers in the pot and even more delicious when the bread begins to rise in the oven. With a glass of juice in my hand I sit on the counter at the corner and stir the simmering Bolognese. My mouth is watering, I’m so hungry.
Once it’s served I set the table and contemplate on whether I should shout for Nathan or go upstairs and knock for him. I don’t want to piss him off by invading his space so I shout for him first. Unfortunately I get no response so I shout again.
I make my way up the stairs and shout once more. He’s either being extremely ignorant or he’s not here.
I’ll just knock on his study door.
“Nathan?” I call and knock on the door. “Nathan? Hello?” My hand clasps the handle, I’m about to push the door open when I change my mind. He could be sleeping at his desk or listening to music in his ears and I don’t want to disturb him, or anger him by invading his space. This is his house, he asked me not to do certain things so I’ll respect that.
I wrap up his plate in foil before placing it in the oven, and pack the leftovers away before putting them in the fridge. I’m mostly doing this just in case Nathan comes down. It’s like I’m delaying so I can eat in his company.
Sitting down at last, I bite into my food and moan. That is so good. I don’t remember when food stopped tasting like ash in my mouth but I’m grateful I have this one joy back in my life. It’s like a tiny bit of colour poking through all of the grey that is my consciousness.