Thread: Wandering in the Night [RA and Chanti]

Perhaps some women would have been offended when his attention was so swiftly taken off her and onto the food. But not Leah. Her bright smile at his astonished pleasure of her cake was a sudden rush, pushing away the pale nervousness of before and lighting up her eyes. I wasnt sure if you would have eaten yet or not. And its Saturday, so I had time to cook. Pink pleasure suffused her cheeks as she slipped past him and retrieved a knife from the drawer. You can have a piece now if you want. Its a spiced pear cake. If you are hungry I have some roast chicken. She uncovered the cake, the rich spicy aroma flooding the small kitchen nook as she deftly cut off a slice of moist, soft cake and handed it to him. It didnt take her long to take the chicken out of the oven where it was staying warm and prepare it. She took it apart with expert movements, covering a large platter she had gotten from a thrift store with chunks of steaming, tender chicken breast, wings and legs with skin the color of roasted honey. Soft roasted potatoes, onions, and carrots were piled up around the meat. She set these on the bar that separated the kitchen nook from the living room. Her apartment was far too small for an actual dining table, and it wasnt like she often had company. In fact, had never had company before. Instead, there were tall stools that she sat on and ate at the bar. She had three, but had never before used but one. Cheap plates and cutlery from bargain basement stores completed the presentation. There was no question that the star of the dinner was the food itself, not a presentation on gleaming china plates and crystal glassware. They would be drinking out of plastic cups from Walmart. She had little to offer except water and sweet iced tea. No 18 bottles of wine here! But the apartment was clean, and soft music played in the background as they ate. Her eyes moved from his backpack, to his face, then to her plate. But there was real pleasure in her eyes as she watched him eat. No, child, you dont stir the eggs, you beat them. Let me show you. The gray-headed matron took the bowl from the child, deft swift movements whipping the eggs up into a frothing frenzy. Now pour the milk from the measuring cup into the eggs, and then mix it together. The milk splashed as the heavy glass measuring cup shook in the little girls hands, but the woman simply wordlessly wiped the splashed milk off the counter. Now, make a fist with your hand and plant it deep into the middle of the flour mixture. The brown-headed girl did just that, standing on a footstool to be able to reach into the ceramic bowl and driving a small fist into the flour. Good! That is called a well. Now pour the milk and eggs into it. Together, step by step, the woman taught the child how to make the rich batter. They fried the sausages together, giggling squeals erupting in the kitchen when some grease splattered. An hour later over a meal of Yorkshire pudding, Margaret Chillingham taught her new foster daughter a life lesson that little Leah Mallory never forgot. Leah, what do we need to live? What would cause you to absolutely die if you did not have? The little girl pondered that question as she chewed a bit of sausage. Air. Margaret nodded encouragingly. What else? Ummmfood? Margaret beamed approval. Exactly. We die if we do not eat. Food is life. When you share food with someone, you are sharing a bit of your life with them, giving them strength and the ability to go on for another day. Sober brown eyes looked up at Margaret, and she met the gaze with her own. I hope you will be a long time with me, Leah. But if not, let me pass this on to you. Food is life. When we share food with someone, we celebrate life itself. Not so long ago, someone once said if you ever want to make a friend, cook for them and share your food with them. People who give you their food, give you their heart. A weathered, aged hand patted the young one. With this first meal together I hope to begin not only to give you my heart, but to teach you to give yours. Here in her tiny little apartment with some drunk bastard singing loudly in the hallway as he made his way to his apartment, Leah felt as if that beloved foster mother she had spent four wonderful years with was here with her, smiling. With that mental image, Leahs nerves relaxed a bit more. From somewhere deep inside she drew up enough boldness to ask what she had been wanting to know all day. Her gaze slid from her plate to his face. Did youdid you have something planned? As soon as she said it she felt stupid. Of course he did. He probably had all sorts of plans. But she did not. She had hopes. She had expectations. But no plans. And she desperately wanted to know what HIS plans were for the evening in front of them.