Grace for Drowning(17)

"A little, maybe, but at this point I'm kind of used to it. It's not like my adult life has been full of options. You know what an MRE is?"

"Nope."

"It stands for 'meal, ready-to-eat.' Basically, they're pre-prepared ration packs for soldiers. They made up a lot of our diet when we were out in the field. They usually taste like ass, but they have all the nutrition and energy you need in a simple, no-fuss package. Eat that shit for a few years and you start seeing every meal that way; just fuel in the tank."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "God, I can't imagine thinking like that. I never get sick of trying new things, mixing flavors. There was a time when I'd go entire months without eating the same thing twice."

I loved seeing her so animated. Just the mention of food had set her eyes sparkling.

"So, this is probably at the top of the list of 'questions chefs are sick of hearing,'" I said, "but what's your favorite food?"

Her gaze rose to the ceiling and she began pacing. "Oh God, I don't know. There's so many. Sushi, maybe? I love Japanese. It's simple and fresh, but the flavors are so unique."

I made a face. "Never been able to do the raw stuff. Something about that texture just doesn't work for me."

"Oh, come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I guess I must have left it over in Afghanistan." I let my face grow serious for a few seconds, just long enough for her to freak out that she might have offended me, before breaking into a smile.

She laughed. "Touché."

"Is that the kind of stuff you cook then? Japanese?"

The slip in her expression told me I'd hit a nerve. "I can do the basics," she replied slowly, "but sushi and some of the other stuff is deceptively complicated." There was a wary pause, as if she was weighing how much more to say. "Most of my experience is with European styles. I worked in an Italian place back in New York, and then here..."

She trailed off, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to put the basic picture together. Before I got my shit under control, I lost two jobs due to my drinking, and those were just entry level retail gigs. Low stress, low responsibility. I couldn't even imagine trying to hold down a position in a high-powered kitchen while running a twenty-four-seven buzz.

"Let's just say that I haven't cooked in a while," she said.

"That's a shame."

She nodded, but the heart had faded from the conversation now. We were back in murky waters.

We didn't talk for the rest of the night except to share a limp goodbye, but still, it felt like progress.





Chapter Six





Grace





"God, they're all so shiny and orange, like bodybuilding Oompa Loompas," said Joy. It was one of the rare nights where both of us were off work, and so we were holed up in her apartment with pizza and a lethal dose of ice cream. I was trying to introduce her to the wonder of Jersey Shore, but it was not going well.

"Think of it as a nature documentary," I replied. "You're learning about a more primitive form of man."

She scrunched up her face. "I don't know, it makes me feel kind of dirty somehow."

"But don't you feel better about yourself too? You know, by comparison?"

She laughed. "Ah, it's a self-esteem booster. I guess I can see that. And it's certainly wiped out any lingering desire I had to try fake tan."

I couldn't believe how much fun I was having. Our conversation was totally mundane — news, movies, music, just ordinary people chatter — but that was exactly what I needed. It made me feel like a normal person again, passing time the way everyone else did. Ever since Tom's death, I'd felt detached, like I no longer had any idea how to relate to this world, so it was wonderful to find that I was still capable of just being.

Seizing the ice cream tub, Joy spun to face me, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Anyway, no more avoiding the question. Is your new late night friend still paying you visits?"

I let out an exasperated laugh. Initially, I'd kept Logan's behavior to myself. I didn't want to have to answers any questions about why he was being so tenacious, and I figured that eventually he'd get the hint and give up. But it was like trying to stare down a stone. He just kept showing up, day after day. Eventually I caved and told Joy. I'd already opened up to her about Tom, and I really wanted a second opinion.

"Yep. Every damn time." I gave my head a little shake. "I actually talked to him the other night."

Triumph flashed across her face. "I knew you'd crack!"

"Yeah, yeah," I said, rolling my eyes. "It was just so confusing and so awkward, and he clearly wasn't going to stop. I figured maybe if we talked, I could find out what he wanted." Obviously I already had some idea what he wanted. That night outside the bar all those months ago, and then again in the alley the other week both pointed in one direction; he wanted to play the white knight. I just had no idea why. It didn't make any sense. The curiosity, the earnestness, the concern, they didn't belong in a man who barely knew me. And yet there he was, poking his nose where it wasn't wanted, silently inserting himself into my life. That brute force approach made me angry. I didn't need his help. I had things under control. Hell, I'd stopped drinking at work, just to show myself that I could.