In Halls

Roasted

Tonight was the night. I'd casually mentioned it to all of my flatmates. I'd checked for dietary needs and preferences. I'd assessed my available ingredients, most of which were bought by my parents on that first day in halls. I had to cook them all soon, given that they were on the verge of going off. Making dinner for six was a logical way to prevent food waste. And I'd be fulfilling my promise to do a group meal, clearing an obligation that probably none of the others remembered.

I lined up my two roasting tins on the kitchen counter, newly clean after an hour of resentful washing up and scrubbing. I followed by adding a neat row of vegetables. Roasted dishes were my default. Cut stuff up, pour stuff on it, stick it in the oven for a bit. None of Ed's fancy sauces and layering for me. I took a quick snap of the vegetables and posted it on the group chat.

Dinner at 8pm, BYOB. Knife and fork emoji, licking lips emoji.

Right, time to get cracking.

I'd just dried up the chopping board and taken a knife to the first onion when Christopher walked in. As usual, he looked utterly huggable in a loose jumper, with his soft brown curls kissing his forehead. He dumped a few dirty mugs on the side I'd just cleared of washing up.

"Hi," I said, brightly. "I'm just cooking for tonight, I don't know if you saw my message."

"Oh, that," he said, "So, I think I'd going to be out, I'm meeting some guys from my course to go to this venue they heard of."

Christopher was studying Music Tech. In his room, I'd caught a glimpse of a very fancy keyboard and speakers.

"Cool," I said. I'd expected at least one person to drop out. It wasn't the first week anymore, after all. People had their own things, and I wasn't desperate to cook for everyone. I was a little disappointed it was Christopher and not Tara, but that was that. "I hope you have fun. There should be leftovers if you want to grab some when you get in."

"Nah, I'll probably grab a kebab on the way home or something. Ellen, actually, there was something else I wanted to mention."

He'd wandered over to the kitchen table and leant with both hands on the back of one of the chairs, an apologetic smile on his face. I gripped the kitchen knife, pausing with it poised above the onion.

"Yes?" I said, warily.

"It's just... I'm not sure what's the right way to say this, but... Tara told me that you asked Elizabeth to set us up on a date."

"I... what?" My hand tightened around the knife.

The trouble was that Christopher looked like he was trying to be so damn nice about it.

"No offence, Ellen, but I don't think that would work out. You're just not really my type."

I dropped the knife. It slid off the onion, and bumped on the chopping board.

"I didn't... that's not what I said..." I mumbled.

I don't think Christopher even heard me.

"Anyway, I don't think it's a good idea to get involved with anyone in the flat, so... I guess my advice would be, look elsewhere. It just wouldn't work."

I felt like I was sinking into the kitchen lino. I knew I should try to save the situation, shrug it off, laugh about it, but I just couldn't think of the words.

Christopher approached close enough to give me a patronising pat on the shoulder, then he left the room. I stared at the door. I heard him talking to someone in the corridor. Probably telling them about how he'd humiliated pathetic little Ellen, who had had the cheek to have a crush on him.