A Deal With the Devil

8

We didn’t talk all day unless we needed to, and that continued until we got home. It made me sad, but it was just how things had to be for a while. At least until we felt comfortable enough to talk again. However, I wasn’t going to let that stop me from showing him that I care about him. 

As a kid, whenever my mom and I got in an argument, we didn’t talk about it after. There was no apology in verbal form. What she did instead was make me a bowl of noodles, or give me a bowl of fruit. She wanted to see me nourished and healthy, even if I said I hated her. To me, that goes so far beyond an “I love you”. My love language takes after hers. Whenever my friends are sad or upset with me, I find it easy to drop off a little tupperware full of bulgogi and rice, or a little bento with chicken karaage and onigiri, or some fried rice with egg; attached with a little note telling them I’m sorry. “This is what I should do for Matt,” I thought.

“Hey, I’m going to run by the grocery store before I get home. You go on ahead of me though, I’ll see you soon.” I spoke, while packing up at work for the day.

He hummed as a response. “Stay safe.”

I left the office with him, keeping up the act of guiding him down the stairs since Foggy was just behind us. What a joke. Him and Foggy walked home and I headed down to Chinatown.

—

The old ladies in the little supermarkets were so kind. They knew me since I get groceries around there a lot, so I get the best quality items for my buck. I picked up everything I needed and got a cab home. I didn’t want to repeat what happened before since it was sundown. 

I got out of the car, walked inside the apartment and took off my shoes. I set the groceries on the counter and turned around to see Matt on the couch, looking at something on his laptop.

“I’m home.” I spoke.

“Ok.” He replied.

“You hungry?” I asked.

“Sure.” He responded.

There was nothing more for us to say, so I began cooking.

—

Around 30-45 minutes later, Dinner was ready. It was exactly 6:00 P.M. Perfect.

“Matt?” I called even though I knew he heard me. “Dinner’s ready.”

He shut his laptop, stretched his back with a groan, immediately nursing his side wound afterwards. I sighed. It made me upset to see him hurt like that. He rose from the couch and came to the table.

“I made gyoza, a Japanese pan-fried dumpling. That and some simple rice and salmon. Luckily the market had some dumpling wrappers on hand. I hope you like it.” I spoke softly.

“Thank you. I’ve never had this before.” He smiled.

“Come on. You’ve had Asian food before. It’s not that special.” I chuckled.

“I mean a home-cooked meal.” He laughed. “It’s special to me.”

I smiled at him for a second before remembering there was food in front of us.

“Well, let’s eat.”

—

To my benefit, everything was cooked perfectly. The gyoza stayed crispy on the bottom and the filling was salted a good amount. The rice was fluffy and the salmon wasn’t dry. He really liked everything, which made my heart feel warm and soft. 

What made me happier was that we were talking again. In between bites of food, we just talked like there was no tomorrow. It didn’t matter what we talked about, we just did. It was like every topic we would have talked about earlier today was finally emerging now. I felt free. I didn’t have to hide anymore, I could be myself and talk with him. Laugh with him.