A Part of My Memory

Zara

I almost tripped as I rushed up the stairs.

As soon as I got to my room I shut the door, leaned against it and took a long, deep breath. I didn't know what just happened. And I didn't want to know why what just happened, happened. And I especially didn't want to know why my pulse was misbehaving as a result of what just happened.

And yet, I still found myself asking, what in the heck just happened?

****

I changed into clean clothes before exiting my room, intending to ignore and forget and not try to understand whatever had just happened, but as soon as I closed my door and turned to the stairs, I saw Elliot. His sleeves were still rolled up, his curly hair scruffy from the full day, and his black trousers had flour on them. I just stood by my door, waiting for him to continue, but he remained where he was.

I forced myself to snap out of whatever trance I was in, reminding myself that Elliot was my cousin. Meaning we were related. Meaning I was probably just overreacting and taking whatever happened out of proportion. There was nothing weird or significant about it, and I tried to convince myself of that so my damn heart could quit misbehaving in my chest.

"You've got flour on your trousers," I said casually and stepped away from my door. "You should probably clean that."

"You've got flour on your face," he retorted. "You should probably clean that."

"I do?" I asked then narrowed my eyes at him. "Liar, I just changed."

"But did you look in the mirror?"

"Maybe."

Elliot chuckled. Oh, why did he have to chuckle?

I cleared my throat and stood straighter as I made to walk past him, but I had barely walked down the first step when I tripped. On what? Air? My dignity?

Luckily—yet also unluckily—Elliot caught my arm, sending spasms of... something, up my hand.

"Careful," he said, and I freed once I stabled myself.

"Mhm," I hummed, rubbing the spot where his hand had been wrapped around my arm. "I'm careful."

Elliot grinned again, and I wondered if he was doing that because he wanted me to make my heart misbehave and—

Oh my dough, what was wrong with me today?

Ah yes, the dough. This all started because of the damn dough. Whatever I was feeling was the dough's fault. It was the dough's fault that Elliot stood behind me. He was close as he helped me knead it, and it wasn't weird until I started to feel his body heat radiation toward me, making me feel all hot. It wasn't weird until the feeling of his hand on mine made me all jittery. And it sure as dough wasn't weird until I decided to look at him and my heart detached from my chest and dropped to the pit of my stomach.

He—my cousin—was simply showing me how to knead the dough properly, so I honestly didn't understand why I suddenly felt the way I had. It was so sudden and so foreign and it made no sense.

"Oh, by the way," Elliot suddenly recalled something. "You're coming out with me tomorrow." I scrunched my brows in response and he elaborated, "I found you a job."

"You did?!" I exclaimed and Elliot nodded. "What kind of job?"

"You'll be working at a café," he told me. "I don't know what exactly you'll be doing."

"I don't care what I'm doing as long as I'm doing something," I said, forcing myself to stop thinking about the dough situation and to focus on the fact that I now had a job. "One can only talk to the objects around the house for so long."