Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse

The Humbled and the Proud

"What up my bitch?" I chimed as Garrett walked into the kitchen with my homemade bandage around his head. He had been out for several hours, and I was really starting to worry, but instead of fretting, I just cranked up Jimmy the Card's evening request hour. I had called in several requests in honor of my low-blow win, but so far Jimmy wasn't playing anything he didn't want to, which was often the case with him. His radio, his rules.

Garrett perked an eyebrow at my rap-stimulated dialogue. I just laughed at him, and continued to make a batch of tuna helper. "How's your eye?" he murmured.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the endearing question. I had black eyes from the moment we started this endeavor, and he never asked about them. "Swelling nicely. If you're planning another attack, I would advise coming from my right, since I have virtually no peripheral vision. What about you? Are you going to live?"

I looked him over. Concussions were dangerous, since doctors were few and far between. The fact that he was talking and walking was a good thing.

"Headache, but no more than I've had before. I should live."

"So, I don't have to feel guilty about bragging my success over the airwaves," I said, adding a little shoulder dance to my vaunting.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," he said. "You did well. Perhaps not the traditional gentleman's method of fighting, but clearly grim aren't gentlemen." I shook my head in agreement, before adding my tuna to the skillet. "Can I help you with anything?" he asked.

I raised my brow at him. "I don't think I've ever heard those words spoken in this kitchen."

Garrett nodded and came up behind me. For a moment, once again betrayed by the visions of romantic novels forever stained on my brain, I thought he might have intended to rub my shoulders, or kiss my neck. Instead, he took my wooden spoon and gently shoved me aside.

Not sure what to do, I just leaned on the island and watched him do my job. He immediately adjusted the heat on the pan and added more water. At first I thought he was doing it to look like he knew what he was doing, but it was clear after he started doctoring with spices that he was familiar with cooking.

"If I had known all I had to do to get help in the kitchen was beat someone up, I would have done it sooner." He smirked at me, which pleased me even more than my earlier victory. He tasted the sauce and nodded in approval. "Am I that bad of a cook?" I asked as an afterthought. He dipped the spoon back in and gave me a come-hither finger with his free hand. I moved to slurp the hot liquid and nodded. "I am that bad of a cook."

"Not bad. You haven't killed anyone, have you?" His smirk had long since disappeared, but I could see a slight sparkle in his eyes that told me he was seeing me much differently post goose egg. Apparently I was trying to get his attention in all the wrong ways.

"With my food, no. I doubt August would have let me join if I had." I moved to the table and sat down with my feet propped up. It was just dinner, but it felt like pampering.

"You do realize she didn't bring you in just to cook and clean," Garrett said, turning more attention to me than the skillet.

"Of course she did. I'm the non-fighter. What else am I going to do to earn my keep?"

"First off, no, she didn't. She invited you into the group because you were clearly lonely and needed some friends." I crossed my arms like being accused of loneliness was something to be ashamed of. "Second, you are officially a fighter." He pointed to his own black eye. "Third, and most important, you don't have to earn my sister's friendship to keep it. She loves unconditionally."

"Then why didn't she say something? I've been cooking and cleaning for them since I joined."

"Well," Garrett smirked, "she's not stupid." I let my mouth hang open as I thought about how many times I wished someone would clean up after themselves. Apparently they might have, if I hadn't been doing it for them. "You should have been a little worse at cooking; then she would have offered more help."

I scoffed and threw a bundle of napkins off the table at him. He smiled at the pubescent attack. It was a real smile, one I hadn't seen before. It made his hard muscular face seem softer. He looked younger when he smiled. To my dismay it didn't last, though; he was back to stirring the supper before I could prolong the flirtation.