Tutorial | Brendon Urie

Chapter Five

I sit at his kitchen counter watching him expertly dice onions, garlic and tomatoes. He mixes the vegetables and some mince meat into a bowl, adding dashes of unidentified spices. "You know, the key to cooking is always cleaning up as you go. Nobody wants to have to clean up after they've eaten. Well, at least I don't." I nod my head in agreement and continue to enjoy his effortless movements around the kitchen.

"That smells amazing," the smell wafting away from the stove and moving outwards to the rest of the house.

"Thanks. It's basically the only thing I know how to cook."

"Pasta is the only thing you need to know how to cook."

He spins on his heels to face me. "That's what I've always said!" He swivels back around to face the pot, but turns his head to look at me over his shoulder again, before going back to stirring. I realise how useless I am, just sitting doing nothing so I offer to help. "You could take out a couple of bowls, if you'd like," Brendon gestures towards the cabinets on the left side of the kitchen. I walk towards them and open the doors to find a very fine set of wine glasses and whiskey tumblers. I pull a glass out and turn to Brendon, "Maybe some wine, for a candlelit dinner?" I say with a smirk. I'm obviously joking, and I'm sure he understands that, but I'm afraid it might come off as flirting.

"You shouldn't be drinking at your age." He puts on a stern voice.

"I'm eighteen, I can do whatever I want," I pretend to slur my words as if I am already intoxicated.

"Wait, you're eighteen?" He seems genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, I turned eighteen on Wednesday."

He turns completely away from the stove, after shutting off the gas. "Seriously? Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?"

"Birthdays have never really been a huge deal in my family."

"They have in mine!" He makes his way towards another cabinet next to where I'm standing. Upon opening the doors I notice he has a very, very, wide range of alcoholic drinks, ranging from borderline soda to methylated spirits. "Woah, alright Alcoholics Anonymous," I say, taking a small step back. He pulls out a very expensive bottle of Zinfandel and presents it to me.

"In any other circumstance this would be highly inappropriate, but you're a legal adult now, and I am not yet your teacher." The simple act of offering me alcohol seems to open an entirely new door of my relationship with Brendon, in my mind at least. I place two wine glasses on the kitchen counter as he uncorks and pours an equally small amount in both. "Cheers, to being an irresponsible, responsible adult."

"Cheers." We both down our entire glass, and laugh at each others' total lack of class.

I set out two bowls and dish out a reasonable serving of spaghetti in each. Brendon tops them with sauce, dusting it with parmesan and adding a leaf of parsley for decoration.

"How pretentious of you."

"Of course. An expensive bottle of wine and a raging snow storm, it's just right." He sits on the bar stool next to me and hands me cutlery and a napkin. We both tuck into the warm banquet, embracing both its enveloping flavours and vivid aromas. Brendon refills our wine glasses several times throughout the meal, until the bottle is only three-quarters full.

"That was actually the best spaghetti bolognese I have ever had."

"Come on, now you're just embarrassing me," he gently bats my arm. I smile and tuck my hair behind my ear, looking back down at my now empty bowl. He collects our dishes and puts them in the sink, giving them a quick rinse before loading them into the dishwasher, along with the pots he used earlier.