A Month To Live

A Month To Live (26)

‘I did the cooking, so you can wash up!’ Bradley said, pressing the soap bottle into my hand with a grin. ‘And I am a guest...’

‘Don’t play the “guest” card on me, dear. It has never worked before and will not work now.’

‘You wash, I dry?’ he suggested.

‘Fine,’ I said, giving in. ‘You better dry exceptionally well though,’ I warned him. I turned on the hot water and waiting for it to heat up slightly before pouring some soap in. I stared vigorously scrubbing at the pan we'd used for the pasta sauce.

Yeah, I made Bradley cook because I couldn’t be bothered. He was also way better than me at cooking. At least I let him stay to eat.

‘I hate washing up, my hands go all wrinkly,’ I complained.

‘Your hands only go wrinkly if they’re in water for too long,’ Bradley pointed out, taking the clean pan from my hand and drying it up. 'Jeez, how long do you take to wash up?’ he added, looking down at me.

‘A while,’ I admitted. ‘I like the warm water.’

‘And that’s why I think you’re weird,’ he said with an eyeroll.

‘How is liking warm water weird?’ I questioned, dragging the sponge carefully up the knife.

‘You like keeping your hands in dirty warm water,’ he said, eyeing me as I washed the knife. ‘Maybe I should wash up... you’re pretty slow.’

‘You should have said that earlier,’ I sighed, handing him the knife. ‘But I’m getting into it now! Idiot.’

I grabbed the plates and began to scrub the tomato sauce off of them with a frown.

‘It’s your fault anyway, you shouldn’t have used so much stuff to make it!’ I said.

‘I used two pans and our plates, knives and forks!’ Bradley said. 'I had to make the sauce from scratch too, remember. That's an average amount of washing up.'

‘Keep telling yourself that,’ I snorted.

‘You find any excuse to pick on me, don’t you?’ he said, stacking the plate next to the other dry things. I handed him the second clean plate and started on the other pan.

‘It's relatively easy as I’ve mentioned before. Plus it entertains me and it also gets your little brain working more often than it usually does,’ I smirked. ‘You need your daily dose of brain exercise.’

‘Once again, I’m going to play the “straight-A” card,' he said, nudging me with his elbow.

‘And once again, I will ignore that excuse! Most people have the capacity to get good grades in exams and whatever, but not all people can come up with amazing insults like I can on the spot,’ I sighed smugly as I handed him the second pan.

‘And not all people can dismiss the insults as well as I,’ Bradley grinned.

‘You can say that but I’ll get you with a killer one day,’ I promised.

‘Hopefully that won't happen.'

‘It will, dear, it will,’ I said, pulling the plug and grabbing another towel to dry our cutlery. 'Look,' I added, holding up my hands for him to see. 'I washed up so fast that my hands aren't even wrinkled.' He raised his eyes with an unimpressed expression. 'Now, put that stuff away, boy!' I ordered, directing him to the right cupboards as he stored the pans and plates away.

‘This is child labour,’ he complained.

‘You’re older than me!’ I laughed. ‘And you’re nineteen so you most definitely aren’t a child – even if you act like one occasionally.'