FIRE [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 8: The Big Guns

 I'd last gone to Stefan's house about three weeks ago. It was a Friday, our last day together in sweet normalcy – or at least, what we could consider normalcy – before RDA training kicked into full-blown overdrive.

"So, about Molly's cooking," began Stefan with a subtle laugh to his words.

We had been mmm-ing over the heavenly assortment of appetisers Cornelius had brought up to Stefan's room. As usual, we had no idea what we were eating, but my tongue had never been so happy! That was when Stefan mentioned Mom's talents in the kitchen.

I cringed, "What about it?"

"I worry she's trying to kill you," he joked.

I laughed so loud that my hand reflexively covered my mouth, and I replied, "No-no, I only have one homicidal mother."

The previous weekend, he had invited himself to lunch with my family and me – which he had been doing quite often since the night we'd told them about GINM – but Molly being Molly decided she did not have to make an effort with him anymore; he was practically living with us, and if he lived with us, he would have to eat like us. I think those were her exact words actually.

Next to me on his bed, Stefan propped himself up on his elbows, his body from the bottom of his spine to the heels of his feet rested on the covers.

"You're right," he admitted. "And also, Cornelius has a very unfair advantage."

"He studied the culinary arts?" I guessed.

"No... he has a moustache," he laughed, and I specifically remembered Cornelius saying how his designation as five-star chef had nothing to do with his fantastic facial hair. "Everyone knows that people with moustaches are the most amazing chefs."

"That is incredibly sexist!"

"No, it isn't," he backed away, knowing I was likely going to smack him soon, but he was still laughing. "You know the Bearded Lady at the circus?"

"Oh my gosh, Stefan."

"I bet she's an astoundingly talented chef."

I had to agree; how could one argue with such logic?

"I'm sure she is. Molly is a pretty good cook, though." He gave me a look. "Well, she can be when she is so inclined. She's mostly just lazy. Like, she has a sort of rule that if it looks edible, it's good enough!"

I recalled the first time she'd told me that. She had been making toasted cheese sandwiches for me and Emma, and I had hovered over her shoulder in search of whatever poisons she put onto them, because even those tasted atypical somehow.

"She's still a great mom."

"She is," I said honestly. "And I was the worst daughter. For the first half of our years together, I was so horribly hateful and bratty, and all I wanted was to see my real parents again, and for what?"

My hands were at my sides again and before I knew it, one of them was within Stefan's. He said, "You missed them is all. And if you were the worst daughter, Molly and Cliff wouldn't do everything that they do for you. Your parents and I share something in common."

I raised my eyebrows expectantly.

"Before I tell you, be warned that I'm about to be very cheesy." We laughed again, shutting our eyes and breaking off our shared gaze temporarily. "We love you like crazy."

This played in my head like a motion picture, this memory, as I fought to keep my attention on the task at hand.

"What now, Valerie?" I asked, returning to my seat at the computer station.