Examine

fourteen

ASHLEY

"You look good in the kitchen," I tell Michael as he starts pulling out bowls.

He looks up, his gaze falling on mine and he grins cheekily. "Don't think you're getting out of helping – you're meant to be standing on this side of the bench."

"I really don't think that is a good idea." 

Despite my words, I join him around the other side of my island. I am no cooking aficionado, as soon as my hand touches a dish it becomes inedible. The amount of times I've forgotten to put in an essential ingredient like eggs or oil or left something on the stove for too long is ridiculous.

My mum is coming home tomorrow. Michael offered to help when he realised that I was planning to bake and cook my mum's favourite meal.

Growing up next door to each other, Michael witnessed and tried some of my failed cooking experiments first-hand.

I wrinkle my nose at Michael. "Are you sure it won't end up like last time?"

Last time we'd cooked together, I had set the Rivera's kitchen ablaze, all the fire alarms had gone off and it had very nearly resulted in a fire engine being called. It had taken hours to air out the smoke from their kitchen.

Michael's expression turns devious. "No, I'm not sure... that's why I suggested we bake in your kitchen."

I growl at him.

Michael chuckles in response. "Let's see this recipe."

I stand up on my tip toes to grab the recipe book from the shelf above our heads. I can feel Michael's gaze on me as I flick through its pages.

I'm keenly aware of being the sole focus of his attention. I finally find the lemon cake recipe and thrust the open book into Michael's hands, wanting to disperse the jittery energy inside me. I feel like my body is thrumming, on edge.

He grabs it, a small smile on his face, as he reads. "Easy," he declares.

He lists off the ingredients we need, and I rifle through the kitchen to find them, he's looking in the wrong cupboard for the measuring cups and I move around him, inadvertently pressing into him to open the correct cupboard.

"Here they are." I hand them to him, but I don't move away. I'm enjoying his warmth, the solid press of him too much. I don't even know how long it's been since I've had a proper hug. When someone hugged me.

Mum is still not well enough to do more than short, feeble trips out of bed. When she hugs me, it's gingerly, a shadow of the strength she used to have, and it leaves an oppressive weight on my heart.

"Thanks," Michael murmurs, taking the measuring cups and placing them on the bench.

He notices that I haven't moved. "Scottie, you okay there?"

"Yes, of course." I jolt back into movement, jumping to the other side of the kitchen. Away from him.

Once everything is assembled, Michael begins measuring ingredients and instructing me to "squeeze the lemon".

I stifle my giggle. Surely, I can't fuck up squeezing a lemon.

"Ow," I yelp out a second later when lemon juice squirts into my eye.

Michael drops what he's doing on the bench and moves closer. "What's wrong?"

"Lemon in my eye," I utter in defeat, moving to the sink and sticking my head under the running faucet.

I emerge from under the water to find Michael with a fresh tea towel for me to pat my face dry.

He's holding back a smile as he hands it over. "Why don't you do the washing up? I'm happy to do the cooking."