Lisa
Deep breaths, Manoban. Deep. Fucking. Breaths.
There's something cooking on the stove; the oven light is on and a dish glows from within. But I can't appreciate those things. I can't get past anything except the spilled food, empty containers and dirty dishes that command complete attention in the centre of the kitchen. I can't even see the island; it's disappeared, who knows how many layers, below the grime and mess.
How the fuck did this happen? A group of four-year-old kids wouldn't have created a mess this large. Jennie doesn't say anything, though I can sense her presence behind me. I close my eyes and slowly count from ten to zero in my head, willing myself to stay calm. When I open them she's in front of me, a guarded and cautious look on her face.
"I was going to clean," she says. Her voice is small. Nervous. I sigh and run a hand over my face, through my hair, tugging some of the tension away. It's not worth getting upset over.
"It's fine," I finally assure her, though I can't find it within me to even force a smile. I won't be able to fucking sleep tonight until this is clean. I won't be able to concentrate on anything until it's clean.
I don't really have a right to get mad at her. If it wasn't for me she wouldn't be here, although a tiny little heads-up from Hae-in would have been nice. I didn't know what to think when I saw her car sitting in my driveway - a million scenarios ran through my head, yet each one ended with the same question: "What the fuck is going on here?"
I'm starting to wonder what I've gotten myself into. No other girl has ever been this ballsy; in fact, no other girl has ever sought Hae-in's services like this. But it's strange considering I spent most the day pining over whether or not to see her again. It seems she made the decision for me.
My assertion doesn't leave her convinced.
"How much longer until the food is done?" I ask casually, and this time I think I come off as a little more at ease. She relaxes infinitesimally.
"Um, I just need to-oh shit, the rice!" She flies to the stove and rips the lid off of a pot. A cloud of steam billows around her and into the exhaust fan above the stove. I watch with mild amusement as she pokes and prods at the food while cursing under her breath. "Damn it, it's all fucking burnt," she proclaims. She moves the pot off the heat and begins searching the cabinets.
After a brief moment I ask, "Can I help you find something?"
"I need a plate or a bowl or something." I retrieve one for her and watch as she attempts to scrape the rice remains onto the dish. A thick layer has charred itself to the bottom. It smells rancid, looks even worse, and isn't coming off.
She glances at me, flustered. "This wasn't supposed to happen," she assures me. I can't hide my grin.
"You mean you didn't mean to burn the rice?" I ask, feigning ignorance. She rolls her eyes while fighting a smile.
"Hey, fuck off. I'm a good cook."
I raise both hands in submission. "I never said you weren't." You're just messy as fucking hell.
"You were thinking it." She begins scrubbing at the pot with a spoon, and I inwardly cringe.
"You should probably soak that," I suggest.
She scoffs and puts it in the sink before filling it with hot water and soap. "See? I would know that except I've never burnt anything before. That sort of talent comes with being a good cook. You, obviously, know all about it." She's teasing me again; it seems she can't get enough.
I grin. "Oh, yeah? So who's cocky now?"
She gasps and turns to me. "I'm not cocky!"
"You're being the epitome of cocky."
"Only a cocky person would be so sure of that."
"So, now you're pulling the cocky card on me again?" I'm aghast.
"Hey, you pulled it out first."
"This time," I scoff.
"What do you mean 'this time'? I only pull it out when you're deserving. Which is usually all the time."
I grin at her. How in the world she can make me smile while standing in this disaster of a kitchen, I have no idea. I change the topic, though still remain playful. "So how's the rest of the food, Jennie? Still edible?"
She glares at me. I lean against the counter and watch as she grabs two potholders and opens the oven door. "It's done," she quips. I catch a glimpse inside the oven and spot a huge, perfectly browned chicken. The smell wafts through the opening and just manages to overpower the awful rice stench.
"Here, you want me to get that?" I ask. The pan looks heavy, and I worry that she'll hurt her wrist even more with the weight. She seems to be thinking the same thing and shoves the potholders into my chest.
"Be my guest."
I pull the chicken from the oven, set it atop the stove, and turn off all the appliances. It smells and looks delicious. Luckily there are potatoes and vegetables in the bottom of the roasting pan - it seems the rice wasn't really even needed.
Jennie squeezes in beside me, her warm body brushing against mine, and begins poking at the chicken with a knife and fork, searching for any raw areas. Finding none, she smiles.
"All done."
I nod and pull some plates from the cabinets. I notice the filthy coffee maker with a half pot of coffee remaining; the black liquid lines the counter in dots and dribbles. Sugar granules sparkle and gleam from within the sticky mess. Did she make herself some coffee? And how on earth did she manage to create such a mess?
"Did you have some coffee?" I ask, struggling to remain casual. She looks towards the catastrophe.
"Um, I made dessert," she answers uncertainly.
Is that so? It seems she really went all out.
"What did you make?"
"Tiramisu."
"Huh."
"You're supposed to refrigerate it overnight," she awkwardly explains. "But, uh, I never do. It still tastes just as good." She pulls the carving knife from its rack and hands it to me. "Want to carve the bird?"
I nod and wash my hands, then take the knife and get to work, turning my complete attention to the chicken and trying hard to ignore the mess behind me. Jennie sets the table in the dining room.
When I'm done I head down to the wine cellar and retrieve a bottle of Pinot Blanc. I'm still trying to make sense of the whole situation. I'm genuinely glad to see Jennie, yet a nagging in the back of my mind doesn't allow me to enjoy her company. She should be in Seoul watching Lost or engaging with people who don't fuck up constantly. If she knew what I'd done, she'd never want to be here.
