Page 11 of Speechless

“Hello, Lucy. Hope you had a nice rest. Yeah, nothing of use in there.” Graham sees me opening the fridge and shakes his head. “No one really cooks in this house.”

The shorter one speaks up, “What does everyone want? I’ll get DoorDash.”

“Seriously? You guys don’t have any food in this house? You have a full chef’s kitchen, basically my dream to cook in. You don’t even have eggs?”

They all peer at me timidly, like I caught them doing something naughty. I could swear they’re all around my age. What grown man can’t cook an egg for breakfast?

“Are you offering to make us breakfast, Luce?” Graham sure is friendly, shortening my name after just meeting me. Given how temporary this situation is I might as well go with it. It’s not like I have any real friends to talk to right now.

“Sure, I’d be happy to. Can someone point me to a grocery store?”

“Come on love,” Graham says, “I’ll drive.”

“So,tell me what you guys like to eat.”

The ride to Whole Foods was somehow not awkward at all. Graham is incredibly friendly, and I just love listening to him. His Australian accent is thick enough to spread on toast and he says the funniest things. He immediately asked for my “John Dory” which apparently means he wanted to know my story. Well, that was a loaded question. I gave him a very condensed version of what brought me to LA and quickly changed the subject. Now we’re perusing the aisles and I’m not really sure what to get for them.

“Everything. You make it, we’ll eat it.”

“Are you sure? No dietary restrictions? Foods someone doesn’t like?” I ask.

“Nah, we’re easy. Oh, can you make french toast?” I silently cheer, my favorite.

“Graham, I’m gonna blow your mind.”

After confirming that everyone in the house has a relative sweet tooth, I grab all the ingredients I need for chocolate and strawberry stuffed french toast. Jack told me once that he decided to marry me after I’d made it for him the first time. I figure it can’t hurt to win over my new roommates. I get some thick-cut bacon too, just to cover all my bases.

Getting to work in their kitchen is honestly a dream. My mom ran a catering business for twenty years, so growing up I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with her. There’s something so rewarding about making a meal for others; maybe it’s just something I learned from her, but it always makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

I’ve barely used my kitchen back in Boston these past few months. At first, after Jack left, I started making homemade food for Rowan. It’s not like I had anyone else to cook for. He was seriously eating like a king: sous vide salmon, bacon and sweet potato hash, homemade ice cream. I was surviving mainly on snickerdoodles and Rowan was the best fed dog east of the Mississippi.

Then eventually, when I was deepest into my depression, I got into a routine of nothing but takeout for both of us. He got addicted to breakfast burritos.

“Damn, girl. You can cook!” Jayce is literally licking his plate clean as the rest of us watch in a mix of awe and horror.

“Okay, I’m not gonna do that.” Preston (I finally figured out the shorter one’s name) points to Jayce’s lizard tongue. “But Lucy, if you can teach my girlfriend to make this, I’ll be happy to do dishes every single day.”

I already told them I’d be happy to cook any time while I stay here. Henry seemed almost offended when I offered to pay rent, so I’m glad I can contribute something to the house.

“Are we already out of bacon?”

“Graham,” I exclaim. “You’ve had at least eight pieces. Preston and I only shared one.”

Graham looks at me with a thoroughly confused expression. “So there’s no more?”

“I’ll go make another batch.”

I was so nervous when I was getting out of bed this morning, but so far, things are really good. These guys are hilarious and so welcoming. The only thing is, Henry isn’t here. I haven’t asked about him. No one else seems to notice his absence and I don’t want to come across as needy—I’m already staying in their home. But I do wonder where he is, when I’ll see him again.

While everyone’sstomachs are settling, Jayce offers to give me the grand tour. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for this. I don’t want to feel like I’m snooping but I’m dying to see the rest of this place. The kitchen alone is swoon worthy.

“Come on, let’s start outside.” I follow Jayce down the three steps from the kitchen to the living room and toward the beautiful piano. There’s also a U-shaped sectional that might be the biggest couch I’ve ever seen. It's a deep gray leather and nice and cushiony, perfect for lounging around and binge-watching TV. But it faces the glass wall. When I ask if they don’t watch TV, he shows me the projector that comes down from the ceiling. I’m drooling and praying someone in this house likes British period pieces because I’m two seasons behind onPeaky Blinders.

There’s a large coffee table in front of the sofa, and two square poufs on the opposite side to complete the shape. When I look more closely, I see that they each have a sepia-toned design of the Union Jack.

Jayce notices my observation, “Yeah, Henry’s mom tries to decorate every time she visits. She sort of went all out on your room—that’s where she stays when she’s here.”

I think back to the feeling I got when I first saw my room, how it reminded me of my own mom. And then I wonder how often she visits. I probably shouldn’t get too comfortable.

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