Page 35 of Forget About Me

She pauses in the doorway. “Yeah, that’s fine. Isn’t there a scene where he’ll have to be backstage while you’re onstage? Someone will have to watch him then.”

“That’s true. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” She’s so close. All I want to do is wrap my arms around her and breathe her in. “Well, come on in.”

As soon as I close the door behind us, however, I regret letting my father take Puck. I’m not sure how to behave without our furry buffer.

She looks around, inhaling. “Smells… interesting.”

Suddenly feeling like a gawky teen again, I give her a wide berth as I head toward the kitchen. “I hope you’ll like it. I learned some stuff from the chef at the house where I stayed for a while. I still have to do a couple more shoots to fulfill my contract, so I have to stay in shape, and I found that eating a macrobiotic diet helps.”

“Macro… biotic?” She looks as dubious as my dad. “Is that a kind of food?”

“Sort of. It’s all about eating real food instead of processed stuff. No refined sugars or flours, no alcohol, no pre-made food. Lots of vegetables. I don’t follow it rigidly—where you only eat stuff in season from your locality—and I do eat some lean meats and an occasional glass of wine.”

She nods slowly. “That sounds very Californian.”

“Let me hang up your coat.” She hasn’t moved from the doorway. “Do you want something to drink? Wine or…? I don’t have any soda or anything. Water with lemon?”

“Plain water’s fine.” She flashes a smile so tight it’s almost a grimace. “I don’t really drink.”

Of course.“I don’t either—it’s not part of my diet—but when I was at the store, I just figured…” I’m babbling now, so I shut my mouth and pull a pitcher of cold water from the fridge.

When I turn around, she’s managed to find the one spot in the kitchen that’s as far away from me as possible. I set her glass on the island, thinking she’ll have to move closer to pick it up. She just crosses her arms. This is a disaster. She obviously can’t stand to be in the same room with me without Puck here.

I lift my glass, barreling on. “Cheers.”

She finally picks hers up, backing up again to down half the glass. “Guess I was thirsty.”

I set the pitcher on the counter.

“So.” Her eyes dart away from mine to skitter around the kitchen. “I’d ask if I can help, but I don’t even recognize what you’ve got going here.”

“Nothing to do, really. It just needs assembling. If you want to grab a couple bowls and plates, we can get started.”

I hand her two large spoons and gesture to the small round table by the window. “Go ahead and sit down.”

When I set her bowl in front of her, she peers at it suspiciously. “What’s this?”

“Miso soup.”

Her brows scrunch together.

“It’s fermented soybean. It’s a yin food.”

“Yin food?” She half laughs and there’s a flash of something, maybe a smartass comment she’d like to make, but she just stirs her soup. “Interesting.”

I lift my bowl. “You can use a spoon, but I like to sip it from the bowl.”

“Okay, but don’t tell my mom.” She takes a tiny sip. “Not what I expected. But it’s interesting.”

“You keep saying.”

She tries it again and then sets it down and studies the bowl like it might jump up and run around the room. “Well, it’s different. I’m not sure how to describe it.”

Neither of us seems to be able to start an actual conversation, so we finish the soup in silence. When I stand to clear the bowls, she starts to rise, but I stop her. “Let me wait on you. Just relax.” I hear a sigh after I set the bowls in the sink.

When I look up from plating the next dish, she’s looking out the window. “The leaves are gorgeous this fall.”

I used to be able to read each and every expression that crossed that beautiful face, but tonight, she’s so guarded I have no idea what she’s thinking or feeling.

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