Page 98 of Aftersome
I saw a man who was in desperate need of assistance. Even if it was just small things that could take the burden off his shoulders. At least some things were better than nothing.
As I prepared his plate, I filled up a glass of water for him and scavenged around in his freezer for an ice pack. Luckily, he had one, so I wrapped it in a thick towel and carried everything out to him in the living room.
Where I at least thought he’d be watching TV, he wasn’t. Instead he was sitting in complete silence with his one arm spread out behind him along the top of the couch and his head tilted back, staring up into the ceiling. My feet skidded to a sudden stop.
He looked defeated.
Tired.
And it seemed to be affecting me even more now seeing him look so lost.
I almost turned back around and waited a few minutes to see if maybe he would at least turn the TV on. Or at least do something that would break up the tension in the living room that was currently on the verge of becoming too much to handle.
“Hey,” I announced my presence, causing his head to shoot up from its leaned-back position. “I have your food here.” I walked over to him, noticing that he was watching me intently.
“Thank you.” He shifted himself into more of an upright position before reaching for the plate.
“Do you have a TV tray by any chance? That might be easier for you so you don’t have to hold it.”
“No, I don’t. It’s fine, though, I can just put it on my lap.” He moved his arms to the side, leaving his thighs open for the plate.I hesitated for a moment, feeling bad that he had to eat with one hand while keeping his plate steady in his lap.
I began to think of other options for him—offer to hold his plate, or feed him—both ideas that he’d never go for, but it would have been better than him trying to do it all himself.
Reluctantly, I laid the plate down onto his legs and placed the drink on the coffee table in front of him.
Spaghetti was spaghetti. It all looked the same, but when I noticed him eyeing his plate closely, I couldn’t help but feel a shock of insecurity hit me.
Did it look bad to him?
Or maybe I didn’t make it to his liking?
A plethora of unsureness began to weigh heavy on my chest as he continued to stare at his food. I wanted to know what he was thinking because clearly he had some intricate thoughts right now.
“I can’t tell you the last time someone’s cooked for me like this.” His eyes slid over to mine and immediately, I noticed a change in tone. Softer, and like he was in awe.
“Well, when do you think the last time was?”
His stare dropped briefly.
“Eleven years ago.”
I sucked in a breath.
I could only think of one family in particular and I almost said screw it and let it all out right then and there. My plan, Greg and Shelia’s agony over Mal’s alienation, it was all on the tip of my tongue, but before I could, Mal had interrupted.
“Where’s your plate?” He nodded toward my hands. “You’re going to eat with me, aren't you?”
Caught off guard, my eyebrows scrunched together.
“I was just going to eat in the kitchen, but if you want me to eat with you, I will.”
When I mentioned eating in the kitchen, his mouth curled.
“You’re not eatin’ in the kitchen alone, Doe. Get you a plate and come back out here,” he bossed me on the lift of his chin, and I knew there was no way I couldn’t not eat with him.
Plus, I kind of felt like I wanted to.
With a smile and nod, I went to head back into the kitchen but forgot I still had his ice pack in my hands.
