Page 35 of Protect Me
The past month or two had been the worst of it. Having no one to help me with recovery kept me low. Not being out on the dating scene had been replenishing and . . .
Boring.
“Dosas?”
Her bright question came from the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. I grinned.
“A forever favorite.”
She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath.
“The sambar smells perfect. Just like your Amma.”
“Don’t insult me. Both of themareperfect. Steel bowls are in the cupboard on the left if you want to grab a couple. Spoons for the sambar are below that.”
The assignment pulled her into the kitchen without awkwardness. Ten minutes later, we cluttered the table with piping hot sambar and dosas cooling on a plate. She grabbed a dosa with her fingers, tearing into it without utensils—just the way we liked it.
Hunger made it easy to relax into conversation in between bites. I steered topics to anything except moving, being here, or whatever had happened the last week to land her on my porch. I was just relieved she’d shown up.
Safe.
Whymy head was so focused on Katelyn, I couldn’t say. Call it a hunch, but I’d long learned to listen to my instincts.
She needed me.
A text came from Vini, jarring the phone in my pocket. I ignored it. Katelyn set down her spoon, plate empty, and reached for a paper towel to wipe the grease off her hands.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said. “It . . . tasted like home.”
A smile accompanied her words, and I knew she thought of Amma. Advancing into my early thirties had taught me a lot of lessons, the greatest of which was gratitude toward the stability that my parents provided. Growing up, I hadn’t realized how much I had. Through Katelyn’s eyes, I saw it now.
“You ever go back to the old neighborhood?” I asked, gathering our plates. She stood up, plucking the used napkins off the table.
“No. You?”
“Not since my parents moved out.” I hobbled to the sink, plates held in one hand, crutch in the other. “Sometimes I drive by the high school, though.”
She laughed. “I’ve definitely not returned there. Nothing about leaving high school made me sad, except losing access to Vini.” Her voice softened with nostalgia.
“You really love her,” I stated, setting the plates in the sink. She bustled at my back, replacing things, opening cupboards. I let her get a lay for the land as she skimmed through drawers.
“She’s my best friend.”
“You’re the other half of her heart, you know that?”
A wide smile split her face, one I’d like to see again.
And again.
“I do. It’s the same for me.”
Silence filled the kitchen as she wiped down the table, dried the dishes as I washed them. The gentle movements were easy as long as I leaned against the cupboard and kept the weight off my knee. Any normalcy was a breath of fresh air.
“I’m going to bed.” Katelyn backed toward the doorway, a hand in her back pocket, teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Is there any routine that I need to know about or—“
“Nah. I shower in the mornings. I’m an early riser, around 6, but I can keep things quiet.”
“I open most days, so I’ll be gone before 4:00 in the morning.”
