Page 5 of New Growth
“I know,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I just don’t want you to forget.”
Ryan slammed the spoon against the side of the bowl, sending a puff of cornmeal into the air. “I won’t!”
“Okay.”
“I’m not as useless as you all seem to think.”
I turned away from the stove, catching a hint at some of her emotions—pride, hurt, exhaustion, maybe all three. “No one thinks you’re useless, Ry. I was just remindingyou—”
“Whatever, Elliot.” She stirred the batter so aggressively that chunks of it splattered onto the counter. I could have pointed it out, but what would have been the point? Everything has been a fight with her lately.
“Elliot, did you start on the yams?” Ma called from the doorway.
I pressed my fingers against my temples before answering. “Not yet, Ma.”
“Why not?”
I turned toward her, lifting a brow. “Because I’m handling everything else. You’re more than welcome to help.”
Ma huffed a little laugh. “Girl, everyone knows I’m no good in the kitchen.”
I sighed.Of course.
“I’ll start it now.”
Turning back to the mac and cheese, I stirred it just enough to keep it from sticking. Honestly, I was tired. The exhaustion, the grief, the tension between my sister and me—it was all pressing down, making it hard to breathe.
“Where’s Johnathan?” I asked as I pulled myself together.
Ryan barely looked up. “Grocery store.”
“What?” I frowned. “Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, girl. He’s your fiancé. Call him.”
Great.I looked around, scanning the mess of ingredients and utensils. “Okay… Have any of you seen my phone?”
Ryan rolled her eyes. “No, Master Elliot, no one has seen your damn phone.”
Ma chuckled, and I bit my tongue from voicing my frustrations. I guess I wasn’t just Ryan’s punching bag—I was both of theirs now.
I turned my attention back to the mac and cheese, stirring with more focus.
“Ma, can you set the timer?” I asked politely.
Before she could answer, Ryan cut in, her voice clipped. “I got it.”
She shoved the cornbread batter into the oven, slamming the door harder than necessary. My eyes flicked to the untouched stick of butter sitting beside her. I opened my mouth to say something, then thought better of it.
After hours of slaving away in the kitchen, juggling dishes, timers, and the growing tension in my shoulders, Johnathan finally walked in.
I turned to face him. “Where were you?”
He set a grocery bag on the counter. “The store.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“To buy milk.”
