Page 147 of Stay With Me

“I’ll take you grocery shoppin’ tomorrow so you have everything you need.”

“I gotta get back to work, so I’m going to do the farmer’s market in the mornin’.”

“That’s fine. We can go afterward. Or if you aren’t up for it, just text me a list, and I’ll go.”

“You really don’t have to be this nice to me. I’m fully capable of feedin’ myself.”

I smile to myself. “You’re so used to assholes, you can’t even see when someone is just being a decent person. I’ve never been mean to you, so why would I start now?”

“Because you should hate me. Why you don’t is makin’ me question your mental state.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sunny, but I could never hate you.”

She stays quiet, and I don’t push her to talk. I know she’s had an emotional day between throwing out so much of her belongings and moving into a new place that doesn’t quite feel like hers. I’m determined to make her feel at home as much as I can.

Instead of asking what she might be hungry for, I decide to cook something and pray she’ll like it.

Digging through my cupboards, I find a box of bowtie pasta and a jar of Alfredo sauce. Mom would kill me for not making it from scratch, but I could never make it as good as hers anyway. But luckily, I have the ingredients to thicken it up and add in a healthy dose of fresh parmesan.

“You can eat chicken, right?” I ask before grabbing some from the fridge.

“Of course.”

“Okay, just checkin’.”

I’m not sure what all the pregnancy food rules are, but if I’m gonna take care of her, I need to know as much information as possible. So I make a new note.

Order pregnancy books.

Look up foods to avoid and a nutrition guideline.

Once the garlic toast is done, I add it to our plates with the chicken alfredo pasta and then bring them over to the coffee table. I make two glasses of ice water and then sit next to her on the couch.

“This smells so good.” She sits up and gets a better look. “Wow, you made this?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty easy and is my go-to when I don’t have much else. Nothin’ fancy.”

She gives me a look as she stabs her fork into the food. “Yournothin’ fancyis my idea of an over-the-top dinner date.” Then she takes her first bite and moans. “Oh my God. This is delicious. If I wasn’t already pregnant, I’d have its babies.”

I chuckle, dipping my toast in the sauce. “Gotta up those standards, Sunny.”

Though I do love that she appreciates my cooking, it beats eating by myself, too.

“Yeah, well, they’ve been in hell for so long, I’m not sure they exist.”

There’s sadness in her tone, but I don’t pressure her to talk about it when she stays focused on the TV screen.

“What’re you watchin’?”

“Hart of Dixie. It’s my comfort show. I can change it to something else if you want.”

I smile at her offer, but I rarely watch TV to care that much. “Nah. It’s fine.”

As we eat, I notice her mouthing the lines.

“How many times have you seen this?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Hmm...the limit doesn’t exist.”