Page 108 of The Holy Grail

“Good one,” he whispered, before telling her petulantly, “Well, I’m hungry, so I’m not waiting.”

“I don’t think it cooks properly like that. You know what? I’m just going to make waffles for dinner. Why don’t you grab the waffle maker?”

“What about all this mess?”

“We’ll deal with it later, after I make waffles. I’m hungry—and you know what I’m like when I’m hungry.”

“That’s actually one of your red flags.”

Jules stuck her tongue out at him.

Evan grabbed the waffle maker out of its cabinet, and set it on the counter with a thump. “For God’s sake, how long will waffles take?”

With as much bitchiness as she could summon, she snapped, “As long as they usually take. Twenty minutes.”

Jules took a drink of her beer as she opened more cabinets, taking a metal mixing bowl and setting it on the counter, just short of slamming it down, but managing to create a nice clanging sound which echoed in the kitchen.

“Careful, you’re getting flour everywhere,” Evan said a few moments later.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up. ”

“Jesus, I wish I hadn’t given those cakes away. I’d be eating one right now.”

“No kidding. Did you have to give away both of them?”

“Well, you gave away all the cookies.”

“You can’t eat cookies for dinner.”

“But you can eat cake?”

“Well, cake is made with eggs, which are a good source of protein.”

“Cookies are made with eggs, too.”

Jules silently chuckled again, joined by Evan. “Actually, why don’t I just scramble some eggs? That will be faster than waffles.”

“We just got everything out for the waffles,” Evan complained loudly, even as he was smiling. “Fuck it, I’m having Lucky Charms for dinner. There’s nothing faster than cereal.”

He began opening and closing a few more cabinets, then plunked a bowl down on the island, and dropped a spoon on the floor for good measure, before opening and slamming the fridge door.

“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to give Dawn Corleone any milk,” Jules said, making Evan cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“I know, but she really likes it, and I honestly don’t think a small bowl of it will really give her the shits. I think Mal was lying about that.” Then, in a whisper, he added, “If that doesn’t get him out here, nothing will.”

They waited … and waited.

Nothing.

Giving each other exasperated looks, and on the verge of admitting defeat, Evan’s eyes suddenly lit up. Holding up a finger, as if to say, Hang on, I’ve got it , he said, “I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want a cup?”

Jules’ eyes widened at Evan’s brilliance, and she quickly replied, “Oh, my God, I’d love one.”

A moment later, they heard the door to Malcom’s room open and his footsteps rapidly coming toward the kitchen. When he appeared, his expression was a combination of aggravation and disbelief.

Jules and Evan exchanged a quick, amused glance, as if to say, We should have started off with that.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Malcom demanded.

As he looked around the kitchen, expecting to see chaos and a huge mess, he was shocked to see only a pan on the stove and the waffle maker on the island, along with a mixing bowl and cereal bowl next to it.

There was no mess, nor was Dawn Corleone drinking milk—she wasn’t even in the room, for Christ’s sake. “Oh, my God, was all that shit fake?”

“Most of it,” Jules said. “And by the way, it took you long enough to get off your ass.”

“So all that was just to get me in here?”

“You got it. And now that you’re here, we need to talk.”

Malcom took the beer out of Evan’s hand and sat on one of the barstools.

“We—” she motioned from herself to Evan, “—are worried about you.”

“I’m sorry,” Malcom apologized quietly, his posture deflating a little. “I’m just trying to work through some stuff.”

She went and sat next to him. “We know you’re trying to work through some stuff, but you can’t let it dominate your life ... to the exclusion of things like basic hygiene.” Jules patted the scruff on his face. “This needs to go. Evan can carry it off because it gives him a sexy, devilish vibe—”

“Why thank you,” Evan said, reaching up to touch his own facial scruff.

“—but on you, it just makes you look like you went camping and your tent blew away.”

Malcom frowned. “What?”

“It looks bad,” she clarified. “And it’s time to shave.”

“Fine. I’ll shave. I’ve just been feeling a little … unmotivated.”

“I know, and that’s part of what’s worrying us. Being unmotivated and losing interest in things—especially making dinner and eating it—is a bad sign. As is baking at all hours of the night, instead of sleeping, and spending hours locked away in your room, away from us.”

“I’ve just been trying to not burden you two with my shit. I mean, I don’t even want to be burdened by it.”

“It’s not a burden. We want to be able to help you through this.”

“Yes, we do,” Evan said.

“I went through almost two years of shit with Paige,” Jules told Malcom, who looked almost horrified at the thought he might be dealing with this for anywhere near that long.

“And part of going through it with her was to make sure she had balance in her life, to keep her grounded.

I made sure she took care of herself, went out to eat, saw some movies, listened to music, and had fun, and on the days when all she was capable of doing was lying on her couch wrapped up in a blanket, I was the one to wrap her up in the blanket .

“Now, no one knows up front how long it will take you to work through your shit, not even you. It will take as long as it takes, because it took a while to accumulate, so it will take a while to conquer. Right?

“However, including Evan and me in the entire process will make it easier for you. Having support matters, even if it’s for whatever you might be thinking is ‘small stuff’, and just so you know, there is no ‘small stuff’.”

“Okay.” Malcom glanced around at the kitchen, unable to keep from being amused (and oddly touched) at the lengths they’d had gone to in order to get him out of his room. “So, what should we do for dinner? Spaghetti or waffles? Because I refuse to eat Lucky Charms.”

“Pizza.” Evan picked up his phone and began scrolling through his contacts until he found their favorite local pizzeria. “And after that, I think we need to play a game of strip monopoly. And this time I get to be the fucking shoe.”