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I adjust my fingers as it holds the lightly filled crochet shopping bag. It was filled with a bag of chicken thigh, fresh basils, peppermint leaves and a 250 gram ball of mozzarella. It was not some expensive, italy imported stuff, just the easiest package to understand and the cheapest option the deli has. As I walked down the street, I went through a checklist of what I might forget to perfect my solo dinner tonight. Although there was no cause to celebrate, I’m glad that tonight I have the energy and enthusiasm to actually follow through with my craving. I love food, therefore I like to cook and eat good food. The clean up afterwards is not my favourite though. Those are the parts where I think holding onto a relationship just so that they can clean after I wreck the kitchen might be worth it.
Whilst hoping that I didn’t forget any ingredients, I opened the door to my apartment. The mix of warm vanilla scent from my perfume that I sprayed onto myself this morning and the ylang-ylang aroma of the incense I keep on the coffee table wafting through me. As the thought of the perfect night is coming closer, I peel away the outside stuff from my skin. I quickly drop the groceries to the kitchen island, taking out the chicken from my shopping bag as I don’t want anything nasty to spill to my carefully handcrafted, adorable shopping bag. I ran to my room, to get to the bathroom and take a swift but thorough shower to rinse off the day from me.
It’s 7:50 PM when I came out of the shower, as I still need to manhandle some chicken thighs and be covered up in tomato juice and pasta water steam, I skipped my nightly skin routine and decided to do that right before I retire for the night.
I went to the kitchen and got to work. I halved the cherry tomatoes for the sauce, cleaned the chicken thighs, and seasoned them generously before leaving them to sit for a while. Then I turned on the stove and set my trusty old Teflon pan over the flame. The chicken hissed the moment it hit the surface. I seared the thighs until the skin turned crisp and golden and the meat was cooked just right.
I set the chicken aside and killed the heat. Into the same pan went a block of cheddar, nestled in the middle like an island, followed by a dozen and a half cherry tomato halves and a few cloves of garlic. I slid the pan into the oven, set it to 180°C, and punched it in fifteen minutes on the timer.
I remember making this for my siblings and how much they loved it. It was the first time where I realized that I don’t really like cream or milk based savoury sauces, it leaves a vomitty after taste in my mouth, given my recipes were never authentic but at least it was my translation of it. Then I found out that tomatoes neutralized the heavy milky taste to my translation of carbonara, and started to put it in anywhen I made a creamy based pasta. Nick, my ex boyfriend who is a picky eater loved it too.
Just thinking of how much joy this dish brings to your life, watching the people who enjoy it, truly enjoys it while also you enjoy it a lot yourself. I pour a box of penne pasta into a boiling pan of water, lightly salting and drizzling some type of cooking oil in it. While I wait that out, I start to take out the ingredients to make Ina Garten’s chocolate cake from your pantry. Measuring out the dry ingredients and setting them aside, I’m going to put it in the oven after the pasta is done.
After 10 minutes, everything was ready and my cake was already in the oven. I whipped a quick mocktail of cranberry juice, grape juice and peppermint leaves and started to plate my dinner when the bell to my apartment rang.
For a woman living alone in an apartment in New York, I realize it might not be the wisest choice to just open the door without further question. But lucky for me, it was not someone questionable or someone who potentially might harm me physically. Mentally, it is more likely.
“Hi Nick.” I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. The thing is I haven’t seen or heard from him in more than a year. Nick was my college boyfriend, our relationship crumbled as we got older and started to think about our individual plans in life. We were both young, I was too high strung and he was too stubborn to let go of his ego. I realized we can’t be together because mentally we’re in a different space and stage of needs. We worked really well as partners in classes and projects, we thought it was compatibility, but it was intelligence chemistry not romantic and I wanted romance.
Nick always cares for me deeply, he is the closest thing to a best friend I could ever have. When we are hanging out together he always makes sure that I am comfortable and happy. Sadly I demanded more. A show of affection and for him to change as soon as possible to be the ultimate boyfriend who puts me on a pedestal. I do believe every woman deserves that love, someone who will give her as much as she gives, someone who remembers every detail of her, from her favourite flavour of ice cream to the way she ticks when she’s in an uncomfortable situation. At some point I realize that he is too young and too much of a _guy_ to just have those traits naturally. After I cling on to this thin thread of a relationship for quite sometime, I finally let it go and decided to be sound with myself before getting into any relationship. I probably hurt him as much as he hurts me and we both did it unintentionally.
That was a couple of years ago and we agreed to stay close to each other, it worked for a few months until he met someone. “Hey, sorry for popping in like this.” He finally brings himself in. I told him to remove his shoes before entering the rest of my house, and getting his coat off for him. As strange as it sounds, this was part of our routine until a year ago. He would come in bringing food or sometimes I would tell him to come over because I’m cooking something good for dinner.
“I honestly half expected it.” I take a couple of steps to return to my kitchen. “I think you have some kind of telekinetic ability, like you’re called out when I’m making some chocolate baked goods.”
He snickered. “I know right, I can smell what’s in your oven before you open your door.” “What are you making?” He peeped through my shoulder ensuring a distance between us.
When we separated, he insisted that we remain good friends and that he doesn’t want to lose me as a person. At that time of course all I could think about was how selfish this douchebag is, because I know I need to heal. Emotionally I’m really pliable, I get attached at the slightest sign of affection. As Nick made it clear that he would not stop caring for me as he had always been, I insisted that we can’t go through the same path and steps. In order to make this work, we agreed on some rules that were against anything romantic or in an abstract description, I would put it as not doing anything a friend would not do to a friend. One of them is a boundary set on touching, whether it’s intentional or not.
I told him to sit down and make him a plate. I plate his food and drink exactly like I did mine, one quality that made it easy to be with him is the fact that he is not a picky eater or has a strict eating habit that sounds like a fully developed palate to me. As a foodie I’m always grateful for a partner to be down for any kind of exotic things I wanted to try.
We immediately dig into our plate. He showers compliments on my cooking and rants how much he missed it. “This is exactly what was missing in my life.” He exclaimed. I replied with a sarcastic chuckle and continued on eating.
As it has been quite some time since we’ve talked, there are a lot of stories that we want to tell one another. The asshole client that you worked with, where you advised them on their international contract with a foreign corporation that actually was a company where you dragged Nick and a few other friends to protest with you. It was one of the most notable projects you guys did together, the guy who met with us in the front turns out to be their head legal counsel and the said client asshole. Also you both got arrested and put in jail for 2 days. Then the conversation shifted to how daring we were as undergrads and how he was grateful for her to give him the courage to actually do shit. He was more of a thinker and I was more restless and angry.
Funnily enough there was no stale air between us. No mile high walls that would make this rekindling awkward. It might be the mix of many countless memories that involved each other and how much we always depended on each other. Somehow there is an understanding where we don’t want to touch on our past romance stories, so eventually we ran out of stories to remember.
Although the silence always felt comfortable with him, there was a point where it had become too much silence.
“So… how are you? How is the office?” I asked him as I took the last bite of my chicken. He worked as an investigative reporter in the Associated Press. He is so proud of what he does, you also do. But you know his ultimate dream was not to be associated with some company only and have limited freedom on what he reports.
“It’s… Just the same…” He stammered in deep thought. “Not much more exciting, though I get to investigate the latest Iran stuff.”
I jumped out of your chair and gasped exasperately “No way?!” I folded my legs in between the chair and my thighs and repositioned my seat. “You’re joking right? That’s like the biggest story right now. Why are you not more excited?”
He smiled proudly, like he successfully executed a poker face. “It’s just, you know how much I hate who it is.” He expressed his frustration while smiling gleefully. “The amount of time I need to go to his rallies, I swear to god.” He cupped his face with both of his hands and rubbed it frustratingly.
I let out a good laugh, humored by his success in the middle of his own personal hell. I instinctively tried to pat his shoulder to give him some encouragement, but retracted even before I lifted my arm. I instead resorted to words. “I trust that you can give them the most objective facts and let the world see it as what it is.”
He nodded in agreement and you got back to the kitchen to take out your cake. While you carefully take out the iron skillet of a cake out of the oven, Nick instinctively brings both of the dirty dishes to the sink and starts to gather dirty dishes and utensils in the kitchen. It was a part of our routine, I wrecked the kitchen and cooked incredible food and he cleans the mess afterwards.
“Don’t wash them yet, let’s eat the cake first.” With frog patterned mittens, I cradled the skillet to the tea table that were hugged by two pastel brocade armchairs in the living room not far away from my dining table. When I was about to place the skillet, I realised I forgot the hot pad to protect my beloved curated tea table. Almost every piece of furniture I own is second hand and I choose to sit on the ground rather than settling for one that I personally do not love.
“Nick, can you get me the hot pad please. It’s in the drawer right next to the fridge.” I half yelled immediately followed by the sound of brisk footsteps. “Should I get the ice cream?” He asked half slurping back his drools. I place the skillet and nod enthusiastically.
I told Nick to also get the whipped cream, and say that I wanted to try something. The night felt damp and chilly, so I turned the heater up and picked up a couple of my crocheted throw blankets. Nick is always amazed by how I can crochet things, especially big pieces like wearables and blankets. He told me it’s one of my qualities that he liked and marvels about how patient I was with crochet. He said it says a lot about my personality and I always laughed at how ridiculous his diagnosis is. Thinking about this actually opens up emotions about Nick that I don’t ever want to touch anymore. Love with the wrong person can lead to stupid behaviours, but it’s not always their fault, sometimes it’s mine too.
We sat on the plush arm chair, I turned on some calm music on my flat screen, setting the room up for a long catch up instead of being present with entertainment. “Come on, dig in.” I chirped enthusiastically. I continue to ramble on to him that this recipe has been in my archive for quite some time and that I immediately wondered if he might like it.
I watched him taking the first bite with my eyebrow raised. He closed his eyes, and couldn't believe how strong the chocolate flavour was. As I took a bite we discussed who Ina Garten is and how the chocolate in the dough is mostly only in powder form, then I added a few chocolate bar bits as per recipe.
“Some creator said it’s Kladkkakka, a Swedish dessert.” I add in the many facts I dumped to him. He nodded acknowledgingly while still mainly focusing on the dessert in front of us. After a few bites and feeling like we can’t eat anymore, we ended up in a companionable silence mostly because we were stuffed like a milk overdosed kitten.
The night was adequately comfortable, not much different than what I was expecting to have since I left the office. Only it was less lonely, because Nick came back. But that question nags at me to be asked. Where was he? The frequency of our hang outs dropped just like that a year ago. I was hurt, I felt the most alone during the first months. Thankfully work keeps me busy and friends from work are great for girls night out. Male “friends” also are great company for some night but I never could open myself like I did with Nick. He understands my wounds and scars. I was always amazed how he didn’t run away when I acted crazy. The only time he ever got mad at me was that one time I disappointed him during our relationship. But he is here now.
“What were you up to till now Nick?” I asked him, avoiding sounding accusatory. It was well within his right to leave whenever he wants, that’s what I told him and myself when our relationship morphed into friendship.
I smiled at him, his eyes got teary. “I’m sorry, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” I was concerned by his reaction to the question. “We can watch some of your DC superheroes movies.” I joked. He knows that I’m more of a MCU lover. He chuckled.
“No, talking to you was actually what I’m looking for.” He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. I offered him a box of tissues and he gracefully accepted it.
I wait for him to be able to speak, trying to show him that I am present. He looks very heartbroken.
“I’m sorry I disappeared.” Guilt washes over his posture. I shook my head, and told him to focus on what he needs to get out of. “I met a girl, she was lovely.” As much as it frustrates me that he wouldn’t spill it already. I understand that it must’ve shaken him so much for him to be this broken.
“After our tenth date around a year ago I told her about you and wanted her to meet you. I told her everything because I thought honesty was everything, right?” I nodded to his need for confirmation.
His voice was strained, and proceeded to tell me that he just wanted to make her happy so he cut me off completely because she would go crazy if my name would pop up on his phone. Admittedly, this was something I brought up when he said he didn't want to lose contact with me. The itch to say “I told you so” is bad, however this was not the time.
“Then a few months passed, we were strong and steady. I was sure she was the one. So I proposed.” He shrugged, as if it was some definite thing. “Then it turns out all that suspicion was insecurity. It’s her that has been out and about with guys.”
“For a few days I don’t know how I feel, but then it dawned on me.” He clears his throat, taking a sip of the milk I readied to fully enjoy the dessert I made. “I sacrificed my friend just to lose another person I cared about.”
He said it in a way that he never felt so alone. Your heart aches for him. Nevertheless his naivety on love, it made him sound like a kid again.
"Yeah." My voice came out quieter than I intended. "That's kind of what happened."
He looked up and somehow all I could feel was acceptance to the situation. I smiled, trying to tell him bygones will be bygones but there was no truth I intended to keep. "You lost a fiancée." I poked my spoon at the cake in the skillet. "I lost my best friend.” I smiled at him, telling him that he is in a safe space and I won’t judge him, until he feels better at least.
In that moment I can finally put what I feel about him in exact meaning. I am excited to share stories of many moments and experiences in my life with him. I want to tell him how I finally met someone who would give me everything that I need and I want to hear his stories of life, of finally meeting someone and sharing vacations with the families that we built apart. I know that we’re going to be proud of each other even when we are miles away. I knew we'd continue drifting in and out of each other's lives whenever time permitted, never as each other's destination, but always as somewhere safe to return to.
“Yeah.” That’s all that could come out of him. After his honesty, he seems lighter and I thought this was the moment where I can speak freely.
“I’m glad you feel better Nick.” I smiled, giving him reassurance. I’ve processed all my emotions regarding him months ago. Now all that came up is about how fun we had with each other, his kindness and the shell and soul of an individual in front of me.
He nodded. “Though I’m truly sorry Fran.” I rolled my eyes, not able to react properly in uncomfortable situations where I need to be all touchy feeley.
“Ugh, stop it. I’ve forgiven you. Just take it or leave it.” I spooned a big bite out of the cake. He chuckled then followed suit.
The night continues to be where we catch up on most of what happened to each other in the span of 1 year. The other 2 girls he went on a date with, the new office I got after successfully finalizing a big corporation+state deal. To which he commented : “Damn, I know it must’ve been eating you alive to be in the same room with those people.” and all I could do afterwards was visit a rage room to let all of my anger out. My therapists say it might be the only way before I can quit my job.
He continued to tell stories about his mom who opened another branch of their family bakery although she added lunch sandwiches this time. “Oh my god, I need to visit that! I miss her Corned Beef Quiche!” I exclaimed. Because truly Nick’s mom makes one of the best pastries in the Upper East Side. Then he proceeds to promise he will come by next week and bring some.
The catch up feels familiar and warm. Although I was afraid that this will be an ultimate test for my heart, I’m afraid of any remaining feelings for him to suddenly bloom again. To my surprise it’s nothing like that, for now I don’t have expectations for him to show up in ways that I expected him to during the first few months of our “friendship”. Just good memories and good food bound us. Still, in my heart I hoped that he is on the same page, I hoped that he doesn’t expect anymore than this.
“I’m afraid that I have to tell you Nick, I’ve warned you about how current relationships might react to our friendship right.” I was lightly brought it up. He laughs, “Yeah…”.
“You know, society in some ways categorizes relationships between two adults in a really limiting box.” I tell him the way I would tell him about my philosophical revelations about life.
“Yeah, I agree." He snickered. I continue my train of thought “Because two adults who are deeply intertwined and share a deep understanding with one another in life, could only be soulmates, whether in a deep romantic form or platonic form.”
“But us, it’s hard to understand for someone who is not in it. We’re not soulmates.”
“No?”
“Maybe we’re just… each other’s witness.” My gaze drawn to the window, looking at the night lights of New York. Nick follows my eyes and stares at what I’m looking at.
“Hmm… witness.” He giggled.
“Yeah. You’re the person who saw me become who I am and I’m the person who saw you become who you are now. That’s not nothing. And that’s not one of the common categories either.”
“That’s the most accurate thing we could describe us.” He added. I nodded in agreement.
Nick suddenly got up and went to the kitchen taking the dirty cups we used to accompany the cake. I got up too and folded the blankets tidily. I heard the kitchen sink start running and dishes clamors as I bring the remaining cake to the kitchen. I asked Nick if he wanted to bring home the rest of it, he nodded aggressively. Then I packed it in a deli container simultaneously, giving me an idea for layering this chocolate cake with some cream cheese alternatively. Of course I tell Nick about it and he disagrees on how it might be delicious. I accuse him of having no vision for culinary.
After I packed the rest of the leftovers, I went to my bedroom to clean myself up, also applying serums, lotions and what not on my whole face and body.
When Nick finished the dishes it’s already around 2 AM. I came out of my room and Nick was putting on his coat and shoes. “Uh… where are you going?”
He looked like a caught burglar, awkwardly stopping to put on his coat. “Home?” His face was asking why am I asking ridiculous questions.
“You’re ridiculous, you will not drive at 2 in the morning.” I exclaimed “I can get an uber Fran.” He sighed defeatedly.
“You’re emotionally constipated and sleep deprived. Get on the couch.” The one furniture I actually bought new. He agreed, knowing his body can’t go on without rest he set himself up on the couch and I handed him extra pillows to make sure he is comfortable.
“Do you still have that blanket?”
“The first one I ever crocheted? Yes.” I say menacingly. “I hate that blanket.” He added.
“You’re going to sleep with it.” I threw the blanket at him and closed the utility closet door.
He groaned and took the blanket anyway. I watched him throw it over himself and immediately kick one leg out from underneath it.
"See? You love it.” I said jokingly. "It's itchy."
"You've said that every single time." I rolled my eyes and went to get him a softer and comfier one from the laundry. He grumbled something unintelligible.
I turned off the living room lamp and stood there for a moment. I looked around and saw the state my home is in. The dishes were done. The leftover cake sat in a deli container in my fridge. And my ugly first crochet blanket was draped over a guy I once thought I'd never see again.
A year ago, I would have mistaken this for hope. Tonight, it felt like something gentler. I smiled to myself and headed back to my room. For the first time since I walked through my apartment door earlier that evening, I wasn't looking forward to being alone. I was simply looking forward to tomorrow.