. give up the ghost

[athena mccarthy]

She smiles and promises back, "no more wine. Maybe a little weed, but no wine." She begins to feel the tension of her arrival ebbing as she genuinely smiles. She found it strange that time had made them so hard to each other when their teenage selves kept judgement so far from their relationship. She looks back at him across the living room and shakes her head in protest, "oh stop. I was so mean and defensive. I got carried away."

[Deleted]

He nods along, though he knows he'll resist the temptation to indulge. He wanted to keep a clear head, both for work and for the evening ahead. Their last few meetings had been coloured by booze and weed, making him behave more rashly than he would have liked. He wanted to remain in control of himself. He waves away her apologies, not wanting to dwell on it too much. "I can make you dinner if you want? I don't know what's in but I'm sure I could scrape something together."

[athena mccarthy]

He waves her off and she wonders if this will come up later in an argument. The conversation was so much that she had to delete it off her phone as she knew she'd come back on it to dwell. The offer of dinner makes her smile, "I'd love that." She pushes off the blanket and leaves it ruffled on the couch when she stands, "I can be your prep cook."

[Deleted]

A smile crosses his face once more, as he's glad to have suggested something to do beyond staring at each other across the room. He leads her to the kitchen, which is as pared back as the rest of the place. Thom Yorke croons over the speakers built into the ceiling, and Julian opens up the fridge, surveying what's there. "How ambitious do you feel like being?" He's pulling out potential ingredients, his fridge one part of his flat that wasn't so bare. He studies them once they're out on the counter, finalising ideas. "We can either knock up some pastry to make brie and bacon tarts," he says, holding up the brie in question. "...Or I can just make us some crepes."

[athena mccarthy]

Athena snort laughs when he asks how ambitious she was. She loved to cook. Hosting guests for dinner was one of her favourite things to do, but the virus had robbed her off her joy and for the past while she'd been living off grilled cheese and pasta. She folds her arms and frowns thoughtfully at the pile of goods on the counter, "okay, Frenchie. You had me at brie... maybe piled with honey and apple." She pulls the reject ingredients and sets them back into his fridge, "you're on pastry duty. I'm a store-bought phyllo type of girl."

[Deleted]

He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows at her choice, like a mechanic insinuating that the repairs will cost a pretty penny. "The pastry will have to rest an hour," he warns her. Julian loved cooking. His heavily French roster of recipes was influenced by the fact that it was his grandmother who had taught him to cook, much to the chagrin of his mother, who thought preparing your own food was déclassé. He especially loved things like pastry for how finicky they were, demanding an element of precision and skill. "Anyone who says they make their own filo pastry is a liar, even top chefs buy it in. I can make fresh pasta instead, if you're starving? That only needs a half hour rest."

[athena mccarthy]

Athena was always too impatient for this. Even when they were teens, Julian would have such an interest in the process and Athena would be crouched and staring into the oven with feverish impatience. She nods, about to give in to the shorter wait time but instead grabs an apple and bites into it. "Nope. I want the brie bacon thing," she smiles at him, "tell me where you want me "

[Deleted]

"Alright, but we're both doing pastry. Here," he says, starting to roll her sweater sleeves up for her. He sets a bowl on a scale in front of her, weighing out flour and cutting butter into it. He starts grating parmesan. "Get your hands in there, mix them all in. It'll be like breadcrumbs." He watches for a moment, before he's unable to help himself. He stands behind her, his hands on her waist as he rests his head on one shoulder to watch. "That's it, you've got it."

[athena mccarthy]

She starts to laugh when he folds the sleeves of her sweater. She feels like she's a kid whose parent is guiding her through her first baking experience. Athena's love of cooking was the delight of her guests, but the actual task of it was very recipe driven. Julian somehow knew the amounts in his head and she'd always thought that was impressive. Her fingers press butter into flour, the texture of the oil with the flour begin to pill onto her hands. She jumps when he touches her waist but softens as he eases his chin on her shoulder. "Oh Jules," a sigh trembles from her lungs and she leans her head against his, "I'm trying to be friendly. Why can't you let me be friendly?"

[Deleted]

Julian missed cooking with her. He missed everything with her, but he had always enjoyed sharing that passion with her, the two of them able to cook up a storm together. In situations like this he acted as her recipe book, having committed to memorising ratios for batters, cocktails and all sorts of mixes. "There you go," he says as her fingers work the mix into a crumb more elegantly than his ever would. As she speaks a faint pain spreads through his chest, and he silently reaches for an egg, cracking it into the bowl with a splash of milk, his body still looming behind her's. "It's too hard," he says, reaching around her to start mixing the egg in with his hands. "We were friendly when you brought your boyfriend to my engagement party, and that made me want to kill myself. Friendly doesn't work for me."

[athena mccarthy]

This feels like good poetry. The way he effortlessly moves around her, adjusting the recipe to how the mixture falls through her fingers. If she was drinking the ease of this would bring her a great sense of comfort. But with him behind her and the threat of him leaving, there's this bubble of fear and danger lurking in her chest. He breaks the egg and her fingers break through it, so yellow bleeds into the mix. Her hands pull to the edge of the bowl as his dive him and she frowns as he speaks. "Cold feet don't work for me," she leans back to rest against his chest, "I can't have you give me everything I want now, only to take it away."

[Deleted]

She leans back against him and his arms brush against her waist. She had changed so little over the years, still had that sloping waist, the long, full, blonde hair. She smelled the same, and it makes his heart ache for the times his bedsheets carried that same sweet signature scent. "You took it away, you left. The first time, and the more recent time," he says, matter of factly, not trying to provoke her. The dough starts to come together and he grabs flour, liberally tossing it across the counter space he's cleared. "You'll need to knead that for five minutes."

[athena mccarthy]

There's a part of her that wants to act defensive. When her anxiety gets riled up it pours over and she stomps her feet in protest. But with him behind her she feels more genuine and soft, so she breathes and tries to act fairly. "Last time doesn't count. It was confusing. It was so fast and so blurred," she does as she's told and begins to massage the dough. Her long fingers press into the soft dough, "I'm going to turn it into a rock."

[Deleted]

It's easier to have this conversation without having to be face to face, or worse, distanced by screens. Here she's the Athena he knows, a living, breathing person whose feelings he doesn't want to hurt. "Last time counted for me," he says, and it's true. Their half breakup had reminded him of the full weight of their first breakup, and his fear of history repeating itself had intensified tenfold. He gently places his hands on top of hers, smiling to himself. "You run so warm. You should really have cold hands for pastry, let me do it."

[athena mccarthy]

Their last moment together had made her feel stolen but it's now sinking in how unfair it was. She expected immediacy with them and when it wasn't given, a sense of betrayal had made her lift all her offerings from the table. "I misread it," she shakes her head mostly at herself, "I think I just expected everything to be as it was, but that was too rash." His cold hand on top her hers reminds of the balance they have. While she always took action, he processed and thought it out. "Well, now I'm useless."