Swift as a Coursing River | Ongoing

25. A new path

Edwin opens the door to his apartment, wondering if he cleaned up this morning. He always does, but what if he forgot today? What if he left out anything dirty, or anything private? He wouldn't know what that'd be, but still. Vincent has never been here. He doesn't want to leave a bad impression. It should be fine, though. He cleaned last week, and Vincent is not a neat freak.

"Make yourself at home," he says. He points at the doormat with his shoes, and the coatrack above it. "Kitchen is through here."

He drops the shopping bag in his bedroom and opens the kitchen cabinet where he keeps his pots. Vincent leans against the counter next to the stove. "What are you going to make for me, darling?"

"What do you want to learn? We can see if I've got everything then."

"Do you know Bangladeshi food? Or Indian food?"

Dammit. Of course even when Vincent wants to learn cooking, it's not the type of food Edwin knows, that he's good at. "I can look up a recipe," he offers.

Vincent shakes his head. "I don't think you're going to have the ingredients. What's easy to learn? I don't want to keep you up too late with your party tomorrow."

Edwin huffs. "I can sleep in. It's just Ellen and the girls. They'll have made cake or pie. Food that I'm not allowed to cook."

"They deprive you of that on your birthday? Shame on them, darling. It's a disgrace."

"I do the same when it's Ellen's birthday." Edwin scans the shelves of his pantry. Something easy. "How about couscous?"

"Sure, pumpkin. That sounds great."

Edwin grabs the box of couscous and an onion, and the vegetables from the fridge. He doesn't have the right type of meat, so it's going to be vegetarian couscous today. He shows Vincent how he should cut the vegetables and gets to work on the onion.

"Are you always so sad when you cut vegetables?" Vincent teases when Edwin wipes his eyes on his sleeve.

Edwin shakes his head. "Onion. Didn't want to give it to you with your make-up."

"Very kind of you, sweetheart. I'm honoured you're shedding tears for me."

"Not for you," Edwin protests, but without any real bite.

Vincent is very careful and slow cutting the vegetables, so Edwin takes over some of his once the onion is all chopped. Vincent purses his lips and the look of focus on his face reminds Edwin of Vincent playing clarinet, consumed by what he's doing. Getting it exactly right. He must look like this when he works on his watches and jewellery.

While Vincent is still busy with the butternut squash, Edwin starts frying the onion and tomatoes, mixing it with the spices.

"That smells nice," Vincent says. "I'm already getting hungry, darling. How long does this take?"

"A while," Edwin deadpans.

"Fine, girl. Tell me what you're doing. How much oil did you use?" Edwin looks at the pan. He'd forgotten he's meant to be teaching Vincent. They're not just cooking together. It's not just about the recipe, but even the basic skills. Vincent meant it when he said he couldn't cook.

He tries to explain what he's doing and Vincent comes to stand next to him, his vegetables still not fully chopped or sliced. It's an easier closeness than earlier in the store, less tense, and it feels like a thousand days spent cooking with Ellen, standing next to each other in front of the stove, talking, joking, affectionate. This is not that, but it almost could be. Vincent jokes and teases him — and here, doing this essential, life-giving thing that is routine and still a joy in his day, it feels equal. He can joke back about Vincent's cooking skills, tease him for his clumsiness while stirring. Vincent accepts it with a smile and goes back to the vegetables, which get added to the pan to cook.