Two Fish

twenty seven || alaska

Alaska sat at the large wooden table in the dining room under Elver’s instruction. Cathy was asleep again, flat out in her bed and Elver was in the kitchen, adding the finishing touches to his dish. It was the only thing he could cook, having learnt it from his mother when he was a child and never thinking to venture out from the one recipe.

“Are you nearly done in there?” Alaska called.

“Coming,” Elver said. He came through in his mother’s floral apron, carrying two plates and two glasses on a tray, the cutlery wrapped up in a sheet of kitchen roll. Alaska laughed.

“You’ve gone all out,” she said, admiring his folding of the napkin. The twisted pieces of pasta were mixed into a mouth-watering combination of green pesto sauce and cream cheese, decorated with a few basil leaves. Both glasses were filled with lemonade, a jug of water between them on the table.

“I do try,” he said, bowing.

“I must say, I love the apron. It’s a good look on you,” she teased. Elver took it off and sat down.

“I know this isn’t much and it’s only simple, but it’s all I can cook.”

“Well, it looks delicious.”

“Let’s say grace.”

The look on Alaska’s face was priceless. Elver couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Oh, your face,” he said. “That was classic.”

Alaska was relieved that it was a joke. “I didn’t have you pegged as a, well, that sort of person.”

“I’m not, at all,” Elver said. Alaska smiled.

“I was worried you’d try to convert me.”

“Even if I did believe in God, I would never try to change you,” he said.

“Why not?”

“You don’t need changing. You’re already …” He stopped himself and took the first bite. Alaska followed. She rolled her eyes.

“Oh my God, that is just amazing,” she said, spearing another few pieces. “I never realised pasta could taste so good.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re not kidding?”

“Why would I joke?” She guzzled another mouthful, washing it down with a splash of lemonade. “I didn’t realise how hungry I am.”

“Thanks.” He had to admit, he was proud of his pasta. It was cooked to perfection, safely between soggy and chewy. Alaska had seconds before he had finished his firsts.

“So, Elver the chef,” she mused, pushing a piece around her plate before it was finally pierced by her fork.

“Hardly. I can do one meal. And toast. Though it burns sometimes.”

“You’re a one trick pony?”

“I guess I am.”

“Better to have one good trick than five disappointments,” she said. Having finished her food, she had moved onto what was left of her drink. Elver smiled to himself, working up the courage to say what he had to say next.

“You can stay over, if you want, overnight,” he said, pushing the words out one over the other.

“Oh, my mum wouldn’t let me do that,” Alaska said. “I couldn’t.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“But thank you anyway. I’m not rejecting you, I just can’t.”

“No, it’s fine,” Elver said. He wiped his mouth with the kitchen roll napkin. Alaska filled her glass from the water jug. She looked at Elver, who was looking at the jug. He could see her face reflected in it, distorted so it was wide and squashed. He smiled and she caught sight of what he saw, quickly putting the jug down.

“Still beautiful,” he said.

“Yeah, right. It gave me eight chins and a ten foot wide face,” she said. Elver repeated his sentiment.

By the time Alaska came to leave, it was getting dark. Elver offered her a lift and after a few seconds’ hesitation, she accepted, much to his surprise.

“Will Cathy be ok on her own?” she asked before she got in.

“She’s fifteen, Alaska. And she’s asleep. And your house is only a song away.”

“What?”

“It takes the same time to get to your house as it does to play a song,” he said. Alaska smiled.

“You’ve been working that out, have you?”

Elver had nothing to say. He turned the radio on and they waited in the drive until a song came on. He set off. It was a song he knew, and he knew that it was a minute longer than it took to get to Alaska’s house, so he drove slowly. Alaska didn’t notice – the slower, the better, in her books.

As the old crooner dragged out the final note, Elver pulled to a stop outside Alaska’s front door. The wheels crunching on the gravel drive had alerted her mother to her arrival, who came to the door. The light behind her cast a long shadow down on the driveway She waved at Elver and he returned the gesture. Before Alaska got out, he put his hand over hers.

“See you soon?” he asked hopefully.

“See you soon.”

She got out and he drove off. Mrs Gouramie waited by the door.

“You’ve been gone a while,” she said. “I didn’t see your note at first. I thought you’d jumped ship.”

“I’m fine,” Alaska said. She stepped past her mother, who followed her through to the kitchen.

“So? What’ve you been doing all this time?”

“I was just at Elver’s house. His sister’s sick, so we watched a film.”

“That’s sweet,” Mrs Gouramie said. “Any news?”

Alaska shook her head. Her mother smiled.

“You sure?”

“Well, he cooked for us.”

“He cooked?”

“Yeah. And it was nice. Pesto pasta.”

“Sounds lovely. I always said, you want to date a guy who’s a man in the kitchen,” Mrs Gouramie said.

“We’re not dating.” Alaska drank a glass of water and washed out the cup, putting it back in the cupboard. Her mother said nothing but winked when Alaska went upstairs.

“Not yet,” she called after the retreating girl. “Not yet.”