The air smelled of native rice, spicy and rich, the kind of aroma that clung to the walls and filled the silence between three people pretending not to notice one another.
I had been in the kitchen for hours, stirring, seasoning, tasting, adjusting. I didn't want the food to taste too good. I didn't want compliments. I didn't want to be noticed. But apparently, that was too much to ask.
"Oh dear, Sidney!" Jake exclaimed, his mouth half-full. "You do not cease to amaze me with your cooking."
I stood by the kitchen entrance, arms folded, watching him chew with too much enthusiasm. Across the table, Carl was devouring the rice like it was his last meal. Not a single word came from his mouth, but the way he kept scooping spoon after spoon said it all.
I didn't say anything. I didn't smile. I didn't sit. I just turned and walked back to the kitchen like it was the only place I still belonged.
