And despite his hopes that I’d keep an open mind, I really didn’t want to get back together with Brad.

 

The next day, after school, Delia had to stop by the grocery store before she dropped me off at home. As we passed by a display of dog food, I felt proud of myself that I had successfully fed and watered Pigeon earlier that morning. Or, I assumed I had because she hadn’t come out to eat when I called for her.

While I followed Delia through the aisles, a box of macaroni and cheese caught my attention. Another food that had been banned from my household that I’d always wanted to try thanks to commercials.

When she dropped me off, I was eager to make my own dinner. I checked Pigeon’s food bowl and saw that she had eaten. I grabbed her some more kibble before taking my box of mac and cheese over to the counter to read the directions.

Because that’s all cooking was, right? Following directions?

I had no idea what a saucepan was, or how it was different from a pot. But I found one that looked like the image on the box. It sounded easy: boiling water, putting in the pasta until it got soft.

Why hadn’t I tried this years ago?

While I waited for the water to boil, I started wandering around the apartment. I had mostly kept to my room and hadn’t had much of a chance to investigate. While I decided snooping in Tyler’s room was off limits, I figured anything in our communal living space was fair game.

In the living room he had an eclectic mix of books. Some of them were about finance and looked like they were old college textbooks. Others looked like they were about computers and programming. But most of his books were spy novels. And they looked worn, as if he’d read them often.

I loved that.

I checked out his movies on the media stand just below the TV. I expected to see action thrillers about spies, given his reading tastes, but instead found a bunch of sci-fi DVDs with a couple of big-budget explosion fests thrown in. Along with a few romantic comedies. Hm. I frowned. Had he picked them out or had some previous (or current) girlfriend left them here?

When I put the DVDs back, I noticed a stack of what looked like ticket stubs on top of the stand. They were parking tickets and I wanted to laugh. Apparently Tyler wasn’t great at reading the permitted parking hours on signs. He suddenly seemed so much more human to me.

And why did I find his illegal parking adorable?

I heard the sound of the water boiling on the stove. After I located a bowl with holes in it so that I could drain the pasta, I set the pan down. Then I read over the directions again. I needed butter and milk. I found the butter . . . but no milk. I didn’t know how much of an issue this was going to be and I was concerned.

There was a quarter gallon of chocolate milk left in the fridge. I considered my options. How bad could it be? I’d eaten cheese and chocolate together for dessert many times. I poured in a quarter cup of the chocolate milk and added the “cheese” packet.

Maybe I’d just discovered a new side hobby and I could become a YouTube star. I’d make videos of me combining interesting flavors for basic foods.

And I held on to that notion that it could work right up until the moment when I put my concoction in my mouth.

It was like misery combined with regurgitated chocolate and wet, curdled cheese. Foul. I spit my bite back into the bowl.

Pigeon wandered into the kitchen, keeping distance between us as she went over to her food bowl.

“Don’t mind me. Just over here committing food felonies,” I told her. I stuck the pan back into the sink to rinse it out. I didn’t know a lot about dogs, but I did remember reading they couldn’t eat chocolate. I didn’t know if that included chocolate milk, and while I couldn’t imagine Pigeon would want a bite of this monstrosity, it was better to be safe than sorry.

My phone buzzed, and my heart fluttered when I saw who the text was from. Tyler.

 

How were things? I lacked the basic ability to even feed myself. But that was probably not something I should tell him considering that he believed I could do things. Like cook. And clean stuff.

And keep his dog alive.

 

Wow, deep meaningful answer.

 

That made me smile and I considered whether or not I should work on raising my own blood alcohol level a little, but my mess of a dinner had ruined my whole night. I wasn’t even hungry anymore. My war crimes against food had effectively ruined my own appetite, something I never would have thought possible. Since I’d failed so spectacularly at cooking, I figured cleaning couldn’t be much worse.

I retrieved the cleaning list Tyler had made up and hung on the fridge. It was then that I noticed he’d doodled a bunch of stick figures acting out the various chores and it made me smile again. First on the list was filling up the dishwasher.

I’d seen Shay fill the dishwasher many times. I knew from her past scoldings that I was supposed to rinse stuff out and then make sure the water sprays could reach the whole surface of the dish when I put it in. Easy enough. After I’d put in all the dishes I’d dirtied, I grabbed some that Tyler must have left out from that morning. I’d smelled bacon when I woke up, but he’d been long gone and so had the bacon.

I grabbed the heavy pan he’d used off the stove and put it in the dishwasher. I knew I was supposed to add soap. Shay had a powder she’d pour into the little drawer. I didn’t see any powder. Just something called Dawn that was blue. It said dishwashing liquid on the front of the bottle. This must have been the brand that Tyler used. I wasn’t sure how much to put in, so I filled the slot full, closed it, and pushed start.

Feeling very accomplished, I headed off to the hall bathroom, which was basically mine. Although guests would probably use it, too. I wondered if Tyler had guests. And how often.

And how female.

I brushed my teeth, wanting to get rid of that choco-cheese taste that lingered on my tongue. Once I’d finished up, I went into my room to resume unpacking. I’d made a lot of headway, but I still needed to get the rest of the boxes emptied.

I quickly lost track of time, humming to myself as I worked.

Pigeon started barking. I didn’t know what to make of that. Tyler had never mentioned what it meant if she barked. Did that mean she needed to go outside?

I came out to investigate. “Hey girl, what do you . . .” My voice trailed off as I took in the state of the kitchen. Massive white bubbles covered the entire floor, growing into a mountain that was already countertop height.

I gasped. Oh no! I’d turned Tyler’s kitchen into a three-year-old’s outdoor summer birthday party!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Pigeon stood in the dining room, yelping at the bubble mound.

Quickly realizing the dishwasher was the culprit, I ran over and opened the door. I was hit with a blast of hot steam and more bubbles poured out.

But at least they stopped reproducing.

I went to the linen closet and started grabbing towels. I didn’t know how else to clean up that many bubbles.

“Pigeon! Please keep out of the kitchen!” I knew she wouldn’t understand me, but I needed her to not go in there and add to the mess. I had zero idea how to wash a bubble-covered dog.

Fortunately, she stayed put and watched me as I laid down a barrier of towels between the kitchen and the dining room. While I thought the tile in the kitchen would survive the bubbles, I was afraid the hardwoods in the rest of the penthouse might not.