"Hey, you all right?" Aiden's voice is soft at my ear.
"Yeah, I think so." I straighten and unzip the bag.
"Here, let me help." He takes the food out and sets it on the table. "Can you look for a can opener?"
I rummage through the cabinets and drawers until I find a handheld can opener. Like everything else, it's caked in dust. I rinse it off in the sink, then hand it to Aiden. I repeat the process with a large pot. Then I search for bowls and spoons and cups.
Being in the kitchen like this feels too normal for our current situation. It also reminds me so much of home, of the evenings I spent helping Mom prepare dinner. Back when we still got along, when she actually wanted me around and I wasn't the family pariah. I'd give anything to hear her voice right now, even if she was scolding me, or to feel her arms around me.