Dinner for Two

I stare down at the number on my screen, my heart hammering.

This could all be over. I could boot that cursed thing from my life, hand return it to that kid and never think of it ever again.

But what about Derek? He can't stay this way. I can't do that to him.

My thumb doesn't move and Derek emerges from the bathroom, smiling from ear to ear. He looks overjoyed; his body language is loose and relaxed like he doesn't have a care in this world. Not a single one.

He's still humming as he walks past, then moves around the kitchen, setting our good plates on the table, the non-chipped ones from the bottom of the stack, and pours wine into actual wine glasses of which we only have a couple left, which he must have dug out from the back of the cabinet.

*Who are you to say this isn't better for him?* the evil little voice in my head pipes up. *Think about how passive and miserable he was during the past weeks. He hasn't been this carefree in a while. If the spell has made him happy, what's so bad about that?*

I get up brusquely, forcing the thought to the back of my mind. Derek told me what he wanted. Namely a future that doesn't include me and anyone who isn't a crazy sociopath would grieve the relationship, and then move on with their life. But that so much easier said than done. How could I bury and grieve something that's still so alive inside me?

And now I'm pacing.

I can't sit. Can't settle. My nerves are wound too tight, my thoughts ricocheting off the walls of my skull. All my hopes and dreams for us are still here. I still want them to come true. Hesitantly, I walk over to our dining table, cringing inwardly when I see Derek whip out a book of matches. He's actually lighting candles. Thin white ones he must have bought for this night because I'm sure we didn't have those at home.

With morbid fascination, I watch the small dancing flames. It's only when Derek darts into the kitchen to emerge with a baking dish clasped in his oven-mitt-clad hands that I snap out of my stupor.

Derek has never cooked anything more complicated than spaghetti before. Fried eggs, grilled cheese sandwiches, those are his speed. But tonight? Tonight, he's made lasagna. Which is my favorite dish, he's right about that. I peek past him into the kitchen where the debris of his culinary adventure is still strewn around. He must have made the thing from scratch, judging by the dirty mixing bowls in the sink, the smear of ricotta on the counter.

I stop in my tracks, staring at the dinner he's prepared. At the neatly folded napkins. The candles. The way he's set the table like we're in some cozy little Italian restaurant instead of our apartment. Half of the stuff on the table is newly bought.

"Derek…" I start, and he turns to me, smiling so brightly it feels radioactive. "Did you buy all this stuff? The candles, the napkins...?"

"Yeah!" he replies cheerfully as he places the baking dish on a heat resistant coaster in the center of the table. "Come on, sit down. You've barely eaten all day, right?" He steps back and pulls out a chair for me.

I plop down. He's not wrong. I really haven't had anything all day, what with Kaylee and the fight and everything else, but I also feel too worked up to eat. I wring my hands in my lap, resisting the urge to grab onto the white table cloth. Where did he find that? Was it in the back of some closet or was it one of his spontaneous purchases?

Derek stabs into the lasagna with a knife, then maneuvers a square chunk of it onto my plate using the same knife and a spatula. It makes a wet squelching noise when it lands, leaking tomato sauce onto the white porcelain.

"Thank you. This looks amazing." Derek beams at my lukewarm praise like a proud little boy scout.

This isn't the real him, but there's no escaping this right now. If I stay in this moment, maybe I can delay thinking about all my other problems for a while. While he sits down in the chair opposite mine, I pick up my fork and prod listlessly at my meal. It smells delicious, just the right mix of cheesy béchamel, tangy tomato and savory bolognese.

*Relax,* I tell myself, *just for a bit. Try to enjoy yourself. What's done is done, right?*

Maybe I need to look at this as some kind of farewell. Would it be so bad if I lived in the dream for one last night before the inevitable rough awakening?

Derek has helped himself to a serving, but he hasn't started eating yet. He's watching me, waiting for me to take the first bite and give him a verdict. I get the feeling that if I don't move, he won't either and we'll just continue to sit here, the food growing cold between us.

I force a smile and transfer a forkful of lasagna from my plate to my mouth. The moment the food hits my tongue, I realize my mistake. It's burning hot, the searing pain spreading in my mouth. I almost yelp, come this close to spitting it out, my eyes watering as I grab the glass of wine and all but toss it back, my mind wiped of all thoughts, my actions only driven by the need to douse the fire burning in my mouth.

Derek leaps from his chair and darts to my side.

"Skye, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I should have warned you!"

*God, I am an idiot!*

I blink at my concerned boyfriend and shake my head, my tongue stinging and growing numb. I cough weakly.

He's rubbing my back, his hand wedged between my body and the chair. One big circle, then another while I catch my breath.

"Okay?" he asks after a few beats.

Before I reply, I reach for the bottle of wine he left on the table and pour myself another glass. Then I take a long sip.

The alcohol pools warm in my stomach.

"Yeah," I finally manage. "Just burned my tongue a little, stupid, really."

Derek kisses the top of my head. "Poor baby."

His choice of words makes me frown, it's so out of character. Original Derek would have only ever said that sarcastically.

He squeezes my shoulder and presses his lips to my temple. I sigh and dab at my mouth with my napkin, which is white and soft and still smells like the store it came from.

"Let's just eat. I mean, you put so much work into this dinner."

"There's no rush. I want you to enjoy this."

"I will." I'm saying this like I'm declaring war, filled with faux determination. Derek returns to his chair and resumes watching me. He picks up his fork but makes no other move. His eyes are on me, hopeful and a little anxious.

I slice into my lasagna, then spear the cut off chunk with my fork. This time, I stop, hovering the food in front of my lips, and blow on it.

After that moment of hesitation, I try my second bite and I even manage to not destroy my insides in the process.

I chew slowly, genuinely surprised by what I'm tasting. The lasagna is just the right ration of bolognese, cheese, pasta and tomato with a little spicy kick. He must have used my mom's recipe. 

I'm stunned.

This is by far the nicest thing Derek has ever done for me. In all of our five years together, he never went all out like this. Sure, there were surprises, little presents here and there, a couple of birthday parties which later turned out to have been organized, for the most part, by Kaylee. But this beats everything else because he went the extra mile. He dug out my mom's recipe and cooked for me and how fucking sad is it that I had to put a spell on him to get us here?

The thought brings tears to my eyes. I blink because the wetness is threatening to brim over. My throat is tight with the sudden urge to cry and it takes all my strength to keep my face from crumpling.

*I'm so pathetic.*

"Skye?" Derek has been watching me like a hawk, of course he notices. Past!Derek might have had his phone next to his plate on the table, to glance at his messenger app or football scores but not this guy. This guy only has eyes for me. This guy loves me more than anything in the world. "Are you okay?"

I nod.

*I don't want to lose this. All I ever wanted was for him to love me like this. That's not too much to ask.*

*Maybe Kaylee is right.*

The thought slams into me like a sledgehammer, smashing my resolve to get rid of the notebook. What if I enjoy this? Push all that negativity, all the guilt and anxiety aside for tonight? Who's to say I don't deserve this much?

I take a few more bites, closing my eyes as I chew slowly, savoring the taste. The al dente pasta sheets, the crisp golden brown crust of cheese on top, juicy bolognese, I take it all in as I allow myself to relax for the first time in what feels like ages.

When I open my eyes, Derek's smile has transformed into a big grin, bringing out his dimples.

"So?" he prompts. "Do you like it?"

It must be pretty obvious from my expression that I do, tears notwithstanding.

"Yes. It's perfect. Absolutely delicious, Derek, thank you."

He reaches across the table to grab my hand. I return his gentle grip.

"Don't thank me. It's the least I can do. You give my life meaning, Skye. From now on, I want every day to be like this."

I want to bask in this for as long as possible, even if I know it's fake.

*God, can you make up your mind, Skye?* I can almost hear Kaylee yell this at me through the ether. I know I'm going back and forth, my mind is a seesaw of emotions right now.

Derek freaks me out when he follows me around and bombards me with texts, but when he's like this and we're together in private, it feels like I've won the lottery. Here is this handsome man who is willing to move heaven and earth for me. When have I ever had that before? And he's not unhappy. He's not suffering!

But there is a part of that's afraid to dig deeper into this. If I strike up a conversation with Derek, what am I going to hear? That he spent the entire day thinking about me and only me? That he didn't go to work? Has he even called in and talked to his boss? Is he going to quit? Or is he going to go back and work with Emily again? It all feels like one giant minefield. So I eat my meal with a smile on my face until Derek asks me about Kaylee.

"She's fine," I tell him quickly, "just, you know, cooped up at her parents' and struggling with her career. She lost her job in L.A. and hasn't really bounced back yet."

"Oh, okay?" Derek looks at me from under his lashes. "So when is she going back to California?"

"I don't know. Maybe she won't. I don't think she's decided yet."

Derek's brow knits. He pauses, his head cocked, fork in the air. "So the two of you will spend a lot of time together?"

*Oh, there it is,* the sarcastic voice in my head pipes up.

I swallow my bite of lasagna. "I mean..." An awkward little laugh escapes me. "Define 'a lot'."

The silence that stretches between us isn't comfortable and my entire 'I'm living the dream'-mood shifts into something gloomier.

My displeasure must have been obvious because Derek's demeanor changes as well. "I'm sorry. I get it. She's your best friend. I just want you to be happy. But I get a little jealous when I think about having to share you with other people."

"Well, you shouldn't," I tell him, trying to sound breezy despite my unease. There's a mountain of issues I'm ignoring, I know that, but I don't want to end this dinner in a fight. Even though that might give me some clarity. I don't want clarity right now, I want the fuzziness that comes with butterflies in the stomach. Early stage love. That's the feeling I want back.

"There's also dessert," Derek changes the subject, his smile returning. "Chocolate fudge cake."

The candlelight flickers against the rim of my wine glass and my eyes widen. "Seriously? Don't tell me you went and baked a whole cake."

His smile turns sheepish and he rubs self-consciously at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I did. Just stay right where you are."

He gets up and I lean back in my chair, my gaze locking onto the single red rose he placed in a vase in the center of the table. More than anything, I want to forget how I got here, what it took, and just be in this moment. I don't want to think about the car that might have been following us or the threatening text message or that teenager looking for the notebook or even just the stupid notebook itself. Just this, right now.

*Drink it in because you know it won't last.* The dark thought worms its way through my brain, no matter how hard I try to push it away. Then I remember Kaylee's suggestion and swallow. I take a sip of wine to get the bad taste out of my mouth.

Derek returns a moment later, holding a plate with a slice of chocolate fudge cake so glossy it looks like something out of a bakery display case. He sets it down in front of me with a flourish, watching me expectantly as I pick up my fork.

The cake is perfect, of course. Rich and decadent, and the chocolate seems to melt on my tongue. Any twinges of unease in my stomach are buried in gooey goodness. *I am enjoying this. I deserve this much,* I tell myself as I take another bite.

"You like it?" he asks, his voice warm and hopeful.

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "Yeah. It's amazing."

His shoulders relax slightly, but there's something about the way he's standing next to the table. It's a little awkward, like he's waiting for a cue. Shouldn't he be getting a piece of cake for himself, I wonder? Why is he just hovering next to me like this?

And then, suddenly, he grabs my hand.