Avery's POVJade was making pasta.Not from a packet, actual pasta, which meant she had either had a good day or was stress-cooking, and based on the focused way she was chopping an onion when I came in I suspected it was the second one. I pulled a stool out from under the breakfast bar and sat down and watched her work."You cook when you're processing something," I said."I cook when I'm hungry," she said, without looking up from the chopping board."You made a full bolognese from scratch at eleven o'clock at night last month because you got a bad grade on an essay," I said."The pasta was therapeutic," she said. "There is nothing wrong with therapeutic pasta."I propped my elbows on the counter and watched her. The kitchen was warm and smelled like garlic and the radio was on at low volume, some station neither of us had ever identified but which seemed to always be playing something that was not too loud and not too quiet. It was the version of Jade's kitchen I liked best, the eve
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