Novel & Cerita This Kitchen Is Not The Same Without You

And he jogged off up the stairs without looking back at me. I wandered into the kitchen warily, in case someone else was around after all, although I didn’t hear or scent anyone. The kitchen was plain, functional, and outdated, with a scratched-up table and chairs and a groaning old fridge. My stomach made a similar rumbling sound as I sat down at the table.

Kenny was dragged around but still managed to tell Macken in some rather sensitive words right now to Chef Katherine, something no one would dare say: “Uncle Macken, Chef seems to have changed. Change your mind about the Michelin gold star." Macken laughs after Kenny: "She just needs a little push." And so the air of the kitchen returned to its stillness as it had never been before, only the sound of grease and pots clattering together with the horrible sweet aroma of spices. The rest of the kitchen knew well that with the exception of Katherine and Kenny, it was difficult for anyone to strike up a conversation with Macken easily. His strange stillness was nonetheless far more tolerable than

The kitchen is warm. This is what the quiet looks like. ---

And for a split second, I felt that maybe I was on the right track. This boy. He could have been my best buddy if life had been any different. If only I hadn’t missed out on so much of his life. We washed and dried the dishes in silence. No words, just the sound of clinking plates, running water, and the occasional scrape of cutlery. It felt mechanical and detached. Like neither of us really knew how to share a space without someone standing in between us to translate the silence. When the kitchen was finally clean, I walked ahead to the lounge, preparing for whatever Jayden wanted to talk about.

Thank you, Richard. We sit. The kitchen is small. The kitchen is the kind of kitchen that is small on Sunday afternoons when the kitchens are the kind of kitchens that are full of people on Sunday afternoons. The kitchen has the parents of the man. The kitchen has the mother of the woman the man used to love. The kitchen has the man. The kitchen has the woman the man is going to marry. The kitchen has the small gray dog.

He approached in two steps, held my face between his hands, and kissed me right there, in the middle of the still-empty kitchen, with the smell of fresh paint hanging in the air. The American kitchen turned out exactly like in the catalog we had flipped through together on the old apartment’s sofa. Matte black cabinets, elegant and sober. Subway tiles forming a clean mosaic. Wooden countertop with natural edges that I ran my hand over every time I passed it. The smoked glass pendant lights hung over the island like jewels, casting a warm and cozy light. “I love this kitchen.” I sighed, running my hand over the counter for the tenth time, feeling the smooth texture of the treated wood.

In a house with a garden that needed work and a kitchen that was theirs and real names on a lease and twenty two years on a piece of paper that meant nobody was coming. Not now. Not ever again. Just this kitchen. Just this.

“Nothing here belongs to you. Get the fuck out of the kitchen. You may have the Alpha wrapped around your dirty little paws but trust and believe no one else will be fooled.” “I don’t want any trouble.”

“I cannot see him anymore.” The words echoed through the kitchen, and suddenly I knew that everything had just changed.

“Ariana. This place is insane.” “It’s… fine,” I said. She shot me a look. “Don’t lie to me. This kitchen alone costs more than my car.” “It has a coffee machine that talks,” I admitted. She gasped. “Marry him.” I snorted. “Stop.” She walked to the windows, pressing her palm to the glass. “You can see the river from here. And….wait….is that a balcony?” “Yes.” “Do you have outdoor furniture?” “No.” She spun back around. “Tragic. We’ll fix that.”