Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,53

out of my hands.

“Hey,” I said, scrambling after him. “Give that back.”

I caught up to him in the kitchen.

“Hi, Mrs. L,” Elien said, smiling at my mom like he was just some beautiful, innocent waif who had wandered into our kitchen, when really he was a sexual dervish, the stuff of which nightmares are made.

“Well, hello, Elien,” she said. She was kneading dough; in the cast iron skillet, bacon and garlic had finished cooking together and now sat at the back of the range.

“Just going to borrow a few things, Mrs. L,” Elien said as he opened the fridge.

“Of course, sweetheart. But you really have to call me Gloria.”

While Elien rummaged in the fridge, my mom kept looking at me and looking at Elien with annoyingly significant glances. I shook my head. She mouthed, Invite him to dinner. I shook my head again.

“Elien, dear, what are you doing for dinner?” my mom said.

“He has a boyfriend, Mom.”

“I’m sure that’s perfectly fine, but I just asked him about dinner, Dagobert. Elien, I’m making one of Dagobert’s favorite meals: it’s a Cajun shrimp pasta with garlic, bacon, and cheese bread twists. Oh, and a light salad.”

Emerging from the refrigerator, Elien set carrots, celery, an eggplant, and pancetta on the counter.

“Pasta?” he asked.

“Over there, sweetheart,” my mom said.

“Mom, stop. You’re enabling him.”

When Elien came back, he had dry spaghetti. He grabbed a bottle of red, the loaf of French bread next to my mom, and then he tugged on the strings of her apron and said, “I’ll give it right back.” And God damn it, the woman giggled as he turned her out of the apron. Elien arranged all of it on the counter, including the apron, and then snapped a picture with my phone. He tapped for a while and held it out.

“Ok?”

I read the message that was waiting to be sent. Along with the photograph of the food and the apron, he had written, Sorry, had a friend pass away last week, and I’m still dealing with that. I didn’t mean to ghost you. I’m missing one ingredient for this romantic dinner: you. Good thing I can swing by the grocery store and pick you up.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I said.

“He’ll like it,” Elien said with a laugh. “Please let me send it.”

“Dagobert, let him send it,” my mom said.

“You don’t even know what it says!”

“Please,” Elien said.

I groaned.

“Fine,” Elien said.

“No, just—ok, press Send before I change my mind.”

I heard the little whoosh of the message zipping off into space. Groaning again, I let my head hit the counter.

The phone dinged.

“Told you,” Elien said.

He was smirking when I snatched the phone back.

Sorry about your friend. Are you all right? Another ding. Also, you are such a dork. Are you actually going to ask me to dinner, or do I need to invite myself over?

Looking up at Elien, I said, “That actually worked?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Of course,” my mom said.

“Of course,” my dad shouted from the living room.

“You don’t even know what he did!”

“I know it was cute,” my mom said. “Everyone likes something cute.”

“You have to actually tell him a day and a time,” Elien said, still smirking.

“Do not look so satisfied,” I said.

“I’m just happy for you.”

“No, you’re smug. You look smug.”

“Day and time, Dagobert,” my mom said.

“Tell Chad what day,” my dad shouted. “And a time.”

“I’m going to become a monk,” I said. “And take a vow of no parents. And nobody will talk to me or bother me.”

Elien still had that damn grin on his face when he tapped the screen.

Friday? I wrote. 7?

A big thumbs up came back. Then, Are you all right? Really? I’m sorry about your friend.

I’m ok, I texted back. Thanks.

If you need to talk, I’m pretty much always around.

Thanks.

I’ll see you Friday!

Great! Thanks for being cool!

Elien grabbed my phone again. “And that’s enough. Save something for the wedding night.”

My mom laughed so hard she had to sit down.

I grabbed Elien and steered him down the hall.

“Elien,” my dad shouted as we passed the living room. “Do you want to watch some golf?”

“Yes,” he said, trying to get free.

“No,” I said, “he doesn’t. Why does everyone in this house like Elien more than me?”

When we got back to my room, I pushed him toward the chair, shut the door, and leaned against it.

“Chad’s a very lucky guy,” Elien said.

“Will you stop joking?”

His mouth quirked once, and he said, “Who says I’m joking?”

“Can we please try to find David now? A supernatural