was staring.
"Shit," I barked when I saw that the veggies in the pan had started to brown. I let out a string of curses as I removed the smoking pan from the burner and dumped the pan in the sink.
"Everything okay?" Lex asked. I could hear the humor in his voice. The whole scene felt oddly domestic. It reminded me of the early days of my marriage when my wife and I had taken turns cooking dinner. Warmth accompanied the memory for all of about three seconds before the bitter truth of my situation returned.
"Gideon?" Lex asked. I realized I hadn't answered him.
"Yeah, everything's okay," I responded. I tried to keep my voice light, but Lex's next words made it clear I hadn't managed it.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
That was absolutely the last thing I wanted to do. "Are there any vegetables you don't like or can't eat?" I asked, avoiding his question entirely. "Is chicken okay with you?"
I didn't miss the way Lex took a long time to answer. I didn't dare look at him, not that it would've mattered since he wouldn’t be able to see me. But I didn't want to see his disappointment that I’d sidestepped yet another one of his questions. "Chicken sounds good. And as long as the vegetables came from the ground, grew on a tree, or fell from the sky, I’ll eat them.”
I found myself chuckling. "I haven't been to the city in a while. Are divebombing veggies a problem down there?"
Lex's soft chuckle was music to my ears. I sent him a side glance as I began prepping the food all over again. He was fussing with the controller for his insulin pump. This time I didn't even consider asking him if he needed help. Instead, I listened as he spoke into the device, which looked a lot like any old smart phone. He waited for the thing to calibrate and then it was reading off his blood sugar. The value matched almost perfectly with the measurement he'd taken just moments before. My curiosity got the better of me. I left the stove off and went to sit in the chair next to Lex's. "Do all insulin pumps have voice technology?" I asked.
Lex shook his head. "No, most of them don't. The company that designed this one"—he held up the controller—"is trying to change that. Even though most people who suffer from diabetes in the US don't suffer vision problems until they're older, there are a lot of other countries where the disease isn’t caught early enough and patients end up losing their sight when they’re younger."
"Is that what happened to you?" I asked.
Lex stilled for a beat and then nodded.
"Where did you grow up?" I asked. I tried to remind myself that it was none of my business and that it was better if I didn’t know anything intimate about the man, but another part of me wanted to know everything about him. I really needed to figure out how to shut that part of me down.
Easier said than done.
"New York," Lex said as he looked at me. He didn't quite meet my eyes, but it certainly wasn't for lack of trying.
"New York?" I said in surprise. I'd expected him to say he was from one of those countries where the care for diabetic patients was substandard. "Isn't vision loss treatable in diabetics as long as they get regular eye exams?"
"It is," Lex agreed. "But if they aren't diagnosed quickly enough or if they don't get those exams, then by the time they start to lose their sight, it's too late for treatment."
"Didn't anyone warn your parents?" I asked. It was difficult to keep the anger out of my voice. To think that Lex's blindness had been entirely preventable was beyond painful.
Lex was quiet for a long time. I fully expected him not to answer and was about to apologize for overstepping my bounds when he said, "No parents to warn."
I wanted to ask him what he meant but when he looked me directly in the eye, as much as he could anyway, I held my tongue. I knew what was coming next. It had been pretty much inevitable. I tried to steel myself for the question, but it was pointless.
"How do you know so much about this?" Lex asked carefully.
There were a dozen different answers I could have given him. I could have even just gotten up and walked away like I so often did