Page 2 of After All This Time
Bella and I have been best friends since we were toddlers. We’re practically sisters, even though we’re not blood-related. She was there for me when my father passed away, letting me stay at her house with her when I couldn’t bear the thought of stepping into my own house.
She always puts other people’s interests before her own, and never asks for anything in return. She deserves the world, especially after everything she’s been through.
I look at my reflection in the mirror and notice dark, puffy circles under my eyes that take me out of my thoughts.
I’m so exhausted.
I spend a good twenty minutes brushing my teeth, washing my face, and fixing my hair.
Hearing the sound of someone’s throat clearing, I find Bella standing behind me.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask her, my eyes widening.
“Breakfast is almost ready, Madame.” She curtsies, bowing her head down.
I laugh. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“You’re welcome.” Bella giggles and leaves the room, heading back into the kitchen.
Once I finish up in the bathroom, the smell of onions frying shoots straight up my nose.
As I walk out of my bedroom and into the kitchen, I see Bella working two skillets. One has scrambled eggs, white onions, and tomatoes. The other has two small flour tortillas in it.
“You amaze me sometimes,” I tell Bella, standing in the entryway to the kitchen area.
She turns towards me with a dirty look taking over her face. “Sometimes?”
“I’m kidding. How are you not used to my sarcasm by now? You’ve known me for years.”
“Well, you can take your sarcasm over to the tortillas and flip them over. If they’re golden brown, take them out.”
“Aye-aye, captain.” I walk over to the pan and grab a pair of tongs, flipping the tortilla over. Both sides are golden brown and it smells so good.
My mouth is watering from the combination of scents happening in here.
Bella cuts the heat from both sides of the stove.
As I sit onto my chair at our small kitchen table, she slides equal amounts of food onto two plates with the finesse of someone who'd grown up in a kitchen where food was seen as a form of love and art.
Bella grew up in a Mexican-American household. Her love for cooking stems from her mother and Abuela. I’ve learned so much from all three of them about Mexican cuisine, it’s opened my eyes in ways I could’ve never imagined.
A vibrating sensation through the table takes me out of my daze. I peer down at my phone.
SAGE
SAGE
how’s writing going?
ME
do you really want to know the answer to that question?
SAGE
like shit, right?
ME