Free Family Matters by Deborah Bedford

show me those notes? Are you up for another cafeteria hamburger?”
    She almost said yes. But then she allowed a slow smile to lift the corners of her mouth. “You want the truth? The real truth?”
    He grinned, too, a warm, full smile that made her heart feel as if it were flopping in somersaults. “Say no more. I don’t want to hear the truth, that you’d like to go down to the cafeteria and slaughter every single one of those hamburgers with a shotgun.”
    â€œOkay. I won’t say it.”
    â€œThat’s it, then.” He stood and helped her up. He had half a mind to suggest they eat out somewhere. But, calculating the days since he had last eaten a home-cooked meal, he said instead, “Let me cook something for you.”
    At the mention of a meal at a real table with real forks and glasses instead of paper cups, Jen’s eyes widened. “It sounds like paradise.”
    â€œCome on,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
    He drove her in his car, all the while intensely aware of her sitting beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes cast upward through the sunroof. It seemed like forever since they’d driven along together like this, even longer since the two had cared what was happening in each other’s life. For one brief, insane minute, Michael found himself wishing he could reach across the front seat and take her hand.
    But they’d been married once and it would mean too much. He concentrated on the expressway, both hands gripping the steering wheel. He could think of nothing to say.
    Finally they pulled into the driveway at his house. The garage door rolled open for him. He fumbled with the house key, displaying nerves. She followed him into the house carefully, holding her handbag in front of her. He strode into the kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator. “Look what we’ve got here. Moldy peas. Some macaroni and cheese wrapped in a Baggie. Half of an overripe cantaloupe.”
    â€œVery appetizing,” she teased. “If you really want to know the truth—” she told him candidly “—it still looks better than the cafeteria hamburgers.”
    â€œTrust me,” he said, shooting her a little grin. “I’m going to find something that’s edible. It’ll just take a minute.” He poked his head farther into the fridge.
    â€œDon’t let anything attack you in there. Some of it looks deadly.”
    â€œThis is it. Here. I’ve got it.” He pitched out an unopened package of flour tortillas, a tomato, a head of lettuce that was a little wilted but would do, and some salsa. “I’ve got chicken in the freezer and I can defrost it. We’ll have fajitas. It won’t take long.”
    â€œThank you,” she said, laughing. “I would have killed you if you had gotten my hopes up for nothing.”
    They set to work, side by side. She chopped the lettuce into little strips and diced the tomato while Michael took care of everything else. She didn’t look up when she heard him go out onto the patio to start the grill.
    Now that he wasn’t standing within feet of her, she contemplated how odd it felt to be cooking with Michael in his kitchen. It felt right. And wrong. And funny.
    Michael wandered back inside looking for a match to light the grill.
    Jennie dissected the tomato perfectly, paying close attention to the little squares she made, trying to ignore her response to Michael’s presence. After almost two weeks spent discussing Cody, she couldn’t think of one thing to say.
    â€œI had to get the matches,” he said. “Can’t start a fire out there if I can’t find the matches.” For a moment he just stood there, watching her with her head bowed over the tomato and all the wheat-colored hair flowing down her back. Then, as if in a vision, a memory came back.
    It had been their first night in their tiny apartment