“Rose dropped off the groceries this morning, and I found this recipe online, so…” She drifted off.
I turned down the music on her phone. “What’s the occasion?” I’d never caught her cooking in the kitchen before. Snacking, sure. The girl pretty much lived on takeout and snacks, as far as I could tell.
“Cary said the album is almost done.” She looked happy when she said that, her eyes shining with excitement—and it gutted me. “So I thought I’d cook him dinner. You know, to celebrate.”
Yeah, that was thoughtful of her. Though I doubted that smell was gonna drag Cary out of his cave.
“So… you’re trying to poison him.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I’m not a very good cook.” Her shoulders dropped, and I kinda regretted being such a dick about it. “I know it smells a little weird—”
“Courteney. Turn off the stove.” I was already on my phone, opening the food delivery app I had installed. “I’ll order takeout.”
“Ugh.” She clicked off the element in defeat. “I’d tell you and your takeout to shove it, but I think you’re right. Something went wrong with this recipe.”
“You think?” I scrolled through the restaurants in the app. “What do you feel like? You still want soup? Or Greek? Pizza?”
“Cary likes that little gourmet pizza place, you know, over on Tenth?”
I looked for it, but I couldn’t find it in my app. “I’ll head over and pick up.”
“You don’t have to do that…” she said, but I was already on my way out the door.
* * *
We ended up having dinner in the living room, just the two of us. Me and Courteney, sitting on the floor, eating gourmet pizza at the coffee table. While we watchedThe Walking Deadon the big screen—her choice.
Cary didn’t come out of the studio.
We’d both messaged him. I’d called him, but he didn’t answer.
Courteney didn’t say anything about it, but I knew it bothered her.
Of course it bothered her.
“Do you want another slice?” she asked me when I sat back and pushed away my plate. It was the first time either of us had spoken, pretty much since we’d sat down and she turned the TV on.
“No. Thanks.”
She’d finished eating and sat watching the show, though she didn’t really seem to be paying attention. “I really hope there is a zombpocalypse,” she said out of nowhere.
“What?”
“I just think we should all have to fight for our lives in the apocalyptic demise. I think that would be the best way to die. We’d all go together, fighting for a common cause.”
I didn’t say anything. What was I supposed to say to that?
“I think I’d be good at fighting zombies,” she added, almost to herself.
“You would be,” I said. Somehow, if there were a zombie apocalypse, I could see her kicking ass. “You know…” I told her, “the album probably won’t be done soon.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“Even if he told you it would be.”
She didn’t say anything to that.
“With Cary… it’s not done until it’s done. Could be tomorrow. Could be another year.”