At least I think I’m starting to remember things. I am going to try to downplay the romantic aspect of what I remember as much as I can. I want to be her friend. Being her friend is okay. If I’m her friend, I can be there in the way she needs me to be. Being her friend won’t hurt Jenna, and if I’m her friend, the urges I have to be around her, to see her, hear her voice won’t make me feel so guilty.
Lauren and I will be friends.
Just like Lisa and I are friends.
Jenna doesn’t like the fact that Lisa and I are friends, but it’s something she’s dealt with. I pull out my phone and text her to see if she’s up. I hope she is or I’m going to feel like an idiot with all of this stuff laid out. If she’s not, I’ll make a burger and take it for lunch tomorrow. I turn on the kitchen radio but low enough so it doesn’t disturb anyone else in the house or wake up Caylen. My phone alert goes off, it’s Lauren responding. I text her to see if she’s ready. A few minutes go by and she walks into the kitchen, a curious smile on her face. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she's wearing a pink tank top with pink and black flannel pajama pants. She almost looks like a teenager, her face youthful and vibrant. She could easily pass for a senior at my school and she’s…I don’t know how old she is.
“Hey,” she says, walking towards me. She eyes the ingredients on the table and lets out a laugh.
“Meatloaf?” she asks. I scratch my head. Okay, this is going to be harder than I thought.
“No. Bacon cheeseburgers,” I say nervously.
“I was just kidding,” she says, flashing me a wide smile that makes my heart speed up.
Lisa’s smile doesn’t make your heart speed up like this.
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” I say, giving her a playful nudge with my elbow. I ignore the warm sensation that shoots through my body the moment I touch of her. I notice her face flushes but her expression doesn’t change.
“Okay, we’ll start by washing our hands” I say, quickly distracting myself from the moment. I turn on the water and hand her the soap after squeezing some out for myself. We both scrub fairly quickly and head to the counter where the ingredients are.
“Now this may sound stupid, but remember, I’m a novice,” she says nervously.
I lean on the counter. “There are no stupid questions,” I assure her and she laughs nervously.
“What are the eggs for?” she asks timidly, and I try to hide my smile.
“It makes the meat stick together,” I explain, putting half the ground beef in her bowl and the other half in mine.
“Do we have to use eggs?”
“Uhm. You don’t have to unless you’re adding bread crumbs,” I explain, and she frowns.
“Okay. No eggs.” I laugh. I take the carton of eggs and put them back in the fridge.
“This is going to be your simple, on-the-go, less-than-twenty-minutes burger, okay?” I say playfully, and she nods.
“As you get better and become familiar with different seasonings and all of that, you can add more things, but for now, let's keep it simple.”
“I like simple,” she interjects.
“Salt, pepper. I like onions, and you’re good to go.”
“Sounds good,” she says, seemingly interested. I take a half of an onion I’d already chopped and pour some in my bowl of meat.
“Onions?” I ask.
She nods giving me the okay.
“So, you’re basically going to take the meat and pat it into a circle, like what a burger looks like. I’ll show you with mine,” and I start to shape the meat as she watches intently.
“Now you try.” She picks up the meat and starts to shape it.
“Mine doesn’t look as neat as yours.” She pouts. Her patty is cracked on all sides.
“Instead of just smashing it, press down in the middle and in from the sides,” I clarify. She takes another handful of beef, starts to mold it and it looks exactly the same as her last one did.
“I told you, I suck at this,” she says disappointed. I take a hunk of my ground beef and show her again how I did it, this time more slowly. She tilts her head watching me again and after a minute she picks up her oddly-shaped hamburger, adding more meat to it and tries again.
It’s way too much meat. I finally take her hands and show her. She pauses when I do, we both do, but her laugh breaks the tension that’s mounting between us.
That’s definitely a friend laugh.
She finally manages to make two pretty perfect patties.
“Spectacular,” I say, and she takes a small bow.
“So the only thing next is to season them,” and she nods. “It really only takes a few pinches of salt and pepper on each side.” I demonstrate on mine. She grabs the bowl of salt and pepper I measured out earlier and does the same, mimicking the number of pinches I used. I can’t help but grin.
“Now you can fry these on the stove or cook them in the oven. I think baking’s probably easier for you to start off,” I say, grabbing the baking pan.
“You put foil down on the pan.” I grab a can of cooking spray. “Spray it so it doesn’t stick, you could use butter if you don’t have this.” She nods. I put the burgers on the sheet and in the oven. “You set it for 350 degrees and you’re done,”
“What’s the second pan for?” she asks. I hand her the pan and foil.
“Do that just the way I did. You can tear off eight pieces and lay them on the pan.”
She lines the pan with the foil and I hand her the block of bacon. When she starts to tear off the bacon she makes a grossed-out face and I laugh.
“Okay,” she says when she’s done. I take the tray and pop it in the oven.
“Depending on how thin the bacon is, you’d have to keep a closer eye on it so it doesn’t burn but since this bacon’s pretty thick it can cook for about the same amount of time as the burgers." She nods and then smiles.
“That wasn’t bad,” she says excitedly.
“You’re a natural,” I joke.
“I wouldn’t go that far, and I had your help,” she says modestly.
“We’re not done yet. You have to actually taste it,” I remind her. We both sit down at the kitchen table and wait for the food to finish cooking.
“I appreciate this. I know you work with your dad early in the mornings. You should be asleep now,” she says, fidgeting with the strings on her pajama pants.
“I’m used to getting up early. I don’t mind,” I tell her as my eyes gradually drift down to her chest. I immediately look away. She’s not dressed in anything revealing but this is the least amount of clothes I’ve seen her in. Well, right in front of me. I’m reminded of the memories I’ve been having. I’m trying to think of the best way to bring it up, which one to start with, and how much to leave out.
“I wanted to ask you something,” I say, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice. Her focus shifts from her pajama pants to me.
“Actually, I wanted to tell you something and ask you something,” I say, clearing my throat, my nerves winning out.
“I—I think I might have remembered something—one of Cal’s memories.” Her eyes widen, she immediately seems more vibrant and alert.