Love After Layoffs novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: Penthouse

Brooks lived on the twenty-ninth floor of an old brick mill building turned into apartments, with a wall of windows facing the river.

"I'm a terrible cook," he said at the door, holding a wooden spoon. "I'll say that now so you can leave."

"You invited me to dinner."

"I invited you to watch me try."

The kitchen smelled like burned garlic.

He had made pasta, and the sauce had stuck to the bottom of the pot.

He stood over it with a look of pure betrayal.

I took the spoon out of his hand.

"Sit," I said. "Open the bread. Don't touch anything else."

I scraped the sauce into a clean pan and added a splash of water.

Then I added the last of the tomatoes from the fridge and turned the heat down.

He sat on a stool and watched me with his chin on his fist.

"You're good at this," he said.

"I'm good at fixing things somebody else broke."

"Janine."

"It's a joke."

"It's not a very good one."

I put a plate in front of him.

We ate at the counter with the whole river glowing under us, the bridges lit up yellow, a barge sliding through the dark.

The pasta was fine.

He ate three helpings and said it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

"Why Hale?" I asked.

He put his fork down.

"My mother's name."

"She raised me alone in Millvale after she left my father."

His thumb moved along the edge of the plate.

"My father was the Chairman's son."

"He drank."

"He died of a heart attack when I was twelve, and my grandfather came to the funeral and never once looked at my mother."

"Why not?"

"He thought she'd taken the boy and the name out of spite."

Brooks shrugged.

"She hadn't."

"She took a bus and a job at a dry cleaner."

"How old were you when she died?"

"Nineteen. Cancer, like yours."

I reached across the counter and took his hand.

"My grandfather found me at the funeral home," he said.

"He said, 'You have her eyes.' I think it was the first kind thing he'd ever said to me, and I hated that it worked."

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