Linda took the phone from me. “I have nothing to say to you,” she spat as she commenced to rake Erica over the coals.
Leaving her to it, I ventured downstairs to fix breakfast. Usually my weekend morning meal was leftovers from the night before. In the spirit of Like Water for Chocolate, I channeled my unspent feelings into my food.
When Linda came downstairs, the table bore French toast, scrambled eggs, homemade hash browns, coffee and juice. I motioned for her to sit down at the table and brought her a plate.
“So what are you going to do now?” I asked.
“Right now, I don’t know for sure. Half of me want to go busting up in the apartment and beat the hell out of Erica. The other just wants curl up in a ball and cry,” she said, reaching for the syrup. In the time it took me to cook, she got dressed. Even wrinkled and with puffy eyes, I still felt drawn to her.