Jack’s head perks up at the call and picks herself up from the couch.
“About fucking time.” It is an hour past their usual dinner time. Not that she keeps count or that it has become a habit for her. Neither is it her inner realization of how much she might take Miranda’s presence for granted. Jack is just too hungry to think straight. That’s it. She sits opposite to Miranda in the kitchen counter.
She doesn’t much wait for another moment and starts eating. It is medium rare alright, but the meat itself is bland. For something that took her this long, it isn’t that magnificent. As she looks up, her comment on the food catches in her throat. Miranda is still standing, her eyes fixed on Jack and her lips on the rim of her wine glass. She waits for approval. Under her roommate’s expectant gaze, Jack forces herself to remember how to swallow.
“It’s not half bad.” Jack finally says, looking back down at her plate.
Miranda smiles, satisfied and finally takes her seat as well.
Jack forces herself to stare at her food, picking at her steak’s accompanying potatoes. Why did she even say that? Any other time she’d just let Miranda know that cooking was just not her forte. Perhaps it is because deep down, she wants to think otherwise. Jack wants to believe that Miranda remembers their first night in the apartment. That night, they slept in the living room because neither of their beds had been delivered yet. Move in had taken much too long so Jack had ordered out for them. Steak and potatoes the same as these. The delivery guy even recognized her.
They have a calendar up on the kitchen wall and Jack looks at it from the corner of her eye. Sly bitch. Jack’s smile is covered by her downwards gaze and she drowns it out by stuffing another piece into her mouth.
Finally, as involuntarily as things happen, Jack’s eyes find Miranda’s by accident. Her roommate just smiles, sipping from her wine, knowingly.