Chapter 4
"What, you think I can't make them taste good?" Helen said, half-joking, half-defensive.
Emily set her glass down.
"No, it's just that heavy smells really get to me lately," Emily replied.
Helen dropped the knife onto the cutting board, a little harder than necessary.
"Emily, after all this time taking care of you, you're still keeping your guard up around me?" Helen said, her voice tinged with hurt.
The tension in the room was suddenly palpable.
Emily looked at her, doing her best to keep her voice calm.
"I'm not being wary of you, Helen. I'm just careful with what I eat," Emily said.
"Careful enough that you don't even trust me?" Helen shot back.
"It's not about trust," Emily replied.
"Then what is it about?" Helen pressed.
Helen took a half-step closer.
Her hands were still wet, her fingertips shiny.
"Since you married into this family, have I ever let you down?" Helen asked.
Emily didn't answer right away.
She wanted to say that being treated badly isn't just about not getting enough to eat.
Sometimes, it was when people just brush off what one say.
But she knew if she spoke up, this whole ravioli thing would blow up into a fight.
She didn't want to fight.
The baby was still so small, and she was just so tired.
So she just said, "Helen, my body's different now. The doctor told me to stay away from anything I'm allergic to."
Helen let out a little laugh.
"Doctor this and doctor that. You young people never stop quoting the doctor," Helen said with a small laugh.
She turned back to the filling and kept stirring.
This time, she didn't even try to hide it.
Emily could see the golden eggs, parmesan, and some deep green flecks mixed in.
Just a tiny bit.
There was so little of it that the eggs almost swallowed it, and nobody would notice without looking hard.
Emily felt a chill run through her fingers.
Helen kept stirring the filling with her fork, chatting away like nothing was wrong.
"Just a little chopped greens for extra flavor," Helen said, her tone casual, almost too casual, like she was trying to brush it off.
Emily's eyes locked onto those green flecks, her heart skipping a beat.
"What kind of greens?" Emily pressed, her voice steady but tense.
Helen's fork stopped in midair.
She turned to look at Emily, and her eyes were steady, as though she had just confirmed something.
"Go on, take a guess," Helen said.
Emily didn't say a word.
Outside, the elevator chimed, then the sound faded away.
The only sound left in the room was the filling being stirred.
Helen took out the dough and started rolling out the wrappers.
One by one, the white wrappers spread out on the cutting board, thin and delicate, like little moons.
She worked fast, and with a quick pinch of her fingers another one was sealed, neat and perfect.
"Don't give me that look," Helen said, a smile still on her face.
She kept smiling, but there was something sharp in her eyes.
"Come on, do you really think I would actually hurt you?" Helen added, her tone light but with a clear edge.
Emily dropped her gaze.
Her phone lit up with a message from David.
[I'm coming home for lunch, anything you want to eat?]
Emily was just about to reply when Helen walked over, holding a row of freshly made ravioli.
"We're having these for lunch today," Helen said.
"Egg filling, made just for you, to build you up," Helen said with a smile.
Emily looked up.
Helen's smile was wide, but her eyes locked onto Emily, almost like she was waiting for a reaction.
The water in the pot started to boil, thick clouds of steam rising up and fogging the kitchen window.
Emily stared at her phone screen, her finger hovering over the keyboard.
She thought about writing back to tell David not to come home, because Helen was making ravioli.
She also thought about telling him to come home, because she was frightened.
Just then, Helen stood right in front of her, holding the plate of raw ravioli, her eyes pinning Emily to the chair like she couldn't move.
"Why aren't you replying?" Helen asked, smiling, but her eyes were fixed on Emily.
She added, "David wants to know what you want for lunch."
Emily set her phone face down on the table.
"He said he might come home for lunch," Emily replied.
Helen's smile paused for a second, then quickly returned.
"Well, that's just right. Let him have a taste too," Helen said.
The water in the pot was bubbling even harder.
Steam climbed up the glass door, filling the kitchen with a steamy haze.
Helen dropped the ravioli into the pot one by one.
She used the back of the spoon to push aside the boiling water, watching as the ravioli sank to the bottom, then slowly floated back up.
Emily sat at the dining table, her palm pressed against the side of her glass.
The water was cold now.
She glanced down at her stomach.
Her belly was still flat, but she knew a tiny life was quietly growing inside.
Suddenly, she felt so tired.
It wasn't just today.
It started the first time she was accused of being dramatic, and every time someone cut her off with a laugh when she tried to explain herself.
All that exhaustion had piled up, bit by bit, until now it felt like a heavy, wet stone weighing down on her chest.
Helen scooped out the first plate of ravioli.
The plump, white ravioli were squeezed together on the plate, with a hint of green around the edges.
She placed the plate right in front of Emily.
Then she slid a small dish of sauce over.
"Eat while it's hot," Helen said.
Emily didn't move.