Chapter 5
Helen sat down across from her, resting her hand on the edge of the table.
"What's wrong?" Helen asked.
"It's hot," Emily replied.
"Just blow on it, it'll cool down," Helen said.
Emily picked up a ravioli with her fork.
The skin was so thin, the filling showed faintly through.
She dipped it in the sauce, letting it soak for a moment.
Helen watched her hand the whole time.
That look was all too familiar.
It wasn't about whether Emily could eat or not. Helen was just waiting to see what would happen.
And all at once Emily understood that Helen hadn't simply forgotten.
They just thought other people's pain didn't count, unless the blood was at their own feet.
She brought the ravioli to her lips and took a careful bite.
Steam rose up, carrying the rich aroma of eggs.
In the next instant, the pungent, grassy heat of chives hit her nose hard.
Chives. No mistaking it.
This was not a touch of flavor for the filling, because it was the whole point of it.
They were chopped up so fine, hidden in the eggs and glass noodles, like needles someone had buried there on purpose.
Emily felt a tingling numbness spread across her tongue.
She kept her gaze lowered, refusing to spit it out.
Helen leaned in a little closer.
"How is it?" she asked.
Emily swallowed slowly.
It felt like her throat was scraped raw, as if sandpaper had run over it.
"It's okay," she said.
Helen's eyebrow arched.
"See? I told you, homemade is always safer," she said.
Emily picked up a second one.
She didn't rush, taking her time with each bite.
Every mouthful burned its way down, like swallowing fire.
Her lips tingled first, the numbness creeping slowly across them.
She picked up her glass and took a small sip of water.
Not even water could take the edge off that taste.
Helen watched her for a long time, as if waiting for a reaction that never came. Slowly, her smile relaxed.
"Have some more," Helen said.
Emily nodded.
"Yeah," she replied.
Emily kept going: third, fourth, fifth.
She stayed silent.
Helen fell silent too.
The pot in the kitchen kept bubbling and simmering, with the second batch of ravioli just rising to the surface.
Emily's phone lit up again.
It was a message from David.
David: [I'm on my way. Be there in twenty.]
Emily saw it, but didn't reach for her phone.
She was afraid that the moment she touched her phone, her hands would start shaking.
Helen saw the message too.
She stood up to scoop out the second batch of ravioli, her tone much lighter than before.
"See? You're eating just fine," Helen said.
Emily looked up at her.
"Helen, do you actually want me to have trouble eating?" Emily asked.
Helen's expression shifted.
"What do you mean by that?" Helen asked.
"Nothing," Emily replied.
Emily picked up the last one.
Her lips were already starting to swell, and when she spoke, her words sounded a bit strange.
Helen fixed her gaze on Emily's lips, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Emily swallowed the last one and set her fork down.
The plate was empty.
Her stomach churned, and her fingers were ice-cold.
Helen glanced at the empty plate and let out a laugh.
At first, it was just a brief chuckle.
Then, as if she'd been holding it back forever, she started laughing so much her shoulders shook.
"What did I tell you?" Helen said.
Emily sat there, not moving.
Helen slammed her hand on the table, the sound sharp and loud.
"Allergic? It's all just an act!" Helen scoffed.
Emily's eyelashes trembled slightly.
Helen laughed even louder.
She said, "See? You ate the whole plate and nothing happened to you.
"Young people are so overly sensitive, always pretending to be allergic just to get attention.
"Guess I finally proved it today, huh?"
Emily looked at her.
The swelling and pain in her lips grew stronger, and deep in her throat, a tightness began to set in.
Even so, she quietly asked, 'So, there were chives in them, right?'
"So, there were chives in them, right?"
Helen's laughter came to an abrupt halt.
Just then, the door unlocked.
David walked in, still holding his car keys.
He saw the empty plate on the table, then noticed how pale Emily looked, and stopped in his tracks.
"What were you guys talking about?" David asked.
The living room was so quiet, the only sound was the door slowly closing behind him.
David stood in the entryway, still wearing his shoes, his eyes fixed on Emily's lips.
The swelling was already obvious.
Her upper lip was an unnatural shade of red, the outline taut and shiny, as if it had been scalded by hot water.
His face fell.
"What did you eat?" David asked.
Emily tried to speak.
But it felt like a hand was slowly squeezing her throat, and her voice was so faint it was barely audible.
"Ravioli," she said.
David glanced at the dining table.
Beside the empty plate sat a small dish of sauce, half full, with the fork laid neatly across it.
Helen stood up right away.
"Egg ravioli. I made them myself," she said.
David walked over to the table, grabbed the fork, and checked the other plate of untouched ravioli.
He broke one apart with his fork.
The golden egg filling fell apart, and bits of dark green chives peeked through.
He stared at it for a couple of seconds, then looked up at Helen.
"What's this?" David asked.
Helen's face twitched.
"Just some veggies," Helen replied, dodging the question.
"What kind of greens?" David pressed.
"Just a bit," Helen shrugged, dodging the question.
"I asked you what kind of greens," David pressed, and he did not let her off it.
David's voice wasn't loud, but it silenced the whole room.
Helen's patience snapped under David's stare, irritation flashing across her face.