The chandelier hanging above the dining table looked like it cost more than my entire apartment, and I kept catching myself staring at it, half convinced it would crash down and erase me from existence. Probably the fanciest way to die.
But honestly, that was probably the least of my Woahs.
The smell coming from the kitchen was damn near divine. Butter, garlic, roasted something…I didn't know what Mrs. Graham was cooking, but it slapped me in the face from a mile away. The woman might've been…off-putting, I could admit that, but I also couldn't deny that she compensated for that with her incredible meals. Definitely beat the Chinese take out my mom would always bring me when she never felt like cooking the noodles herself.
I glanced over at Lila.
And immediately frowned.
My eyebrow raised in suspicion. The fuck was she even pissed off about?
We were finally safe, about to eat actual food, and she was acting like someone pissed in her drink.
I wanted to tell her off. To drop the attitude. I probably couldn't even do that anymore with her big personality change. She'd probably stab me.
Fucking mood killer. No wonder we broke up in the first place.
Mrs. Graham finally stepped out of the kitchen, apron clinging tight to her curves and stained with streaks of sauce. I swear I heard Lila's fork bending beneath her fingers.
"It's not much,"
Mrs. Graham said as she set plates in front of us, her smile warm but a little too stiff at the edges. Lila kept her head down as she spoke.
"I don't work well under short notices. Remind Lila to tell me when you two are coming next time."
That little self deprecating bit wasn't fooling anyone. This food looked like it could be served at the met gala.
…okay, maybe not the Met Gala. But Michelle Obama's cookout for sure.
Roasted chicken, buttered potatoes, fried rice, sautéed vegetables — the kind of meal that hits you straight in the soul. My eyes stung for a second. Not crying. Just…emotionally assaulted by seasoning.
Mrs Graham pulled a chair, sitting down infront of us. She didn't even look at her food as she planted her elbows on the table, two hands intertwined under her chin. She leaned in only slightly, the creak of the chair acting as if it was the indicator that a conversation was starting.
I got ready to put on my very best facade.
"I'm so glad to see you two unscathed," she began softly. "This was just a day full of surprises, huh?"
Lady…people were tearing each other apart in the streets. Her calm was starting to freak me out more than the infected did. Maybe Hyde Park didn't get hit as hard. Maybe she was in denial. I thought of any reason to make her seem normal in that moment
I offered a slight smile, unsure of what to say. "Yeah..uh— it was…well you know."
Her smile didn't move, but her eyes shifted toward Lila. Narrowed. Just barely— as if she had been waiting for her to add something. The wait was enough to make the back of my neck crawl.
Her gaze slid back to me like nothing happened.
"I must say, it's refreshing that you two are still together through all this." A beat. "Speaking of which…how have you two been—?"
"Fine, mom," Lila snapped. The sound cut the room clean in half.
That made what I said next feel unwarranted. My turn to ruin the vibe, I guess.
"Uhm — actually, Mrs. Graham…we've broken up."
Lila's fork snapped all the way this time.
Mrs. Graham's smile stayed warm — but something in it shifted. Bent. Like a mask cracking just a little. The air went cold behind my ribs.
"Is that so?" she cooed.
Maybe it was just a figure of my imagination…
Lila remained silent, but the vibe she was giving off felt like I could've been crushed underneath it. Was that the right call?
Fuck it. It was the truth anyway.
"It really is a shame you two broke up," Mrs. Graham sighed, swirling her fork through her untouched rice like she was stirring memories instead.
"I still remember your first prom together. Oh, Lila…" She let out a soft, nostalgic laugh. "In that ugly, stupid little dress…"
Oof.
Each word felt like a bullet ricocheting around the table.
Lila stiffened. I could literally see the muscles in her jaw clench.
But Mrs. Graham wasn't done.
She kept going — gently, sweetly —
"And you were so emotional that night, too. Do you remember, darling? Cried the whole way there. Such a sensitive girl."
Lila didn't breathe. Didn't blink.
I didn't really think much of it. It's just reminiscing, right?
I just sat there, chewing slowly, brain halfway distracted by the potatoes.
Until—
BANG.
Her fists slammed against the table so hard the plates rattled. She shot to her feet, the chair screeching backward against the hardwood. Before I could even react, a butter knife flashed in her hand — pointed straight at her own mother.
Her eyes were cold and irritated, like she was tired of the whole performance.
"Don't push it, bitch."
"Lila!!!" My voice cracked, shooting out of me before I could stop it.
Mrs. Graham didn't even flinch.
Her smile faltered…just a hair. Then returned, calm as ever, like she'd been expecting the knife the whole time.
"It's okay, Adrian," she said soothingly, hands folding neatly in her lap. "I've gotten used to her outbursts by now."
That did something to me.
Was this really what their relationship was like?
What she put her mom through?
I looked at Lila — really looked.
The wildness in her eyes.
The tension vibrating through her shoulders.
The way she held that knife like it was a natural extension of her hand.
In that moment, I didn't care if she ended up stabbing me because I disagreed with her. I was gonna speak my mind.
"Lila."
My chair scraped as I stood.
"A word. Now."
The coldness in her gaze faltered, replaced by something akin to a puppy getting reprimanded by their master.
No. That look wasn't gonna fool me. Not this time.
Mrs. Graham stayed perfectly still. Perfectly pleasant as she watched the two of us disappear around the corner. Her smile continued to linger.
"Im just about tired of your shit, Lila. Why can't you just be normal for one fucking second?!?!"
My voice bounced off the narrow hallway walls, sharper than I meant it to be. The house felt too big, too expensive to be yelling in—but I couldn't stop myself.
"It's obvious your mom misses you!" I jabbed a finger toward the dining room. "She just…has a weird way of expressing it, that's all—!"
My own words tasted stupid the second they left my mouth. I spoke as if I was the one who grew up with her mom. Yet, Lila didn't speak. Didn't hurl an insult. Didn't snap. She looked up at me, only slightly, Just enough for the light to hit her glossy eyes.
Seriously?
Her voice came out thin, frayed around the edges.
"World's gone to shit— and you still just refuse to be with me? Even in our final months?"
Final months…? The fuck was she talking about?
I attempted to rein myself in with my response. "You're a murderer, Lila…we've established this. I can't be—"
"Have you looked outside!?!?" she suddenly screamed, the sound raw enough to scrape my spine. "Everyone's a fucking murderer, Adrian—!"
She had cut me off completely. I let myself falter, only slightly, as I pondered on her words. The hallway felt colder at that.
No. That had to be a fucking lie.
"Bullshit. There are still regular people out there! Don't use whatever the fuck this is to justify that you're a fucking pyscho!!!"
The words I was gonna finish her off with died in my mouth as I looked at her expression.
The tears in her eyes swelled until they broke, sliding down without her even blinking.
God damnit.
"Lila, wait— I didn't mean—"
A pit formed in my stomach.
She had already been storming off upstairs. Mrs. Graham watched as she silently ate her food. I felt compelled to follow her. I really should've.
But a hand on my shoulder stopped me.
"She's just being dramatic," Mrs. Graham cooed, squeezing my shoulder before leaning in closer.
"She'll come around soon."
I couldn't even put on a facade and answer her. Dear God, I wish she was right.