spacemandy

Sarah banished me from the kitchen, insisting she'd rather throw some food together for a quick meal than feed me take-out or restaurant food the first time we'd seen each other in over a decade. I went, reluctant, though not at the prospect of Sarah's cooking--I had no idea whether or not she was any good, but on the bright side, it literally wouldn't kill me to find out. I stepped into the living room and stood there in the doorway like an awkward teenager--which, in a way, I suppose I was. The kid--Spyder--sat on the over-stuffed army green couch, slouched into a well-worn dent in the cushions with his sock feet kicked out on the batter