Set the World to Mute

It was in those days I realized how sad my apartment was.

My apartment was in the same part of town as Ben’s. It was pretty, perfect for a single young student, but while Ben’s apartment was a home, mine was a place to sleep.

Imagine a little place: a bedroom, a living room/kitchen solution and a little bathroom. No traces of anyone ever living in it, no marks on the walls or on the floor. A place with no memories attached, no matter how many people who’ve once lived there. A temporary home. And sad.

I don't miss it one bit.

Today is Wednesday, and I am standing before the door that leads to Ben’s apartment with grocery bags propped up on my arms. Monday, I avoided eye contact. Tuesday, I blabbered nervously. Today, I’m cooking dinner.

As I knock enter the little hallway leading to the living room, being met by the radio that’s always on, Sophie greets me with a big leg-hug. “Hey, little one,” I say to the top of her little brunette head, noticing curls. “You did something with your hair?”

Her big, brown eyes peer up at me, “Daddy braided it when it was wet. Do you like it?” She does a twirl, creating a halo of hair around her forehead. “I wanted to be like yours.”

I smile. “It’s very pretty.”

Her eyes find the brown paper bags in my arms as Ben appears in the doorway, greeting me with a nod. “What you got there?” Sophie asks, looking curiously at the bag.

“Uh… dinner,” I say, catching Ben’s surprised reaction. “I thought maybe we could cook a little, I haven’t seen you eating dinner, yet. I bet you’re good at it.” I stroke her hair.

“Mommy said I was very well-behaved,” Sophie says, matter-of-factly, and Ben smiles. “We used to go out for dinner a lot, before, but now we order in.” She looked very pleased with herself, knowing the correct term.

“Really? Well, let’s try something new tonight. I brought spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti!” Sophie shouts, and runs into the kitchen, as Ben moves to take my bags.

“I hope this is okay,” I say quietly, watching his drawn face as he takes off my load, “I just figured you didn’t have the time, so I wanted to do something nice…”

He nods and smiles softly, letting me take the lead into the kitchen, taking up the rear. I deliberately swing my hips.

In the kitchen, Sophie has propped herself up on of the stools by the kitchen island, and immediately start raking through the grocery bags as Ben places them on the table top. Emma is in her baby-chair in the living room, sleeping soundly.

“Peppers,” Sophie says, putting the peppers next to the cans of chopped tomato I’ve bought on the table. “Garlic, onions, basil, oregano, mushroom, spaghetti, oil, meatballs.” Each of the products hit the surface with a bang as she lists them. “Did you buy the store?” She asks, and looks at me with big eyes.

I laugh and ruffle her hair. “No,” I turn to Ben who’s scratching the back of his neck, peering at the groceries, “I just wasn’t sure what you already had,” I explain, motioning to my purchase.

His eyebrows tell me he noticed. Then he looks at me with a unreadable look for a couple of seconds, before disappearing into his bedroom. When he comes back, he’s carrying a pad and a pen. ‘How much?’ He writes.

“Oh, no no,” I say with a smile, “My treat.”

He taps his own words with a stern look. I keep my mouth shut, and his look turns pleading. No one can resist that. Huge, green-gray eyes and bambi-lashes.

“100 dollars.”

I watch him deflatedly as he pulls out his wallet and gives me a handful of 20’s, sending me a reassuring smile before finding two knives and a matching set of chopping boards. He hands the peppers and a knife to Sophie and motions ‘small’ with his fingers. She nods and turns to her appointed task with a very serious and a seriously sweet look on her face. Then he picks up the pen a scribbles: ‘sit down and study some, we’ll cook.’

I shake my head in a determinate manor. “I want to help. I didn’t bring this back to take you away from your work.”

‘Slow day,’ he writes, smiling sweetly, ‘It was the deal, you need to study.’

“I’ll study when I come home, really, I want to cook.”

He places his hand lightly on the small of my back, almost killing me, and leads me into the living room, placing me by the table. He taps the table and I feel like a little kid, being told off. “Fine,” I say dejectedly. “But next time, I’m cooking!”

He nods, and goes back to the kitchen. He finds a bottle of red wine under the island, pouring himself a glass. He takes a sip as he watches his daughter cut the peppers with his elbows on the table. His smile is so sweet it’s infectious.

“Apron, daddy,” Sophie demands, pointing at him with her little knife and he obediently gets an apron from beside the fridge, before lighting up the gas oven top getting ready to sear some onions. I watch them until he gives me an expectant look, and I have to get to work, too.

As hard as I try, I can’t study much, and spend most of my time watching the two mess around in the kitchen. Sophie with her crooked pieces of pepper and Ben with a towel over his shoulder, a wine glass in one hand and a spatula in the other. Sophie testing the spaghetti to check if it’s done, throwing it on the wall after Ben’s instructions, tasting wine and messing up her face, exclaiming, “That’s disgusting!”

I think Ben notices my interest, but doesn't seem to mind. He just gives me a look now and then, sending me into a period of actual work.

He does let me set the table, and as we eat the surprisingly tasty dish, Sophie tells us all about her day in kinder garden and every other thing that pops into her mind.

In 11 days she'll be 6, and after summer she'll start school. Other children in her kinder garden is starting too, even though some of them are born in February and some are born in December. When is your birthday, Alice? - 18th of January.

Ben and I listen and smile and nod as she goes on, forgetting all about her food. She wants a school bag for her birthday, and her father's birthday is 5 days after hers. He'll turn 32. She doesn't know what he wants for his birthday. Emma was born in the spring. She came with the stork. I peak at Ben when she says that. He glances at me with a little smile playing his lips and s soft breath of laughter leaves his nose.

Emma is one year old and a little bit less. Sophie is five years older and that's why she's the boss. Ben's brows raise at that, but none of us comment. Her mother's birthday is in May, but she didn't get any older than 38.

She says it in a very businesslike tone, but falls silent after. Ben's smile falters slightly, and he takes a long sip of his wine. The kitchen is quiet for a long moment, Frank Sinatra singing softly in the background. Sophie turns her attention to her spaghetti again, twirling it slowly around her fork.

"I'm sure you can celebrate, anyway," I say slowly, watching Ben's reaction. He doesn't look at me, his gaze fixed on his daughter with a little wrinkle between his eyes brows. His fingers rubs slowly against each other in circular movements. The same look as when he's smoking.

"Really?" Sophie asks and looks at me skeptically, her eyes not leaving her pasta.

"I celebrate my mother's birthday still, even if she isn't getting any older. You can celebrate that you love her."

Sophie peaks at Ben, and he smiles thinly and nods in approval, touching his her hand. She smiles timidly. "Okay."

I smile and pour some more water into her glass.

Ben retires to his workshop after dinner, and I spend some time with the children until Emma falls asleep again and Sophie’s eyes turn sleepy and her movements drowsy.

Ben joins me in the kitchen, clearing up after he has tucked Sophie safely in for the evening. As I fill up the dishwasher, he writes something on his pad and places it on the counter in front of me, touching my back with butterfly fingers. ‘Thank you.” It says in his messy handwriting.

I look up at him and smile, feeling a light tint find my neck and cheeks. I turn to the dish washer again, enjoying how close he is. He faintly smells like cigarettes and fresh air.

“You’re welcome.”