The following two weeks passed in a blur. Day after day, I checked job listings online and in newspapers. I went to walk-in interviews, I applied online whenever I could, and had my notifications switched on for a myriad of job portals. When that didn't suffice, I started applying for openings that were out of the city but not more than forty-five minutes by public transport. You also brought Help Wanted and Hiring posters home for me to look into. I wasn't having much luck out there and it would have driven me insane had it not been for your assurances and encouragement.

Although, I did manage to snag some odd jobs around town and used the day's earnings to restock the groceries. You'd protested the first few times, though you soon resigned to accepting my humble contributions. Maybe you realized how important it was for me to feel like I was being useful and bearing at least a fraction of my expenses.

You see, it wasn't merely the fair improvement of my situation that drove me to find employment as soon as possible, there was also this underlying feeling of not wanting you to think I was mooching off you.

That little worry aside, we'd worked in a nice division of tasks and responsibilities. We went on outings and excursions on Sundays – like last week, we went on a picnic in the woodland reserve at the south end of town; and the week prior, we went to the museum for their new paleontology exhibit; and the week before that, we went to the nursery because you wanted winter seasonals.

By the month's end, my application for aid was accepted by the city's employment bureau. Even more desperate for a job now, I had revised and reworked my résumé beyond perfection, which wasn't difficult considering I barely had any experience or educational qualifications.

I wanted to be employed by the end of the week, so it was yet another day of tireless hunting. Come lunchtime, I had filled eight applications and noted the times and addresses for twelve walk-ins. With a weary sigh, I shut off your laptop and went to eat. You prepared lunch for me whenever you could; I heated the food and ate it on the balcony. Then I showered, did my laundry, and bundled up for the snowy outdoors. It was time to scour the town for small jobs. And just like that, like dry sand through fingers, the hours blurred by, the sun went down, and I found myself wheeling along the aisles of Walmart already spending what I'd earned.

I got that cashew cheese you adored. Right next to it sat a mixed herb cheese by the same company, the sight of which sparked an idea. You made me lunch therefore, it was only fair that I cook dinner for you. Quickly messaging you to not bring take-out tonight, I filled the basket with a few more items, paid for and bagged them at the billing desk, and hurried home to get to work. On the menu was mushroom cream fettucine, garlic bread, and brownies.

You returned just as I popped the brownie batter in to bake. Bounding right over, you peered into the pots kept on the counter. "I haven't been able to think about anything except dinner ever since you texted," you confessed, your zealousness contagious. "Be right back. Gonna take the fastest shower of my life."

That made me chuckle. You spirited away, a whirlwind of powdery perfumes and coruscant colors. You must have spent five minutes in the bathroom, at most, a short window of time that seemed to stretch on forever as I ploughed through emotion after emotion. The elation of knowing you loved my cooking enough to be eager for more of it, the anticipation of having you eat what I'd made, the fear of it not being up to your tastes and expectations...

"You mind if we have an early dinner tonight?" you questioned, pulling me out of my reverie.

"I don't mind."

"Great! I can't wait to dig into your food." Grinning as you toweled your rainbow hair, you made your way to the kitchen.

I couldn't stop the nervous laugh that bubbled forth, but thankfully, you were preoccupied in serving the food already. We carried our plates and cutlery to the sofa and ate side by side, like we always did. Nervous, I pushed the fettucine around my plate with the fork, watching you. Relief eased my worries when compliments flowered from you right after your first taste of the pasta. The silliest of simpers curved across my lips as you downed a garlic toast and gushed about how much you loved the flavors.

There was a purity, a genuineness, in all of your praise that made me effervesce with euphoria. Rapturous, I basked in the warmth of your nimbus – you truly were something divine, an everglow of compassion and benevolence.

When the brownie was baked, I served it cut in cubes and topped with whipped cream and strawberry preserves. You were so impressed; you made me feel so special. Needless to say, I was addicted to that feeling, and to your ebullience, and to how happy it made me in turn.

Finishing dinner, we worked together in clearing up the kitchen. As you transferred the leftovers into storage containers, you swiped another brownie and bit into it. "Oh, gosh, it's so tender and perfect," you cooed. "Where'd you learn all this?"

"Mum..." I said, my voice a reverent hum. I reached for the fond memories that resided in the bright, warm spaces of my mind. "She was a professor of history but her true passion was cooking. She taught me everything I know."

Your slender fingers broke off a piece of the brownie you were eating, your expression contemplative. Then, you imparted, "she'd be so proud..." Popping the piece in your mouth, you performed a dramatic chef's kiss. "You're a fantastic cook! A strong legacy!"

I laughed – a free, throaty laugh that filled my chest and shook my shoulders. My face hurt from the wide smile I'd been sporting the whole evening, yet I smiled wider as I said, "thank you, Solé. I appreciate that."

Stepping towards me, your gaze sheepishly cast down, you implored, "may I have another plate of dessert? Like, with the cream and fruits?"

"Yes, of course," I replied, already reaching for the strawberry preserves in the fridge.

Thereon, I cooked dinner each night. And each night, you lauded me, you likened my food to what only the gods must eat, and you built me up and made me sure. You revived my pride, you bastioned my self-worth, you... you were invaluable.

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