thirty-one ◌ empanadas and thunderstorms

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The world was quiet.

It had been exactly a week and one day since arriving to Momi Bay and so far, no word from either Zayn or ANTI. I kept my phone close, making sure the volume was at its maximum, as I waited for the moment in which someone would contact me. But to my dismay, my phone was dry. Each day I grew more agitated; more anxious. I just wanted someone from the outside world to give me some kind of update, because at that moment, I had nothing to go off of.

Bang.

I stiffened from the startling crash that echoed throughout the villa. Initially, I deduced the clamorous sound to thunder. Brackish clouds rolled through the sky, and drops of rain pelted against the glass windows. However, when another peculiar noise filled my ears, I realized there was no thunder plaguing the island.

"Tasha!" Harry's blood curdling shrill filled my ears, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

My body snapped itself into fighting position. A small gasp left my lips, my senses peaked, and my focus garnered itself into an infinite forcefield. With rapid movements, I opened the drawer of the bedside table. I grabbed the gun hidden inside and cocked the weapon before holding it out in font of me.

"Tasha! Please!" Harry continued to shriek, the chilling fear of his tone ricocheting against every wall of the villa.

Turning the knob of the bedroom door, I flung it open and catapulted myself through the small corridor. I darted my eyes across the main living area, holding the pistol in my hand with great care. My heart thumped hastily as I searched for Harry and the reason for his painful shrills. It didn't take long for me to find the dimpled asshat, and when I did, my face fell into smooth, unamused lines.

"Are you fucking serious?!" I bellowed, shooting a nasty glare at Harry as I lowered the gun in my hand.

"Ah, not so fun is it? Screaming in fear to trick others," Harry grinned satisfyingly. He sat on top of the kitchen table with smugness dripping from his face, and I had the urge to slap the man bun off of his head.

"You make me want to play on the freeway," I ranted. I spun on my feet and started toward the bedroom.

"Wait, Tash!" Harry called out and with an annoyed sigh, I turned back around. "I still need you."

"What is it?"

"I need you to be my kitchen assistant."

"Excuse me?" I crossed my arms above my chest and popped out a hip. "I'm not going to wash your dirty dishes. You made the mess, you can clean it yourself."

With that final statement, I curtly pivoted my body and continued my endeavors back into the confines of the bedroom. I didn't get very far however, because after three steps, Harry's warm hand grasped onto my arm.

"Bake with me Tash," Harry said, his tone sounding hopeful.

"Bake with you?" I questioned, turning over my shoulder with a small grin.

"Now it's my turn to teach you something," Harry justified. His hand moved down my arm and gripped my fingers before pulling me towards the kitchen.

Neatly organized atop the marbled counter was a collection of ingredients. Several different bowls and utensils also sprinkled the workspace, and when I looked at Harry with curiosity, he answered the question in my head.

"We're going to be making your mum's famous Ube Empanadas," Harry announced, opening his arms wide to emphasize his excitement.

(translation: oo-beh - purple yam)

"Wait, really?" I gazed up at Harry with absolute awe. "I haven't had any of my mother's pastries in so long. Honestly, I wasn't so sure if I'd ever get to taste any of her creations ever again."

"I know you hated it whenever your mom gave me attention," Harry brought up unexpectedly. I opened my mouth to rebuttal his statement, but before I could speak, he quickly continued. "No Tash, it's okay— It's the truth. Maybe I should've just respected your internal wishes, but I'm not going to lie, I was selfish too."

"I don't understand," I admitted. "Selfish of what exactly?"

"Baking with your mom reminded me of baking with my own," Harry professed, and it felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped all over me.

Clearly, I was an ass.

It was no lie that I completely despised the stupid bond that my mom and Harry shared. They both were avid bakers and my mom saw so much potential. There were five other confection specialists at the bakery with the talent to assist my mother, and it sickened me that out of all of them, she chose to mentor Harry. Instead of supporting this, I always shot it down. Now, as I stood there gazing at Harry with a pang of guilt, I now knew that the curly-headed boy needed the bond more than my mother did.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, hoping Harry could sense the honesty radiating from me. "I didn't— I just— I'm a bitch... and I deeply apologize for it."

"You didn't know my history back then," Harry proclaimed with a shrug. "You can redeem yourself right here, right now, with me in this kitchen."

With an exhale, I put the gun's safety switch back on, and placed it onto the far end of the counter. I beamed up at Harry, ready to make a fool out of myself in this Momi Bay kitchen.

Despite my prior hatred towards Harry prancing around in the kitchen of the Flip Side Bakery, I suddenly grew an appreciation for it. Without my mom's attention and guidance, Harry would have never learned my mother's most prized recipes. And if his baking knowledge hadn't extended beyond what he already knew before my mom's influence, then I wouldn't be here now— in this kitchen cracking eggs and getting my hands dirty with sticky dough.

"These better taste like it's being served in Zeus' slipper from all the work we're doing to make them," I playfully giggled, carefully plopping dollops of ube onto uncooked rounds of homemade dough.

"Zeus' slipper? Naw, more like kissed by Pegasus," Harry mused with a chuckle.

"I never knew these things took so much time and effort to make," I observed, scooping another mound of the paste and dumping it onto the dough.

"They're made with love, that's why they taste so good," Harry easily surmised. He took the extra spoon and fixed the filling from the pastries I messed up on.

"What's the next step to the recipe?" I asked.

"You're going to finish adding a tablespoon of ube to each dough round, while I toast up some coconut flakes," Harry told me as he left my side. The clicking of the igniting stove comforted me, as it triggered sweet memories of my mother in the kitchen to swirl in my mind.

"Coconut flakes?" I questioned, spooning the purple paste onto the uncooked slab of dough. "I don't remember my mom ever putting coconut flakes in the empanada. Not that I mind, I love coconut."

"You're right, it's not in the original recipe," Harry confirmed. "But it was something your mom and I were working on last. She wanted to spruce up the original and create a spin-off for the menu."

"I didn't know she wanted to add new things to the menu," I said. If I were being honest, I rarely updated myself with my mom's plans for the bakery. Besides eating the food and working part time, I didn't really relish in my mom's business. Now that she was gone, I instantly regretted it.

Suddenly, there were a pair of warm hands on my shoulders, and I slightly turned my head to gaze at them.

"She was doing it for you," Harry professed. "For you and for Kat."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, turning around to face Harry.

"Your mom was tying to represent her entire family in the menu by taking favorite flavors from you and Kat, and then somehow implementing it in the classics," he explained.

Upon hearing this revelation, I softly smiled to myself. Innately, my hands went to the necklace hanging around my neck, but instead of touching the cool metal of my mother's ring, I felt my own skin instead. Frowning, I dropped my chin to my bare chest and felt my heart pound in guilt of losing my mom's jewelry.

Harry gently touched my chin, prompting me to refocus my attention. He looked at me with the kindest eyes, and the bad feeling in my stomach washed away. The way Harry made me feel within the last couple of weeks has boggled my mind to the extreme. With one simple look; one simple joke, and any pain prickling my heart immediately disappeared.

"You're your mom's muse," Harry declared. He rested his hand on the side of my face, rubbing his thumb against my cheek with a touch so tender, I was surprised by the jolt of electricity surging from his fingertips.

Harry continued to gaze at me, biting his bottom lip and I inhaled sharply. His face slowly inched closer, and suddenly I was back in Paris. I could feel his familiar warm breath fan against my skin with a tingling sensation, and as his lips  ghosted over mine, I was hit with an overwhelming amount of warmth.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the moment in which Harry and I connected. My heart pumped at an intense speed, and I held my breath. The kiss I had expected to come, never happened. Instead, an ear-piercing shrill startled the both of us and we jumped back with frightened eyes.

"Holy shit!" I rushed over to the stove where the coconut flakes were burnt so bad that the julienned pieces of fruit had practically disintegrated in the hot pan.

While I shut off the stove, grabbing the scorching pan to bring outside, Harry assessed the smoke alarm. In a panic, I ran at full speed into the villa's backyard, and held the pan out in front of me. The rain fell onto the appliance, causing it to sizzle loudly. In the distance, the ringing blare of the smoke alarm finally ceased, and when the smoke from the pan dissipated, I dumped the burnt coconut flakes onto the grass.

I walked back into the main living space, wiping my wet feet on the carpet before bringing the pan back into the kitchen. As I did however, there was a loud banging on the front door. Harry and I looked at one another, before he marched towards the barricade.

"Hi," Harry answered the door, while I stayed several feet behind me. Through the small crack, I could make out the body of a tall man in a uniform.

"Is everything alright? Maintenance received a ping from this villa due to the smoke alarm," the man notified.

"Oh yes, it's quite alright in here. The Missus and I were just cooking and I think we turned on the stove too high. We're not used to gas appliances as we only use electric ones back home," Harry explained. Though his words were just babble, he seemed to bullshit under pressure pretty well.

"Do you mind if I come in just to do a welfare check? It's protocol, and it'll take less than three minutes," the man informed.

Harry turned over his shoulder to look at me with a quizzical expression. Knowing that we couldn't deny this employee of his request to do his job, I simply nodded my head. And with that, Harry opened the door wider to let the man in.

"Hello ma'am," he politely bowed his head as he strolled towards the smoke detector. However, before he could even step foot in the kitchen area, he suddenly was stopped.

"That's a really nice pair of shoes you've got there!" Harry complimented, an obnoxious suspicion to his tone.

I squinted my eyes in puzzlement, gazing at Harry who stalled the employee with random conversation about a pair of penny loafers. I had no idea why he engaged with this man, but when the resort worker looked down at his feet, Harry shot me an urgent look and quirked his head towards the kitchen.

"What?" I mouthed, gawking at him in confusion. Harry did not vocally reply, and instead raised his arm slightly. He configured his fingers to take shape of a gun, and instantly I realized what he was trying to convey.

My eyes widened with nervousness as I subtly made my way over to the kitchen where I placed my pistol on the countertop. Harry continued his conversation, amusing the fellow and constantly complimenting the man's style. I grabbed the metal weapon, and slipped it in between the waistband of my shorts.

"Harry, baby," I grabbed him by the arm and grinned at the two men. "Stop bothering this lovely man, and let him do his work."

"Yes, right. I'm sorry sir," Harry quickly apologized and stepped out of the way.

The employee tinkered with the smoke alarm, scribbling things onto his clipboard. As he did this, Harry and I stole glances at one another, shooting expression of relief and amusement. The kind employee continued to examine the stove and the oven before exiting the kitchen with a pleased smiled glued onto his face.

"Everything all checks out," he informed us with a nod of his head. "The appliances seem to be in working condition so you don't have to worry about any malfunctions."

"Is that all you need?" I asked.

"Yes, everything is a-okay," he affirmed. "Just be careful next time you crazy kids cook."

Harry and I both shared a nervous laugh as we both escorted the employee out. We bid him a goodbye, casted a wave, and closed the door. Our backs hit the wall once the barricade was sealed, and a sigh of relief left our lips. Then unexpectedly, a symphony of laughter filled the air as both Harry and I slid down to the hardwood floors.

"Imagine the look on his face if he saw the gun on the counter," I spoke in between the bouts of hysterical laughter.

It felt so fucking good to laugh— to feel normal, careless, happy. From the outside, this may not be funny at all. This conversation between Harry and I, though serious, elicited the giggles. I think we were just so caught up in the somberness of it all, that little things like this, spoke great volume.

"We'd have to finesse quite the story to get ourselves out of that one," Harry chortled. "Civilians are prohibited from carrying guns here in Fiji."

"Like what would we say? Pretend we're spies on a mission?" I suggested with a chuckle.

"In a sense we are spies on a mission," Harry shrugged. His laughter subsided as he stood up from the ground. He held his hand out in front of me, to which I took. Using his strength, he easily pulled me from the floor and onto my feet.

"Should we finish baking?" I asked, flicking my eyes quickly to our unfinished project sitting atop the counter.

"Of course," Harry answered. I didn't realize that his hand still grasped onto mine, until he was pulling me across the corridor and through the kitchen threshold.

The rain outside never stopped. Large drops of water perpetually poured from the grey sky, turning our little slice of paradise, into an island of lousy weather. However, despite the lack of sunshine streaming through the windows, and the gloomy clouds spread across the sky, the rain made for a very relaxing and cozy day.

Without a minor hitch, or a major one like burning down the kitchen, Harry and I eventually finished the ube empanadas. One bite from the delectable pastry and I was transported back in time; transported to the simple days of mom baking these fresh on Sunday mornings. She'd wake up before the sun, work magic in the kitchen, and the entire family would rise from our beds with a mixture of delicious aromas dancing in the air.

"Thank you, Harry," I smiled at the boy who sat on the floor across from me, the coffee table in between us. Wiping my mouth, and swiping away the fallen crumbs on my shirt, I looked at Harry with an appreciative expression.

Harry shrugged with a half-smile, "it's no issue. You know I like baking."

"No, I know. But like, you could've baked anything— cookies, cupcake, a kombutcha flavored soufflé," I paused, grinning mischievously at Harry who only rolled his eyes in response. After a small giggle, I continued, "but seriously. You chose to create something that's bonded so strongly to me, and for that I thank you."

"When I was pushed around from foster home to foster home, I held onto the memories of my family with such a tenacious grip it seemed like I would never move on; never survive. Those memories, Tasha," Harry stared at me with such honesty, it matched the same sincerity of the words leaving his mouth. "Those memories, though sometimes painful, are what keep you grounded yet at the same time push you to fly."

"Is that why you're such a genius?" I asked with a small smile.

"You could say that, yea," Harry mused with a chuckle. "I didn't have my mom, my dad, or my big sister anymore but I'd always have my brain, my heart, and my soul. I knew I couldn't live a life they wouldn't be proud of. So you have to do the same. You gotta live the life you want, but a life your mom would be proud of too."

All my mother ever wanted for Kat and I was to chase after our most wildest dreams. She wanted us to work hard, push ourselves past the limit, and do what makes us the happiest. Now, it felt like anything I did, would be in regards to my mother's legacy.

When nightfall came, the rain had grown into an intense storm. The drops of water tumbling from the grey clouds were no longer tiny dollops, and instead were bullets pelting against the glass doors and windows. The weather elevated my laziness and I found myself staying in bed the rest of the evening. Snacks littered the duvet, some romantic comedy played on the television, and despite the rowdy weather outside, it oddly lulled me into complete serenity.

I was balls deep in chocolate covered almonds and the fourth Nicholas Sparks film when my ears picked up on rustling right outside of my bedroom window. At first, I attributed the subtle sounds to the high winds outside, or maybe Harry doing some weird asshat thing in the living room. But then there was a low knock on the wooden barricade that unexpectedly interrupted an iconic Miley and Liam scene from The Last Song.

"Tasha?"

"Yea?"

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Not a second later and the door handle shifted downwards. The door creaked open, clicked shut, and within moments Harry plopped himself onto my bed. He didn't utter a single word as he buried himself beneath the blanket and began watching the RomCom flick.

"Was your television not playing a marathon of cheesy films or what?" I teased, lifting my brow as I observed Harry.

He turned his head to look over at me, "am I now allowed to enjoy one of my favorite Miley Cyrus films with your company?"

"No, I just didn't expect us to have a slumber party," I mused. Grabbing the container of chocolate covered almonds, I brandished it towards Harry. "Want some?"

"Actually, yea. I'd—"

A roar of thunder crashed across the sky, its powerful vibration shaking the glass window. The clamorous drum of mother nature startled my bones for a brief moment, but what really surprised me were the chocolate covered almonds. The small pieces of decadence littered the bed, the pillows, and I was pretty sure one fell down my shirt.

"Harry, what the hell!" I exclaimed, darting my eyes across the bedspread.

I began to clean the mess, waiting for the curly haired boy to explain his behavior. However, that deep voice I grew to admire never came. When I looked over at Harry, he no longer rested in the empty spot next to me. Instead, he was deep beneath the covers.

"Harry, hey, you good?" I asked cautiously, lifting the duvet to find Harry cowering in a fetal position.

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped slightly as I gazed at this shivering mass with concern. Reaching my arm forward, I rested a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder which unfortunately triggered something in him. Harry let out a loud wail, flinching with extremeness before I recoiled my hand. 

"Harry, what's wrong? What are you afraid of?" I questioned, my tone laced with care. I waited for a response, and when I got one, it didn't come from Harry's mouth. Instead, the answer to my question came in the form of another thunderous roll.

A strike of lightning crashed across the gloomy sky and soon after an echoing growl from mother nature shook the walls. However, it wasn't just the villa's walls that violently shuddered, it was Harry too. Unexpectedly, he nestled his face into my chest while his arms gripped onto my torso with a tight hug. I frowned at the frightened boy before me, surprised to see genuine fear prickling his skin. Running my fingers through Harry's curly hair, I tried my best to comfort him.

"You're afraid of thunder," I observed, continuing to tenderly caress his hair. Harry nodded in response. "You can stay with me for as long as you need."

Harry squeezed me tighter when thunder invaded the sky again, and it was as if I could feel his heart thump against my stomach. This fear wasn't irrational, or wasn't like my fear of heights where I could talk myself through it. This raw anxiety triggered by something as natural as thunder ran deep, and I was about to find out.

"The storm was so bad that night," Harry began. He finally lifted his head from my chest, but continuously kept a tight grip on my body. "It was my fourth foster home and instead of being comforted because of the thunder, my foster dad struck me on my arm with a piece of metal."

"Your arm?" I questioned, my tone soft as I remembered the tattoo-covered scar on Harry's bicep.

"Yea," Harry unlinked his left arm from my body and brandished it before me.

I looked down at the cartoon lantern inked on his skin, and with trembling fingers, I ran them across the tattoo. The skin of my fingertips felt numb against the scaly bump hidden beneath the gradient of colors, and when I lifted my eyes to glance at Harry, his forrest green eyes were already latched onto mine.

"I was locked in the cellar that night, forced to survive the thunderstorm alone in the dark," Harry continued. He took my hand away from his scar and laced our fingers together like we had done once before.

"That's horrible, and I'm sorry," I told him, squeezing his hand in mine.

Another roll of thunder vibrated against our eardrums and Harry immediately shut his eyes. Feeling sad for him, I gave his head a gentle press towards my chest, letting him find comfort in the slow rhythm of my own heartbeat. Harry laid on top of me that night, his body in between my legs, and our bodies beneath the duvet. With the television flickering in the background, the wind howling outside, and our fingers still intertwined, Harry eventually fell into a deep sleep.

As did I.

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Damn, where has the time gone? It's been ages since my last update & I've had 2 completed chapters sitting in my drafts since May of 2018! I totally forgot because I initially wanted to finish writing at least 4 more chapters before publishing more.

ANYWAY, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for sticking around if you have. Your support means so much to me!!

With love, Audrey