Kylie Cantrall's Arc

Chapter 9 of 78

Thursday morning Kylie woke up and remembered she had no idea what Arianna ate. The necklace sat on the piano in its red box. The paper was on the bench. The dogs had been fed. But the kitchen was empty, and Arianna would be at the door in twenty-four hours. Kylie went downstairs in socks and opened the fridge. Sparkling water. Half a lemon. A box of protein bars from her label. She closed the door. A year of letters and she could not name one food Arianna liked. Arianna had written about her puppy, her songs, her mother's car. Never dinner. Kylie almost called her assistant. Her thumb stopped over the name. The assistant would order a caterer, post a menu online by lunch, and the day would stop being private. She put the phone down. She sat on the piano bench next to the red box and thought. She had Arianna's letters in a shoebox upstairs. She went and got them. She read for an hour on the living room rug. She looked for food and found none. She found a line about a diner near Arianna's high school where the booths were orange. She found a line about her grandmother's lemon cake. She found a line about hating olives. That was three facts. It was not a menu. Kylie almost went to a grocery store. Then she pictured her face in the checkout line and a phone camera and a headline by dinner. She could not shop. She could not send anyone. She was stuck in her own house with a fridge full of nothing. She picked up her phone and called Arianna. It rang twice. "Hi," Arianna said. She sounded like she had been waiting by the phone all week. "This is going to sound stupid," Kylie said. "I don't know what you eat. I want tomorrow to feel like yours, not mine. Tell me one thing you want on the table." Arianna laughed once, quiet. "Grilled cheese," she said. "On white bread. My mom makes it when I'm sad." "Okay," Kylie said. "What else." "Green grapes. And that lemon cake I wrote you about. I've never had it store-bought. My grandma's recipe is in my bag. I could bring it." "Bring the recipe," Kylie said. "We'll bake it here. I have a kitchen no one has cooked in." "Okay," Arianna said. Then, softer, "You called just for that?" "I called because I didn't want to guess wrong," Kylie said. They hung up. Kylie wrote the list on the back of an envelope. Bread. Butter. Cheddar. Grapes. Lemons. Sugar. Flour. She walked to the front door and set the list on the console. She would send her mother's driver, not her assistant. Her mother could be trusted with a grocery list. The day had a shape now. The gift was on the piano. The food would match the girl. Tomorrow the door would open, and Kylie would not be guessing.