"I'll get it!"
Avery wheeled herself over to the kitchen cabinets and reached up to the shelf with her grabber. She closed the grip around a jar of spaghetti sauce and slowly pulled it forward. It was more cumbersome than she thought, but she was determined to prove she could do it. She tried using both hands, one for the grip and the other to give a little extra support. The jar slipped off the shelf. Its weight twisted the grabber from her hands as it crashed onto the floor.
"DAMN IT!" Avery yelled as she threw the grabber on the counter.
Neil stepped away from the stove and reached for the sauce jar. Thankfully it was plastic and so had not broken.
"It's fine," he said. "I've got it."
"No, it's not!" she snapped. "It's been a week and I can't even pick up a damn jar!"
Neil looked at her, gentle but steady. "Right, it's been a week," he said. "JUST a week. I bet you didn't tally a sports score a week after learning math, did you? It takes time, Avery."
She glared at him and folded her arms. "Don't patronize me, Neil! It's just a fucking jar!"
"And you haven't tried to pick one up with the grabber before. I'm not patronizing you, I'm telling you to give yourself time to learn. Now, you want to help with the meal, so pass me the noodles."
He picked up the grabber and held it out to her. She folded her arms and glared at him. "NO!"
Neil bit his lip. He got it. She was frustrated. She wanted to do something that used to be simple and now it wasn't. So she blamed herself. More so given how competitive she was. He decided to lean into that.
"Seriously?" he said. "You fail to do one thing and give up? Now, I need the noodles. You wanted to help me, so help me."
The moment grew between them. She glared at him. He stared at her.
"Fine!" Avery snatched the grabber from him, reached out quickly, took hold of the bag of noodles from the counter and shoved it towards him. She hadn't even tried. She'd just acted, in rage, in frustration, in defiance that he didn't buy into her tantrum. And she'd done it.
Neil took the bag from her and turned back to the stove. "Thanks," he said as he emptied the noodles into the pot of boiling water.
Avery stared at the grabber in her hand. She'd struggled with books and magazines when she'd practiced with it this week, but she hadn't second guessed herself this time. She'd just done it. She hated that he'd been right - hated how damn pushy he'd been too. But another part of her knew it had worked.
Neil reminded her of her old coach. He never let her get away with giving up. Her parents had been like that too. Screaming fits never worked on them, even as a child. They never beat her or yelled. They just made her do what she needed to instead of fighting them. Frustration was just something you ignored. That was probably what made her the so-called Hero of Hell's Hall. And now he was doing the same thing!
Of course, he was her employee. That was different. She should chew him out for talking back to her. She always did when people crossed the line. But was he really doing so? Perhaps he saw this as just another way he could aid her, with encouragement and order in a life that had been chaotic. Besides, her friends had tried to do whatever she wanted. They'd thought of her as broken. That had only made her feel worse and she'd chased them away in the end. How Neil was acting felt weird... but still a vast improvement on pity. Besides, she loved how confident and sure he seemed. It reminded her of herself before her world fell apart. Maybe this was good after all.
She sighed and wheeled herself across the kitchen to the fridge. Taking out the pound of lean ground turkey, she went back to him. And held it out.
"You probably want this too!" she said.
He grinned. "Yes, thanks."
He said no more. She realized there wasn't a fight to be had here, no matter if she wanted one. It made her more aware that she was being a brat. She'd been called that before and she knew when she was frustrated it was true. Understandable, perhaps. But just because you could explain an action didn't mean you could justify it.
There was one rebellion she could find satisfaction in, and she grinned as it occurred to her. She wheeled her way over to the liquor cabinet in the living room. She'd never been much of a drinker, but her parents always kept a stock for special occasions. And the one week celebration of Neil's first full day here was just such a day.
She opened the doors and looked inside. Whiskey, sherry, a half bottle of vodka, some creme de menthe and a partial bottle of rum. It wasn't much, but at a pinch the sherry could pass for wine or, with imagination, champagne. She took it out and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch.
