Mrs. Gilbert Sr. snatched up the agreement and clutched it to her chest like a trophy.
"What's the rush?" I rolled up my sleeves and headed for the kitchen. "Let me cook one last meal. For old times' sake. A peaceful parting."
Thaddeus frowned, ready to refuse, but then glanced at his watch and changed his mind. "Make it quick. Paulette's coming for dinner. I don't want her seeing you here."
I stepped into the kitchen and shut the door behind me.
The sound of their laughter cut off like a switch.
I unwrapped the fresh pork belly and the blocks of lard I'd bought earlier.
This farewell dinner would be anything but bland.
Thaddeus's favorite dishes, every single one of them, now served a different purpose entirely. Braised pork belly, glistening in a ruby-red glaze of caramelized sugar, swimming in rendered fat and heavy sauce. Deep-fried pork intestines, deliberately left pungent, fried until the outside shattered and the inside stayed tender. And a whole pot of lard-crackle tofu soup, rich enough to coat the back of a spoon.
Every dish loaded with fat, protein, and sugar.
For a late-stage pancreatic cancer patient, this wasn't a meal. It was poison.
When the aroma filled the apartment, Paulette Fox arrived.
From behind the kitchen door came a syrupy "Thaddy!" followed by Mrs. Gilbert Sr.'s fawning laughter, dripping with approval.
I carried the dishes out.
Paulette was wearing the latest Chanel, carrying a gift bag of high-end supplements, draped against Thaddeus's chest like she belonged there.
The moment she saw me, her nose wrinkled. "Oh my, that grease smell is intense. What on earth did you cook, Pearl? It's so heavy and oily. How is Thaddy supposed to eat any of this?"
Her eyes blazed with provocation.
Thaddeus caught the scent of braised meat, and his Adam's apple bobbed.
In the early stages of pancreatic cancer, appetite vanishes. But his had been misdiagnosed as gastritis, and the only thing he'd been taking was antacids. What he felt now was a sick, gnawing hunger that wouldn't quit.
"Perfect timing. I'm starving." He shoved Paulette aside and dropped into a chair, chopsticks already snatching up a chunk of braised pork belly. "Mm. Not bad."
Mrs. Gilbert Sr. shuffled over, shoveling food into her mouth between insults. "The jinx actually has a shred of decency. Figured she'd serve us a proper meal before she crawls off to die."