#xcelestex

Artie was surprised to hear a knock at the door a few hours after Celeste had left him. He'd been in the exact same spot since then, barely able to move, each shift in position feeling like it was tearing his spine apart. He certainly hadn't been expecting anybody. Before he could react, a familiar voice called out from the other side.

"Artie, it's me. Can I come in?"

"Celeste! Of course you can," he called back. He heard her key in the lock and the sound of the door opening. "What're you doin' back so soon? Just can't keep away?"

"I'm making you dinner," she said. She might not have admitted it so openly ordinarily, but right now he was in no position to argue. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Artie would argue with anything that moved, whether he could himself or not. What he couldn't do right now was stop her, and before he could open his big mouth to argue, she headed for the kitchen, grocery bags in hand.

The initial agreement their friendship had begun on was that Artie would teach Celeste to speak French in exchange for a little extra help with some of the tasks that his disabilities made difficult, like cleaning and shopping. She'd been learning a lot more than just French, though, and one of the things Artie had been teaching her was how to cook. She'd gained a lot of skill and almost as much confidence over the time they'd been working at it, but never quite enough to attempt anything too special on her own. Today was the day that changed.

Celeste was surprised Artie wasn't trying to talk her out of cooking, or worse, dragging himself into the kitchen to try and help, but she supposed even he had to recognize the point where he may as well just let it happen. Part of her almost wished he would come in, wanting his guidance on a couple of steps, but she was on her own tonight, and using all she'd learned and the ingredients she'd picked up before returning, she put together an attractive dinner of fettuccine Alfredo with shrimp, broccoli, and asparagus, with a side of garlic bread. Dishing out the servings, she was thoroughly impressed with herself. It was presentable enough for any restaurant, and it smelled divine. She scooped up an extra big bowl for Artie and returned to the living room.

"Celeste, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you just went in there and cooked a whole dinner all by yourself," he said, grinning up at her as she handed him the bowl.

"I might've," she laughed.

"Well, look at you go, kid!"

Celeste helped him adjust the pillows he was using for support as he inched himself a little bit more upright, then sat in the chair across from him with her own bowl. The food was, to her astonishment and delight, fantastic, and she soaked up the pleased look on Artie's face as he savored the first bite. He looked almost as impressed as she was herself.

"Hey, you really outdid yourself," he exclaimed, gesturing with his fork.

"Aw, thank you, Artie," she said with a shy smile.

"Y'know I remember a time when you weren't even sure how to boil pasta? You've really come a long way, Celeste. I'm proud of you, I really am." That pride beamed warmly on his face, and Celeste took it in and held it close.

It occurred to Celeste as they ate that she may have overestimated Artie's stomach capacity, but the large portion didn't seem to be slowing him down. He'd barely eaten in the past few days, after all, and what little he had been able to feed himself hadn't been much more than crackers. The pasta was the first real meal he'd eaten all week, and the warm weight of it in his belly was a tremendous comfort and relief, even if he was beginning to feel a little bit stuffed.

Artie almost didn't clear his plate, finding himself struggling with the last few bites, but somehow he finished, both out of a desire to show his appreciation for Celeste's efforts and because it was just too delicious to quit. He reached back awkwardly to set the plate on the arm of the couch and relaxed with a sigh.

"I don't know if I should've finished all that, but damn I don't regret it," he said, resting his hands on his belly, now rounded out noticeably even under the compression of his brace.

"I was thinking I might've given you too much."

"Ta-da," he said, plucking away the top of the shell and setting it aside. "It takes a little elbow grease, but you'll get the hang of it. Anybody in your family any good at shucking clams?"

"I don't think so."

"Mine either. That's why it's important to learn. Every family's gotta have a clam shucker. Puts you high on the food chain. Here, give it a shot." He passed her the knife. She hesitantly picked up a clam, looked at it for a moment, and carefully lined up the knife.

Celeste managed to open one clam--hey, good girl, Artie had exclaimed with a firm pat on the back--before injuring herself, and then she was sent to chopping duty. She didn't have much in the way of culinary skills, but dicing the bacon and peppers was a far less daunting task than wrestling with the little mollusks. Artie, nerve-wracking though he was, blew through the rest of the bag with ease, opening up a couple dozen littlenecks in the same amount of time it took Celeste to chop up a pepper and a few pieces of bacon. Still, he praised her efforts--hey, choppin' ain't easy, especially with your hand all taped up--and they went on assembling the clams.

Artie had insisted on going all out for Celeste's birthday, and she'd driven him out to a little shack down the road to pick up some seafood. Following a good lesson on cooking, the two sat down for a mouthwatering dinner of pasta with seared scallops and lump crab meat in a garlicky wine sauce, accompanied by what Artie boasted as the best clams casino she'd ever try.

"Damn fine job you did on these," remarked Artie, holding up a clam. "You get the shucking down, you're set. You got your go-to party dish. I tell ya, this recipe has never done me wrong. You'll never wanna get 'em anywhere else."

Celeste wasn't the clam connoisseur that Artie seemed to be, but she couldn't deny that the clams were delicious, and the two ate enough of them to fill up even without the pasta. The pasta was, of course, not neglected either. The sauce was light and savory, and it mingled beautifully with the sweet crab and the buttery scallops. She could hardly believe she'd had anything to do with it. Nobody had ever bothered to teach her to cook, and her kitchen endeavors rarely got more complicated than stirring a frozen dinner between microwave sessions.

The pasta went down easy, and it was hard to stop eating, but it wasn't long before the bulkiness of it had both of them feeling full and sleepy. Still, Celeste went on picking at it. Artie, however, set his fork down and leaned back in his seat.

"Whoof, I'm stuffed," he sighed, resting a hand on his belly. "I don't think I can finish."

Truthfully, Celeste was surprised he ate as much as he did. Artie was small, and fairly slim for his age, which he chalked up to not having much of an appetite some days and not even being able to get out of bed on others. Tonight, though, he'd put away a good percentage of the big serving of pasta, along with about a dozen of the clams, and even under the compression of his back brace, she could tell his belly was full. Smiling fondly, she stood up and began to clear away their plates.

"Whoa, hey, it's your birthday, ain't it? Let me do it," said Artie, taking her arm as she reached for his plate.

"Oh, come on. You did all the work," she insisted, and he scoffed.

"I most certainly did not! Which of us was out there on the battlefield, chopping stuff up and boiling pasta? Wasn't me."

"Yeah, but you did the hard parts," she exclaimed, laughing. Artie pushed himself out of the chair with a groan.

"Difficulty is relative," he said with an impish smile, shaking a finger at her. "You did your part, now take a seat, missy, and that's final!"

Celeste rolled her eyes and sat down. There was no arguing with Artie; he was stubborn as a mule, and if he wanted to clean, there was no stopping him. She supposed he had a point, anyway--what was simple for a kitchen whiz like him took a lot more time and effort for a novice like her. Still, she stood again a moment later and joined him in cleaning up, and this time, he let her.

Artie relented and let Celeste take over washing the dishes--better eyes, he said--while he got the rest of the kitchen straightened up. Between the two of them, it didn't take long. While Celeste wasn't much of a cook, she was quick when it came to cleaning, although this skill didn't extend far beyond the kitchen sink. Feeling stuffed and eager to rest, they retreated to the living room, Celeste taking a seat on the couch while Artie dropped himself into the armchair across from her.

"Sheesh, I think I'm gonna have to adjust myself," he said, leaning back and untucking his shirt to loosen the brace wrapped around his middle. Celeste caught a glimpse of his full tummy pushing out snug against his undershirt, and she was thankful he couldn't see well enough to catch her blushing. Artie was only a friend, of course; he was nearly thrice her age, but there was little more tantalizing than a peek of tummy. He let his shirt fall back down with a sigh, looking far more comfortable, and Celeste was amused to see how much rounder his belly looked now that he'd given it some slack.

"You look stuffed," she giggled.

"Oh yeah?" Artie rested both hands on his belly, giving it a little pat for emphasis. "And what about you?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty full," she agreed, settling back into the couch cushion.

"Good, you better be. You did a great job cooking tonight."

"You think so?"