"It's..." He looked at me waiting for what I would say next. I chewed what I had remaining in my mouth nodding my head in approval. It was actually really good, I think I finally found someone who cooks the chicken exactly like I love it. "It's really good, it is crispy, but not too crispy. There is not a large amount of flour and the taste is amazing. I can taste all the different flavors, did you use cayenne pepper?" I inquired.

"Yeah," he answered, "wow, you really know your food," I smiled. I did have a great tastebud, I was just not that good at cooking. Maybe I should become a food critic one day. 

"Yep, the chicken's really good. You should taste it," I told him. He shook his head no, "so, why don't you like food?" I questioned. I've never met anyone who said they did not like food. 

"I don't know," he answered, "I just never had much of an appetite, even when I was a kid. My mom used to get me to eat by tricking me," he chuckled a bit shaking his head. 

"What did she do?" I asked him getting interested. My mom always used to use food to trick me into doing things for her. I got more comfortable on the blanket and taking another piece of chicken. 

"Bribe me with chocolate cake. There's this store a few minutes outside of town, she would take me there after school and she would let me buy any cake I want and eat it. In exchange, I would have to eat dinner, but it was worth it. At least, I think it was worth it," he murmured under his breath. "I guess she kind of stopped that after she got diagnosed."

"It was," I told him answering his previous statement. It then went silent, sometimes I felt bad that I could not understand how he must feel about his mother. As a kid, your mom should be taking care of you not the other way around. And he was so young, if something would have happened to my mom when I was younger, I would have never survived. "How did you find out your mom was sick?" I asked him. He seemed surprised by my question, he stayed silent for a while thinking about it. 

"My dad used to pick me up from school on Mondays and he would take me to play baseball just for fun. That Monday, I remember us spending too much time playing and by the time we went back to his apartment, it was late. My dad laughed about how my mom would yell at him about it and we even came up with this lie to keep us out of trouble. When he dropped me home, my dad knocked on the door, but there was no answer. After a while, he used his spare key and opened the door, the house was a mess. The furniture had been moved, there was broken glass everywhere. I remember my dad yelling for my mom and I was just standing there shocked wondering what happened."

"I dropped my bag on the floor and started walking around the house after a while; when I reached the kitchen, there she was laying down on the floor. She had stabbed herself, she wanted herself dead," I couldn't help it, a tear fell down my face. I did not know why I was crying about it, I stopped eating my chicken and stared at him giving him a sorry face. "I mean it was not a surprise, but I guess my dad and I did not pay attention to the signs. Her grandparents had the same thing and she spent a month prior to that speaking to herself at random times," he said. 

"I'm so sorry," I told him. I reached over and gave him a hug. "You should have never gone through that," I added. 

"Bianca," he called me pulling away, "it's fine, let's talk about something else," I took my seat and nodded my head. 

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?" I asked him. I usually was a talkative person, but he made me kind of nervous. I was afraid of saying the wrong things in front of him, I didn't know why I would be though. 

"Anything," he replied, "like, what are you doing tomorrow?" He asked me. 

"Um... sleep until midday and I have to apply to college because I promised my mom. Then, I have my homework and I am supposed to wash my car, but there is a big chance that it is not happening. I'm too lazy for that," he chuckled staring at me. 

"I can wash it for you," he suggested. 

"Oh no," I quickly declined, "thank you though," I said. 

"No, I want to," he said. 

"It's fine, I can just take it to someone to wash it for me," I said. It was not like I was going to wash it myself. I always took it to a car wash.

"You don't trust my car washing skills?" He asked me.

"Well, I've never seen them," I said thinking about it.

"Prepare to see them tomorrow," he said. I nodded my head, might as well give up now. He was washing my car for free, I should be grateful more. He then started to just look at me, I was wondering if there was anything wrong with my face. It's dark, only the moon's light radiating on my face, I doubt he would even be able to see if there was anything wrong with it. "Anyway," he said breaking the eye contact. "Um... tell me something about yourself I don't know," he said. 

I didn't think there was anything about me that people did not know. I was a very open person, "Um... I don't think there is," I told him. 

"I'm sure there is, I didn't know you were afraid of the forests until today. There are plenty more things I don't know."

"Okay," I said probably thinking way too had about this. "My real name is Precious, I made my mom change it."

"You're serious?" He questioned. I nodded my head, "why did you make her change it?"

"Because it's the most ghetto name ever," I replied in a duh tone. I hated that name with all my heart. I didn't know what my mom was thinking when she named me. 

"It's actually really beautiful," he replied. "You don't mind if I call you your real name, do you?" He questioned. 

"My real name is Bianca," I answered him, "why would you want to call me that stupid name anyway?" I asked. 

"Because you call me my full name. Although calling me my full name is quite stupid, but yours fit," he said.

"Fit how?" I asked him. 

"It fits you really well because you are truly Precious."