A song I didn’t know came on. The piano in it was beautiful. The melody was simple and sweet. I began humming along as I measured out my wet and dry ingredients.

“This sounds familiar.”

My grip slipped on the spoon from the sound of his voice. He watched the tv with a level of focus I hadn’t seen in days.

The singing trailed off with a playful bit of piano.

A new song, something more upbeat and bouncier, began to play. He shook his head. Gripped his hair frustratedly as the guitars and drums got louder.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head again and grit his teeth. I pressed the pause button on the remote.

“You alright?”

I got no answer. Minutes ticked by as I kneaded the dough, one eye on my work and the other on his hunched form. He finally looked over when I was covering the bowl to let it rise.

“Take your time,” I said when his mouth opened, and no words came out.

The remote had a flour fingerprint on it. He rubbed it away before taking it into his hands. Each button got the same methodical tracing as his fingers moved from one end to the other.

On the second run through his fingers stalled. The music video on the tv resumed, but then quickly stopped. The tv channel changed. He gripped his hair as he frantically pressed buttons, but the blue screen remained.

“May I?”

The remote was thrust at me as soon as I was seated. I shook my head when he twisted his arms behind him.

“You’re not in trouble. You don’t have to do that.”

A doubtful look settled in his eyes.

“You’ll need your hands when I show you the buttons. Please?”

Warily, he unclasped his hands from behind his back. I showed him each button that controlled the channel menu. Reset it to let him review. Once that was fixed, I went over the buttons that controlled the Utube menu again. He put on the previous video with piano once he knew how. Its melody loosened some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Doris Day,” I read aloud. “You like her music?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. Looked at me with wide eyes when I paused the video as if I’d done something unthinkable. He edged away when I laughed.

“Is alright. Look. I’m creating a playlist for you.”

Those wide eyes swung to the screen as I worked the remote. On a new screen I typed out “James Music.” “Dream A Little Dream Of Me” was number one on the new list.

“You can add whatever you like just like I showed you.”

I left the remote for him. Grabbed my book off my bedside table and resettled on the couch with it. Three pages in the song came on.

The afternoon drifted by to melodies I didn’t recognize. Some he let play the whole way through. Others only had seconds. I caught a few being added to his playlist over the top of my book. 

When the bread finished baking, he wandered toward the kitchen. A David Bowie song came on. I smiled as I tipped the bread out onto a wire rack. He didn’t come closer when I waved him over.

“Would you like to pick dinner?”

He straightened up. Looked around the kitchen pensively.

“How about helping me make it then? Would you like to help?”

I pulled ingredients, spices, and dishes out to cook with. Cottage pie sounds good for tonight, I think. A nice hearty meal will do us both good.

He inched over as I flipped through my cookbook for the recipe. Didn’t say a word as I got started on the beef. Somewhere in the middle of the beef browning and chopping carrots I noticed the potatoes had gone missing. My search was short lived.

James set a bowl of peeled potatoes on the counter by my cutting board. My thanks were met with a hesitant nod. He brought an armful of potato peels from the living room to throw away next. 

For the next few days, he hung around the kitchen whenever I cooked. Our conversations remained mainly one-sided since he wouldn’t speak. That’s alright, though. Baby steps, right? Just the fact that he’s actively building himself a playlist and helping with some of the dinner prep is a grand thing. Maybe one day soon he’ll be comfortable enough to pick out what he wants to eat.