“I need food and so do you. I’ll meet you down there.” She left me to dress, making her way out of the closet and into my room. Our room now.
I wondered where she’d want to live and how.
Not in the future but now.
We had options.
She didn’t even have to stay in my room every night if she needed space.
That was a silly thought though. She was obviously as into sleeping together as I was. Plus she’d said that thing about how she couldn’t sleep before.
I let out a sigh.
We could live here in my room or swap into one of the different rooms. We hadn’t talked about it.
The treehouse was large and we could turn it into our house. Things like the heat could be managed just as architectural plans could be changed.
Plus there was the guest house. My parents didn’t use it much anymore. My aunts and uncles used to visit a lot more when I was younger but my parents were so busy now with life they rarely came by.
I could ask my mom. She might okay it. Or she might think it strange.
I pulled dry clothes on and loved the fabric on my skin. Life after sex always felt better. All my muscles ached and my breathing was strange but I felt her everywhere and I liked that a whole lot more than life any other way.
When I got downstairs she was going through the pantry, bringing things out and setting them on the counter. “I just realized that I don’t know a lot about what you like,” she said, frowning at what she had collected.
“I like everything,” I said. Choices were good. But I didn’t need them.
I’d like to see what she thinks I like. I’d like that.
Right now if I was in charge I’d throw together a sandwich with thick fresh meats and fancy cheeses. I’d bring out the spinach and the sprouts and top it off with a dressing or some aioli. But this was Avery’s meal. Avery’s choice.
“You leave me with no alternative but to make you one of my staples.” She turned to the fridge but stopped before she opened it. “Don’t laugh at me. This is probably going to take you back to fifth grade.” She opened the fridge and took out some ground meat.
She’d already found a pot and a skillet and had the heat on. There was water in the pot and I could see from the high temperature that it was set to boil. She put the meat in the pan. It sizzled.
“It’s not going to be exactly the same since you don’t have the same ingredients but it’ll be close.” She took some cheese out of the fridge and set it on the counter.
“I doubt I don’t have the ingredients,” I said, watching her.
“I saw no dollar store Wacky Mac in that pantry, and I didn’t expect to,” she laughed.
“Oh,” I said, realizing.
“Ingredients was a fancy way of me avoiding giving you clues.” She shrugged and waited for the water to boil. The meat sizzled behind us and I wondered if she was paying enough attention not to let it burn.
“Do you need spices? Anything?” I asked. I’d never cooked something like this. This was very low maintenance. I wanted to help but I had to stop myself.
I wasn’t about to mention all the fresh vegetables we had that I was pretty sure she was allergic to since she never once asked me for them.
I lifted myself up onto the counter and sat back leaning my head back on the cupboard and watching her as she did her thing.
If I stayed here I wouldn’t be tempted to intervene.
The meat was burning but it’d probably be fine.
“In fifth grade I was at the country day school on Pine,” I said, distracting myself. “They were into tofu and tempeh. It was hilarious actually. I never really knew what I was eating but sometimes it was magnificent. They had this new-age chef named Dominic, just one name. He’d come out and explain everything. He had this whole audience of tiny youths to impress and his spanish accent was so thick. Wednesday was Raw day. Sometimes it got real ugly in there.”
“Okay, so maybe I’m about to blow your mind or make you sick. I’ll pray for the first one.” She moved around, pulling chili peppers and tomatoes out, mixing the meat around and putting pasta in the water. She was stressing. I could tell.
“All I’m saying is, if I survived through that, anything you do will most likely be safe,” I teased.
Her key ingredients were at least familiar ones.
Her methods of cooking didn’t involve dry ice or any sort of new inventive techniques.
The more I thought about it, actually, the more certain I became that I’d have to take her somewhere crazy like that. It would blow her mind and possibly drive her up the wall. All that work for just one little bite?
I’d have to take her to Baume or something. It was time she got the taste of a macrobiotic experience.
Avery would hate it. I had to.
A chemist who cooks.
I started to laugh.
I could take her to Moto!
Molecular gastronomy! She’d be so shocked! I’d make sure they fed us trash!
“I told you not to laugh at me,” she warned as she put the peppers and tomatoes into the pan.
“I’m laughing at myself!” I said, pushing myself off the wall and touching her from behind. “All the strange things I’ve eaten. I was thinking about taking you somewhere.”
She seemed busy. I pulled away.
“Where are you going?” She turned, like I’d pulled her toward me unknowingly. “Taking me where? Do I even want to know?” She asked the questions rapid fire while she tended to the stove.
“You probably don’t,” I laughed, taking her face in my hands and kissing her.
The smells made me happy. I was so very ready to eat.
“I’m so hungry I could just eat you,” I said, nipping at her bottom lip. “If you don’t hurry I will.”
I felt myself slipping in her arms, falling down her front just to tease her. I tugged on the hem of her pants and pushed into her center with the heels of my hands.
“Woah,” she said, surprised. “You’re going to make this very hard because I never want food as much as I want you and seeing you down there like that makes me not care that I could burn the house down.”
She looked at me with a deviousness, but a happy kind. I knew what she was thinking about and then I heard her gasp. The water was boiling over. “Damn,” she cursed, turning around to try and stop it.
“Sorry,” I lied, standing up and leaning over the counter to her side.
She dumped the water and pasta into a colander and put the pasta back in the pot. She dumped the peppers, tomato, and meat into the pot with it and started adding cheese and butter until it was all melted together.
“Okay, bowls and what not.”
I moved to help her, showing her the right place. She slid in though and stopped me. She wanted to treat me I think.
“Okay,” I said, holding my hands up. I walked back to the nook where she waited the morning before.
She brought the food and set it down on the table. One in front of me and one at an empty place and then went back for bottles of water. When she sat down she looked at me over her bowl and smiled. “Okay, let’s see how it turned out.” She started to eat but paused. “And be honest,” She insisted.
I picked my fork up and took a bite into my mouth. No matter what I was going to pretend it was the best thing I’d ever eaten. I let my eyes flutter as I took one bite and made an mmm sound.
It was good. Definitely good.
“I like it,” I smiled. It might not be up there on the whole nutritional scale of what you should eat but it was filling and it was Avery’s thing so that was enough.
I got quiet while I let myself eat.
The food was heavy and I didn’t have to eat much to feel full.
At a certain point I realized she was still eating and I wasn’t so I made myself eat more.
“Not perfect but if you’re poor and your mom is passed out on the bathroom floor and you don’t have much time to make food it does the tr
ick.”
She didn’t say it like it was some tragic thing but just a fact of life. How it was, not how it should be for her.
I dropped my fork and moved my legs over hers, hugging her around the neck and kissing her cheek.
“You’re an excellent chef,” I said, ignoring her dark comment. “No one’s ever wanted to make me anything before. No one who wasn’t getting paid,” I whispered extra.
Even my parents usually bought stuff instead of cooking. If my mom ever cooked it was random. I was pretty sure our dinner last night had been catered. A lot of times my mom would hire a chef for big parties and weekends and our family was all for the grab and go philosophy of eating like kings and like Greeks: cheeses and olives, martinis, and charcuterie.
“Well, my skills are very limited but I’ll make you anything I can anytime you want. Especially, if it gets me hugs.”
“You can always have hugs,” I said, rubbing my nose on her cheek and biting her earlobe and tasting it.
I didn’t like thinking of the way things were for her back then.
So often I did though.
So often she would say something like that.
I’d think of her then. I’d think of her before with Adam, how things must’ve been with an older brother, someone to feed her too.
“What should we do with ourselves?” I asked, curled up on her and trying not to think about all the sad things in my head.
I couldn't stop petting her. I needed her to know I had her now and it’d never be like that again.
“I don’t know. What do you think? I’m full and gross right now.” She leaned into my hand.
“You’re not gross,” I said. “But if you need space,” I moved to let her be.
There were lots of things we could do now. Most important was the talk about where we should live.
“Hey, get back here. I need space like I need another hole in my head. You stopped petting my hair and now I feel sad.”
“Ohhh,” I fake cried, moving back to pet her again. “That was rude,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, you should be, taking away my head pets.” She settled against my body and seemed content to just enjoy me. Her eyes fluttered shut but in a few moments she spoke again. “What are you thinking? I can feel you thinking.”
I slid over her body and held myself to her loosely, resting my forehead on her shoulder and topping her easily. This was my new favorite place to be, ontop of her lap, my nose close to her neck. I liked her under me. I liked to surround her.
“I’m thinking, I love you,” I said. I’d been watching her while I touched, listening to the way she breathed and kept still. I had to stop myself just to talk. “I love living with you, being with you… I was thinking of going to your house and getting more of your things… Helping you pack since it’s Monday and tomorrow will be horrible and we won’t want to pack then. But then I was also thinking I don’t want to rush you or ruin the way this feels right now because for a second I’m not killing you with my dumb brain and that’s real nice to know,” I swallowed awkwardly. I didn’t like breaking her up like I did.
When she asked me things I always spoke. She had some power with me.
“Well, I definitely think we should at least get some of my stuff. I don’t want to bring it all. My clothes and important things. That would be a good idea. Then I could talk to Dad.”
“I just don’t want to push you to have a hard day before another hard day.”
“That’s not a hard day,” she said. “I’d rather do it now. It’s kind of fun when I think about it. I want to feel like I really live here. Here’s the question. I guess I just assumed it but I wanted to ask anyway. Are we going to stay in your room?”
“We can,” I sighed. “Or we can switch rooms or stay in the treehouse or live in the guest house even. I was going to tell you, we don’t have to be together all the time. Like if you need alone time or to just breathe. My house has lots of rooms, you can pick one if you want. I don’t want to chase you away. I’ve been smothering you,” I noticed, but I wasn’t about to leave her alone. “Independence is good,” I swallowed, hoping she wouldn’t want any, which was wrong and I knew.
“Umm, maybe in about ten years, when you’re tired of me, I’ll go wander around the house,” she said. She didn’t wait for me to say anything before she went on. “I don’t really care as long as we’re together. It would be cool to have some autonomy though. Would your parents be okay with that?”
“They’d probably prefer it,” I said. “Especially my dad.”
“The more I think about it the better it sounds. I’m guessing the guest house has air conditioning. It was really hot up in the treehouse when we were getting up.”
“I like the treehouse hot,” I said truthfully. I could make it anyway really. When it was hot it encouraged me to get out. That’s how I liked it so I kept it. “But yes, the guest house is just like a normal house just a little bit smaller. It has a kitchen and a bathroom and it’s on the property. My parents used to use it a lot but lately they haven’t been having guests over for long stays.”
Only concern of mine was whether or not my mom would be offended.
She was interested in knowing me more apparently, seeing me more. If Avery and I were completely out of the house it might seem cold.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and formulated a text.
Olivia: Would it be alright if we moved into the guest house? I want to give Avery more space.
I sent it off.
Hating it.
Mom: Sounds fine.
I hated that fucking word.
I couldn’t be mad at her though. She’d been so great about everything.
Olivia: I’m scared about tomorrow…
I let that one sit there. It was something I could say, something she didn’t really know not for sure.
Mom: We’ll get him. Don’t worry.
Olivia: I’m not scared about that…
Mom: I know...
Avery took my phone and read the screen.
“You weren’t supposed to do that,” I said.
“Too late,” she said, handing it back. “Are you scared for me?” She knew but she asked anyway.
“Yup,” I nodded, my eyes still down on my phone. I didn’t want to talk about it right now.
Telling my mom was one thing, telling Avery was something else.
“I wish you didn’t have to,” I said. “That’s all.”
I hugged into her again, resting on her since I knew I’d have to move soon ‘cause she’d get bored and restless like she always did.
“It’ll be fine. It has to be.” She shook her body and exhaled. “But you should show me this guest house because I like this whole having a kitchen and everything to ourselves. I love your tree house but I think it’s more of a place we should go if we need to get away. I like that aspect about it.”
“K,” I said. The guest house just didn’t feel like mine. I knew it could and it would be fine but…
It was just different.
“Come on,” I said, leading myself off of her and pulling her up.
I let go of her to put our dishes in the sink.
When I did she came over and tried to help by rinsing a pot in the sink.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“I want to. I like doing these kinds of things with you. So normal and every day.”
She helped me clean off the rest of the things and load them in the dishwasher.
When we finished I pulled her to follow me back out to the backyard.
We went a different way around the pool and to the left. The guest house had some seclusion, lots of trees that covered it made it feel buried. It was meant for that. An oasis of sorts. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been inside honestly but I knew the maids cleaned it every week just in case.
I made my way up to the porch and opened the front door.
“Here’s home,” I said, opening it wide for
Avery to enter.
Chapter Seven
Avery
The guest house was smaller but still fancy; a romantic bungalow. We walked through the main living area and into the kitchen. “I think it’s perfect so far.” I turned to look out the french doors in the front. I could see the pool so close. It excited me to think I could just step outside the door and dive in.
I wandered with Olivia right behind me. The bedroom was big and had another set of french doors that led out onto a little patio. “You weren’t kidding. This is just a mini version of the big house.” I tested the bed and looked at the walk-in closet.
Paper Dolls [Book Three] Page 14
