We lay side by side as we came down from the high of our orgasms.
“Isaac.”
“Hmm.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s never a good thing. The last time you were thinking,” he said with air quotes, “I had to eat a cronut and those things should be illegal.”
“What?” I grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head. “Take that back.”
“No.”
“You take it back or…”
“Or what?”
“Or… I’ll tell Rich to take away the coffee machine I know you have in the office.”
“You wouldn’t!” he said in disgust.
“I would. I take my cronuts very seriously.”
“Fine,” he relented, “I apologize to the genius that decided croissants and donuts should have babies together. I shall never, ever disrespect the house of deep-fried pastries again.”
God, how I adored this man. He was the most genuine, funny, generous, loving, and all the good adjectives I could come up with.
“I would like us to get tested so we can ditch the condoms,” I said.
His face went serious. “Really? You want that?”
“With you, absolutely. I’ve never not used condoms, and I get tested regularly, but I’ve been thinking about it recently. I’m due a test, anyway, and I thought we could do it together. What do you think?”
“I’ve always used condoms, too. Yes, yes, let’s do it.”
I kissed him again and then pulled him up from the bed. He moaned.
“Come on, it smells like Lucy is cooking us dinner,” I said as I threw him his clothes from the floor.
* * *
The scent coming from the kitchen paled in comparison to what it was like inside the kitchen. Isaac and I stood under the archway that separated the living room from the kitchen and observed open-mouthed what was going on.
Lucy had her curls piled up high on her head and tied with a hairband. They were the only part of her that wasn’t covered in spots of flour or what looked like tomato sauce. She was stirring something in a pot and moving to whatever music she was listening to on the headphones that were connected to the phone she was carrying in her back pocket.
Isaac was smiling at the scene in front of us.
He whispered, “See? I could have been loud.”
I bumped my hip against his and chuckled.
“Dios!” Lucy screamed when she turned and saw us.
I smiled wide at her, pleased that she’d spoken Spanish instead of English. I’d assumed she had very little connection to her mom’s ancestry in Puerto Rico and wondered how fluent her Spanish was. I wondered how difficult it would be for me to learn Spanish so we could keep a link with Lucy’s mom. I guessed maybe not that difficult since I’d already mastered Portuguese and vaguely remembered my high school Spanish.
“Sorry,” Isaac said, “we didn’t mean to scare you. What are you cooking?”
“That’s okay, and I’m sorry about the mess. I got a little carried away. I made spaghetti with a tomato and bacon sauce, a chocolate cake, and little enchiladas.” She looked proud of her efforts, and she was right to be. Everything looked delicious, and the smell was making my mouth water.
