I shrug. It’s not a big fucking deal, right? I mean, who even watches that stuff? I take my plate into the kitchen and load it into the dishwasher, then I start washing up the cooking pans.
Who are you, and what have you done with Nellie? Woolly demands. She never does clean-up.
Ugh, am I stress-cleaning? Or is Mats’s anal tidiness rubbing off on me?
There’s a knock on the front door. Jinx runs to answer it.
Oh, hey, Mats. How are you? I hear her say.
I dry my hands and walk to the door. Mats is bundled up in a black down parka, beanie, and scarf, as usual.
He smiles at me. Sorry to barge in like this.
No problem. I’m always happy to see you, I say.
Awwwww, croons Jinx.
Don’t you have something better to do? I ask my nosy roomie.
Nope, she replies sweetly, but leaves.
Look, I won’t stay. I just brought these for you. From inside his jacket, he produces a bouquet wrapped in ribbon and brown paper. It’s three deep pink roses with lush ferns and baby’s breath. They’re so beautiful, and far more artistic than Marjorie’s bouquet.
Oh, wow. What’s the occasion? Because I’m not the kind of person who gets random flowers. Or any flowers at all, except from octogenarians.
Can’t you guess? He winks.
Is this for my hat trick?
He nods. Yeah. I should have had them here yesterday, right after the Saturday game.
But you also had a Saturday game, and you volunteer on Sundays, I protest as a whoosh of happiness rolls over me. My first flowers from a guy, and they’re so much more special for waiting. I’m definitely going to press them in a book, or whatever the fuck you do to keep flowers forever. I wrap my arms around his puffy exterior and squeeze tightly.
Thank you, Mats. You’re the best.
You’re very welcome.
I feel warm and fuzzy inside as I tilt my face up and kiss him. As usual, his kiss feels both sweetly tender and molten hot. How does he do that? We break apart.
Hey, do you have time to take a walk? I ask.
Sure.
First, I put the flowers into a vase, then I get dressed and we head out. At first, we walk in silence, which is a normal state for Mats and completely abnormal for me.
Is everything okay? he asks.
I don’t want to sound like a jealous girlfriend, but at the same time, Mats is always praising the honesty in our relationship.
Do you have a type? I ask.
His quizzical eyebrow goes up. A type of what?
Girlfriend? Or a type of woman that you’re attracted to?
Oh.
We walk along farther while he considers the question. He takes my hand in his, which makes me feel a bit better. At least he’s not fleeing.
