CHAPTER 7
JULIAN
For the fifthmorning in a row, I’ve been lying awake for at least the last hour, staring at the ceiling. Each morning has been for different reasons, though all have to do with Arush. Today is the first day we’re spending together. All day. With no hockey.
I’m looking forward to it.
Over the last few days, I’ve been trying to live the way I talk. Gender isn’t the first criterion to be met when considering a life partner. It’s not a remark I think I’ve said out loud, but it’s definitely something I’ve thought about a few times over the years. Especially when I was traded to Arizona and watched my close friends fall in love.
Gender wasn’t an obstacle for them, from what I observed. It’s not like their gender could have been mistaken, either. We change in the same locker room, after all.
Yet, it wasn’t something that held them back. As corny as it sounds, love surpassed all doubts. They had a goal, and that’s what they shot for.
Why can’t I do that too? I’m tempted to call and ask, but then they’d have some questions and I’m certainly not ready for that.
“To be clear, I’ve never insisted I’m straight,” I murmur to the empty room. I need to say the words out loud. To hear themin my voice. Does it feel heavy or am I lighter now? “I’ve never said I’m straight,” I repeat.
The world just assumes, and since I learned as a teenager that relationships without sex are far more difficult to be in than they should be, I’d stopped trying to find one. I’d been content with that decision right until Arizona, where I witnessed how fulfilling a strong romantic connection can be.
“I never said…” I repeat and close my eyes. There was one time as a kid when I had a huge crush on a guy friend. By kid, I mean I was twelve or thirteen. Then once more when I was at hockey camp during my fifteenth summer. That crush washuge.
“I’mnot,” I tell the universe. There’s plenty of proof of that.
This is seriously just all in my head because I had a vision of a future that I thought I was signing up for and that turned out differently than I expected. My mind is in a rut. I’mnotupset that Arush is a guy. I’m just…
With a sigh, I sit up. I’m not sure what’s going on. There’s a hesitation in my chest that I can’t explain and I don’t understand. I’m at least mildly convinced that it’s not, in fact, his gender that bothers me. Ihavehad crushes on guys before.
Oh. Maybe that’s the difference. I’ve had crushes and never acted on them. This man in my condo is supposed to be my husband. That’s what we signed up for.
A weight falls from my shoulders. That makes sense. I’m nervous because I’ve never done this before with a guy. More and more, I think talking to Etna and Keno would be helpful. My understanding is they’ve shared all their gay firsts. They’d have advice.
Not that I want sexual firsts advice, though a conversation will probably move in that direction. Then again… is it realistic that we’llneverbe sexual at all? Is that what I want? Is that what Arush wants? I’m definitely not repulsed by sex. I love the idea of it. I can literally go to bed one night all amped up and ready forit the next day and when it comes time, everything inside me just shuts down and I get a big ‘ew, no’ feeling.
Okay, maybe I’ll take the advice there too and file it away for a ‘maybe one day’ date.
I run through the bathroom and get dressed before stepping into the hall. Arush’s room is right beside mine. I pause at his closed door for a minute and wonder if he’d been a girl, like I assumed he’d be, would I have brought him into my room the night he got here?
Frowning, I head into the kitchen to begin breakfast. Last night, I watched a dozen videos on how to make poha, which is flattened rice with spices. Flattened rice is a kind of rice, which took me a while to figure out. The first morning I had breakfast delivered for Arush, I commented on it and he explained. I’ve since tracked some down in a grocery store and had it delivered.
The second dish I’m going to try to make today is Rava Uttapam, which is an Indian version of a savory pancake. It’s served with coconut chutney.
The breakfast I ordered the other morning was very feast-sized, especially when it was only made for two. Which was fine since it meant we had leftovers and I could try different dishes, meaning I could see which ones Arush really enjoyed.
My mama taught me to cook growing up, so I’m comfortable in the kitchen. My wheelhouse is Southern comfort food, but I’m not averse to experimenting in the kitchen. I’m not the best at following recipes though, since Mama and Gran didn’t follow exact recipes and seasoned based on taste instead of a measured amount, but until I feel comfortable making some of these dishes, these recipes are going to be the kitchen Bible.
Which gives me an idea. Maybe if I buy a cookbook and send it to Arush’s family, they can mark up the recipes so they match what he grew up with. I think it would be something nice for him to have, too. I have my great-grandmother’s cookbook that she’swritten all over. There are sticky notes and margin notes and loose papers sticking out of its breaking-down spine. The entire thing is held together with several rubber bands.
One of the things I love about breakfast foods is that they don’t take long to cook. I have both Indian items finished, as well as Mama’s shrimp and grits, in less than half an hour. With a couple fruit smoothies to boot, I’m ready to wake up Arush.
Grinning at my masterpiece breakfast, I head for the hall, only to find Arush standing just outside the kitchen door watching me.
“You don’t have to stay outside the kitchen,” I tell him.
“You cooked Indian food,” he says, almost accusatory.
I glance at the table. “Well, I attempted. Don’t get offended if I messed it up. It’s my first try.”
I’m not sure exactly how he’s looking at me. At first I think maybe he’s upset. Is this one of those things where I crossed a line and dipped into his culture when I shouldn’t have? Fuck. I didn’t think about that.
