I stuff a cracker in my mouth and nearly choke on it, then follow it with too big of a gulp of seltzer water and almost choke on that too.
All while Holt’s watching me like I’m the whole room he has to guard.
Eli Harrison. Think about Eli Harrison.
I clear my throat. “Yes, he’s married. Yes, he cheats on her. At least, that’s the rumor. He told me he asked me to dance out of pity since no one else was asking, and he talked about his fantasy football leagues the whole time.”
“Leagues?”
“He always has a side hustle. Fantasy football was that year’s vitamins.”
“And that’s it? That’s the only reason it sucked?”
Swoon. He wants to slay dragons for me. “He also smelled like burnt cheese.”
“Like burnt cheddar? Or more like a burnt bleu cheese?”
Does he for real know the difference? “Like burnt ricotta in a lasagna.”
“How do you burn ricotta?”
“That’s a question I wish I didn’t know the answer to. How do you burn bleu cheese?”
“Innate natural talent in the kitchen.”
I’m smiling.
Am I smiling too big? Am I making a complete fool of myself? Does he suspect I suddenly think he’s hot?
I grab another cracker, but I don’t eat it, because I don’t need to choke again. “Do you have any allergies?”
“Allergies?”
“To food. I started a menu for the week, but I can change it if you’re allergic to anything. Or if you don’t like anything. Or I don’t have to cook. We can each feed ourselves if you want. Takeout or whatever. I’m flexible. I start a new nine-to-five tomorrow, so I can cook. Breakfasts. Dinners. Meals. Like we talked about.”
“No allergies.”
It’s like getting anokback in text.
I’m babbling. “Great. I’ll text it to you.”
“I don’t like burnt cheese.”
I smile again. Probably too big. “The smell of it would probably make me puke, so I promise not to make burnt cheese.”
Gosh, Ziggy, why are you doing this solo parenting thing and not dating at all?
Well, Mom, it’s because I’m an embarrassment to womankind when it comes to carrying on a normal conversation with a man.
But Holt doesn’t seem turned off by my constant mention of bodily fluids.
Doesn’t seem turned on by it either.
I desperately need to end this conversation and go somewhere else.
“Is it normal to be this sick for this long?” he asks. “With the baby?”
“Yes. And I’m mostly better. Except for when I’m stressed.”
