What’s a man supposed to do in this situation? We went from farts to tears because I got her breakfast. This is way past my comprehension level.
So I decide to approach with caution. “I figured since I don’t have to skate until ten this morning and you have the day off, it might be nice to have breakfast together. I hope that’s okay. Honestly, if you want me to sit out on the balcony, I can do that.”
She nods. “Yup, that was thoughtful.” Tears stream down her face. “Very thoughtful. And here I am, acting like a grotesque human, telling you about my farts and Dr. Big Pecs.”
Yes, she fucking mentioned him. Here is my in.
Sure, it might not be the best time to bring him up, given the one-eighty in conversation we just had, but I’m dying to know more.
“How big of pecs are we talking?” I ask, trying to add a jovial tone to my voice.
She walks over to the kitchen, grabs a napkin, and dabs at her eyes. “I said I was grotesque, and that’s what you want to know? The bra size of my doctor?”
Something is happening. Something I don’t think I’m mentally prepared for. I’m pretty sure from what I’ve seen in movies and on TV that the professionals would refer to this as hormones. The ups and downs. The crying over something that doesn’t seem that terrible at all. If I could put my finger on it, that’s what I’d guess. Now if only there was an easy map that showed me how to navigate through said hormones.
“You’re not grotesque. You actually . . .” I study her. “You’re actually quite pretty in the morning.”
She stops dabbing her eyes, and they laser in on me. “Am I not pretty at night?”
Oh, shit.
“What? No, you are. You’re very pretty at night.”
She dabs her eyes again. “But you said only in the morning.”
Christ. Sweat trickles down my back.Reel it in, Hornsby.
“Well, that’s because not everyone can wake up as beautiful as you, especially after dry-heaving for as long as you do. A head in a toilet doesn’t scream beauty, but wow, you really show up with the prettiness . . . all the time. All the time pretty.”
There, that should do it.
“Is that a compliment?”
Uh, it was supposed to be.
Clearly, it was not a satisfactory one.
“I assumed it was, but judging by the disgusted sneer on your face, I’m going to say you didn’t take it that way. Okay, how about this. In case there is any kernel of doubt in your mind, I think you look nice, very pretty. No matter where you’ve been or what you’ve done, you’re always pretty. I don’t think you’re the least bit grotesque, or anything you do is grotesque. Not to mention, everyone farts, it’s a natural thing that occurs, and if you didn’t fart, well, that would be weird and grotesque. So congrats on what you called the flatus. Well done.” I offer her a thumbs up. “Now, I hope you join me for breakfast. I got cinnamon buns, and I know how much you like them.”
She glances at the table and then back at me, and once again, her eyes well up and tears leak down her cheeks. Please let those be happy tears. I’m clenching my ass cheeks so hard, I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on. “I’m sorry.” She wipes at her eyes. Oh, thank fuck. “Things are just weird for me right now. And I don’t know how to control my emotions.”
Well, at least she recognizes that.
“It’s okay. No need to apologize for anything.” I walk over to the table, and I pull a chair out for her. “Take a seat, and I’ll get you a drink. Do you want coffee or tea?” The faster we can move past the circle of hell we just experienced, the better.
“Water is fine.” She sits down and scoots her chair in. I quickly fill up a glass for her and then set it in front of her before taking a seat.
“I wish these were from The Denver Biscuit Company,” I say, “but they will have to do for now. They’re pretty good. Gooey in the middle, which is all that matters.”
She pulls her cinnamon bun apart with her fingers and lifts a chunk to her mouth before taking a bite. Her eyes slowly close, and she leans back in her chair while moaning. “These are so good.”
Well . . . that’s, uh . . . that’s a sight.
The moaning.
The relaxed position.
It’s almost as if she just had an orgasm right in front of me, but I had nothing to do with it other than purchasing the cinnamon bun.
