“Come on, love. Let’s eat.”
With a resigned sigh, she gives in and sits on a high stool. I set a plate with an avocado toast before her and one where I’ll sit. Then, I cut the omelet in two and give us a slice each. I’ve already poured orange juice into two glasses, which I add to the counter. The coffee seems to be done brewing, so I take the pot off the state-of-the-art machine and settle it between us.
“You’re really good at this,” she appreciatively says.
“I started cooking for myself at an early age, so my mum had less work to do at home. Turns out I enjoy eating well, so I got good at it.”
“It looks delicious.” She doesn’t wait any longer to dig in, bringing the avocado toast to her lips. The raspy little moan she lets out brings a crooked smile to my lips. “Itisdelicious.”
“It’s just avocado on bread, love.” Although, I did come through with the seasoning, cherry tomatoes, smoked salmon, and all.
The omelet gets the same reaction, and only then do I allow myself to eat. “Do you have any big plans for the rest of the week?” I ask.
“Yeah, I have this thing on Friday evening.”
My brows come together at her answer. I thought we were seeing each other on Friday. “What thing?”
“I’m heading down to Brooklyn for my bi-weekly dicking appointment,” she says with an impish smirk.
That cheeky little…
“Well then, I’ll be sure to keep my evening free.”
“Perfect. I’m actually busy on Saturday, though. Just so you know.”
“Really?”
“Yes, it’s Hana’s birthday. Since she was pregnant last time, she wants us to go overboard this year.”
“I take it you mean getting hammered?”
“Mhm. It’s also her last birthday in her twenties, and she’s terrified of entering the next decade.”
“Thirties are great,” I say.
“It’s not the same for a woman.” She chews on her piece of omelet, takes a sip of orange juice, and meets my eyes inquisitively. “How old are you, by the way?”
“Thirty-two. You?”
“Almost twenty-seven.”
“Your birthday is coming up?”
“On the ninth.”
“Any plans?”
“I will be out of town for it, visiting my parents.”
“I didn’t realize you were a close-knit family.”
“We’re not,” she mumbles, taking another bite of toast.
I can tell there’s more to it, but I don’t push her. Family matters can be delicate, and her mood doesn’t deserve to be ruined to satisfy my curiosity.
It seems I don’t need to ask, because she voluntarily continues with, “My sister died on the day we turned seventeen. So we don’t celebrate it as a birthday anymore. We commemorate her instead.”
Fuck, that is heavy. I reach for her hand, wrapping mine over it. “I’m sorry to hear that, love. It must have been tough.”
