"It's fine," I said.
"I took a look at the piping gun," he began.
"I don't really want to talk about it," I said. "I'm trying to lift my bad mood."
He nodded. I picked at a fuzz ball on my sweater. Jack came over and hugged me. He smelled like metal and oil.
"Working late?"
"Just trying out some new robotics attachments for surgery."
"Aren't you tired? It's late."
I wanted things to go back to being easy between us. This thing with Jack was supposed to be fun. It was part of my authentic New York City experience before I inevitably failed to achieve my dreams and had to return to the Midwest, tail between my legs.
"Are you tired?" he asked.
"Not really."
"You want something to eat?"
"I guess I'll make some eggs."
He looked at me with concern. He had goggles pushed up on his head. They were messing up his hair, so I pulled them off and smoothed his hair back. He grinned and bent down as if he was about to kiss me, our faces centimeters apart.
"Can I kiss you?"
"Do you want to?"
"Yes, but I don't want you to bite my head off."
"I'm just grumpy," I said.
He bent down and pressed out lips together. I felt a little better.
"You're just hungry," he said.
I wrapped my arms around him, and he picked me up, carried me through the kitchen, and put me on the couch. Then he wrapped a blanket around me and turned on the TV.
"I'll pick a movie for you," he said. "How aboutThe Nightmare Before Christmas?"
"That’s a classic Christmas movie," I said. "Good choice."
"I'll bring you something to eat."
"Are there any soup muffins left?" I called after him. "That would be fine for me."
"I have something better," he replied.
I heard the microwave go, and Jack brought over a large bowl of steaming curry and a plate of naan.
"Indian food. Yum!"
"I hope this isn't too delicate for your Midwestern palate," he teased.
"Please," I snorted. "Indian curry is practically mainstream. We have a thriving immigrant population in my oma's town. There is a factory out there, and tech engineers, usually Indian, Bangladeshi, or Eastern European, would rotate through. Oma would always invite new arrivals to our house for Thanksgiving or the holidays. She said that it was a good way to learn about your neighbors. She believed that there was always room for one more. A lot of times, they would bring their traditional food with them there. My oma loved it. She never met food she didn't love. She was a big woman, but she had a big heart."
Jack handed me a box of tissue, because I was crying into the curry.
