six
Veda
It’s just not right that he has this way of speaking as if every word melts over his tongue, and combined with the dark tattoos peeking from under his collar, I decide to look anywhere in the kitchen but at him. He’s too handsome, a rough cowboy with a smirk that makes my skin feel too tight around my body.
My whole life, Grandpa told me I should watch myself and not tempt men. This was a lesson hammered into me from day one. I even remember being a child and feeling ashamed if someone told me I was cute. Because of that, I never looked at men until Joe. My sexuality wasn’t something I really paid attention to. I always wanted to be good first and foremost, and I knew boys weren’t part of the plan. I never wanted to upset Grandpa by bringing someone home, but Joe started talking to me as a friend.
He didn’t start with a compliment or eye me up and down with hunger like other men. He had a gentle, easy smile that made me relax around him. We started talking during the company picnic. I was painfully shy on the side, trying to look good enough to fit the role of a St. James without looking so good that it would upset Grandpa. Joesat down beside me and cracked a joke. That was all he did. How sad is it that that was all I needed to give myself completely?
“What exactly is gluten?”
Derrick’s questions make me giggle and take me away from dark thoughts. “Flour, barley…”
“Like for the animals?” He looks at me over his shoulder.
“If you really pay attention, it’s also in everything delicious.”
He curses and turns back to the cabinets, rummaging through them, and I can’t stop the smile coming to my lips. It’s cute that he’s trying to feed me.
“Do you have any fruit?”
I’d prefer a full meal after so long without eating, but at this point, I don’t care. I should have broken out of the room and told them I couldn’t eat the food they were leaving at my door, but I wasn’t ready to face them just yet. I’d still be back there if the cabin fever wasn’t getting to me.
Their voices had died down for the night, as it usually happens. The house was completely silent by nine, and I assumed it meant they were all in bed. I never thought Derrick was still up, watching the horses under the moonlight. He looks too good doing just that.
“This is not dinner,” he says, handing me an apple from the fridge.
As if I care.I bite into it, moaning when the sharpness of the green apple hits my tongue. I demolish the whole thing in seconds, and only then do my eyes lift to his again.
His eyes shine with so much intensity, I stop with breath frozen inside my lungs. They trace my every movement, and I shift in my chair, flushed with attention I’m not used to entertaining. When men pay attention to me, I usually retreat and leave the situation altogether. But Derrick feels good when he looks at me. His gaze doesn’t crawl with sticky, murky desire, but rather, its light makes me feel powerful.My toes curl inside my shoes as I will myself not to move. I want him to keep looking. Is that too vain? I shouldn’t let myself go like this, but I’m curious. Is it wrong to let someone notice me? Grandpa is not here to tell me so.
“Do you have more?”
“More?” His voice is darker than before.
“Another apple?”
The word shakes him out of his spell, and he throws me another apple, which I promptly start eating. He doesn’t look back at me, but opens his fridge and starts piling food on the table: strawberries, blueberries, juice, and a whole cucumber. I’m starving, so I eat it all, not patient to make a salad or something. I eat it and hum under my breath. It takes a long time until I hold my hand up and declare I’m finally full.
Derrick crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Come out for breakfast tomorrow morning. I’ll make sure you have food.”
The demand awakens goose bumps on my skin. I like the idea of a hot cowboy feeding me as much as the next girl, but I have to think about whether I’m ready to rejoin the world. It feels good to be given time to grieve. It doesn’t matter how many times Grandpa told me I wasn’t going to make a good mother, I wanted to try. I wanted to try so hard that my arms feel empty without my Mirasol. My heart aches, as I’m missing a piece of my soul.
The emotions threaten to surface, but I’m getting really good at shoving them back into a dark place where I can’t feel them. Realistically, I can’t keep myself from them for much longer. I’m torn. I don’t like that everyone is working but me, but leaving my teary days behind feels like leaving her memory behind. If I’m the only one crying for her, she’ll really be gone once I stop.
“I think I ate all your fruit,” I say instead of agreeing to his plans.
“We’ll have more in the morning.”
“Maybe the bacon and no pancakes. I can’t have it when it’s on top.”
When I opened my door to the pancakes this morning, I almost cried. I moved things around, hoping some didn’t touch the pancakes directly, but that’s a dangerous game to play. Especially when I’m so fragile already. I can’t risk cross-contamination on top of it all.
“You have to tell us everything you can and can’t eat.”
His voice is tender, his eyes eager, but I scanned his kitchen when I got here. He doesn’t want to know all the points of cross-contamination. He’d go insane before he made this safe for me. People don’t like it when you’re a fussy eater, Grandpa always reminds me. It’s better not to eat than to annoy folks. I’ve been without food at countless dinner parties.
“Sure,” I lie.
