“She won’t eat you,” says Amelie, and I drew myself up the very moment. Not because of what she said, but because I won’t have a nineteen-year-old intimidate me.
From the corner of my eye, I see a smirk on her face, and I know I have been played yet again.
El walks over to us.
She wears a short summer dress with a blue floral print that perfectly complements her eye color. Her wavy, long blonde hair bounces slightly as she walks up to us. How is it that some women are blessed with such breathtaking beauty?
“Hi,” says El in almost the same way Amelie does it. “I’m a hugger,” she says very differently from the encounter we had in front of the bathroom once. “Can I hug you?”
It’s one glance I give Amelie. She has prepared El.
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
Hair and a fresh breeze of perfume wash over me as her hands grasp around me.
I place my hand softly around her because I am squeezed, and it leaves me no other choice. Somehow it’s not that bad. As far as hugs go, at least.
“Thank you for coming,” she says and lets go of me. “I was so excited to meet you.”
I smile and say, “Happy Birthday,” holding out the gift bag with the brownies.
She takes it with a wide smile, showing off her perfectly white teeth.
“Ohhh, Ramini’s!” she says, excited, fiddling in the bag and getting out a brownie.
“Thank you so much,” she says and takes a bite. “They’re the best.” El holds the brownie for Amelie to try.
She takes a tiny bite from it.
“It is really good,” Amelie says, forcing a smile on her face.
“You and your salty tongue fuck off,” says El.
I watch them interact, and it’s like they are one unit. I feel like an intruder in something very personal.
I aim to take a step back.
I need distance. But Amelie pulls me back close. It is as if I am an open book to her, as if she can read my every thought, feel my every emotion.
“So where are the other guests?” I ask.
“No others,” says Amelie. “Just us.”
I feel how I retract more.
I am an intruder.
“You said you wanted privacy,” Amelies says. “An El here wanted to meet you.”
“It’s awkward,” I say.
“It’s not. You’ll see,” says Amelie.
“Sit down there, I’m getting us something to drink.”
I stand, with El, in exactly the awkward silence.
“What’s your favorite song?” she asks me.
