Hot Tea (28 page)

Pure unadulterated relief coursed through my veins. Trying to focus on the current conversation I answered, “Oh, um, I have a landline in case anyone ever breaks in, or in case I keel over.”

“What?”

“Long story, but my mom is convinced that if I only have a cell phone, and there is ever an emergency, I won’t have the time or the presence of mind, to actually tell the operator my address so that the good guys can come save me.”

“Ah, but with a cell phone you can take the phone with you while you run away from the bad guys.”

“This is true, but how do you dial while you’re running, and what if I’m disoriented?”

“All good points.”

“And there’s the whole reverse 911 thing that the cops do, so that if someone escapes from prison and comes in my direction, or if I need to evacuate because of a storm, or whatever, they can call me.  Reverse 911, I don’t think they do that on cell phones yet, do they?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, if we’re going for the truth of it, it was the easiest and most cost effective way to put my mother’s mind at rest.  That’s worth a lot to me.”

He smiled, “I get it.”

“So, do you want dinner?”

“That would be great, but I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

“Dinner for two?  Trouble?  Are you kidding?  Dinner for two, I can do that blindfolded, with my hands tied behind my back.”

“Sounds a little kinky but I admit I’d like to see that.”

AJ decided to research online eulogy writing services while I prepared dinner and got cleaned up.  I took some frozen chicken breasts out, placed their little wrapped selves in a bowl of water, peeled some potatoes and checked the freezer for frozen veggies.  Might not be gourmet, but it would be ok.  Along with the veggies, I found a package of frozen rolls.  While the chicken was trying to thaw itself, I ran in and took a quick shower.

When I cut the bandage off, my ankle was a slightly scary shade of deep purple, red around the edges, and the purple had escaped the bandage and was headed down and around my toes.  I decided I’d live and jumped in the shower.  I didn’t bother with my hair, or shaving, but did use my best smelly good stuff, and was back out in the kitchen in record time.

The chicken boobage was thawed enough to separate.  I buy them at my favorite warehouse store.  They come in vacuum-sealed packages, two boobs in each of 8 pockets.  It’s a great deal and makes my life pretty flexible.  I’ve been known to prepare 64 chicken breasts for one sitting, that doesn’t include any of the dark meat, so I need package flexibility.  Why my mind was wandering the path of all things chicken boobage is beyond me, but that’s what I was thinking when AJ walked up behind me.

“What ‘cha thinking about?”

“Boobs”

“Mmmm, me too.” He let his eyebrows dance across his forehead.

I burst out laughing. 

He looked kind of crushed.

“I’m sorry.  I’ve had such a bizarre day.  First I had to talk about pornography with my mother, now I’m talking about boobs with you.  Both a first and a little other worldly.  More like science fiction.  My mother and erotica never enter my mind at the same time, just like the mention of boobs really doesn’t cause my image to spring forth in anyone’s mind.  When God was handing out boobs, I was in a different line.”

“Ok, I’m not sure which question to ask first here.  Let’s start with God and work our way back.  Just what line do you think you were standing in?”

“I’m not sure.  Probably the girly line.  I like all things girly.  I like beautiful nightgowns and smelly good stuff, and I like the freedom to cry when I see a puppy in a commercial.  I think a guy should pay for dinner when you go out and I like to have the door opened for me.  I want romance and someone to adore me, and I think that Beaver Cleaver’s mother was cool.”

His smile was contagious.  He continued, undaunted, “Why were your mother and erotica on your mind at the same time?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you?  I was over at Bernie’s house.  She was like 566 years old.  Anyway, Teagan and I decide we’re going to clean out her bedroom first.  We get to this huge bookcase and she has about a gazillion books.  Teagan is reading off all the titles and authors, and I’m putting them in a laptop so that we have an accounting of them for the family in Ireland.  So, we get to the second to the bottom shelf, and there is this huge collection of erotica.  I couldn’t believe it.  The woman was, like, 650 years old.”

He stood on the other side of the kitchen while I told my story and dipped the chicken boobs in a mixture of flour and seasonings.  He gave me a strange look when I grabbed a beach towel and threw it on the floor, but didn’t comment.  I have tile and see no reason to scrub grout when I can take two seconds and protect it from gunk.

“Anyway, so Teagan and I decide that we are going to be tricky and worm our way out of talking about all this stuff to my mom, but when I call her to do that, she informs me that not only do I need to bring all the books over to her, including the erotica, but that Bernie is the author of some of those books.  The erotic ones!  She bet that Teagan and I can’t figure out which books were written by Bernie.  We may have to read them all.”

That set his eyebrows to dancing again.

The chicken was popping and spitting in the oil when I drained my peeled potatoes, put fresh water in the pot and set them to boil with a little bit of salt.

“And why are your name and breasts not likely to appear in the same brain at the same time?”

“Don’t be mean.”

“Mean?  How am I being mean?”

“When people talk breasts, there is usually some quantity involved.  I have no quantity.  What I have, isn’t even called breasts in the United States.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.  You have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve never seen my breasts.”

“Oh, but I have.”

“Excuse me?  Did you take advantage of me when I was all liquored up?”  I had to laugh.  The thought of someone like AJ taking advantage of a woman was so far outside the realm of possibility that it was hilarious. 

Even he had to chuckle.

“Cara, I am male.  I’m a photographer.  I work with the female body just about every day.  I have a very good imagination.”

He blushed.

Is there anything sexier than a man blushing?  I decided that maybe the better part of valor was to simply continue with what I was doing, avoiding all comments and more importantly, eye contact.

I started off to set the table, when AJ caught me from behind, both hands around my waist and said, “I can set a table.  Are we going casual or formal here?”

“Casual, mostly because if we want to go formal, I’m going to have to iron a tablecloth.  All mine are about 100 years old and not washer and dryer friendly.”

“Casual it is.  Placemats or naked table?”

“Placemats.”

“Where?”

“Bottom drawer on the left.”

I took the chicken out of the oil and put it on a mini broiler pan.  That way, I stick it in the oven to keep cooking while I do other things.  Any extra oil that might otherwise be inclined to stay on my chicken, on a good day, drips off into the bottom of the broiler pan; on a bad day, it hits the heating element of the oven and smokes up the apartment, either way, the extra calories stay off my hips.  Even when I’m cooking for two, I cook like I’m cooking for 60.

I was so busy going through my usual process, that I didn’t pay attention.

I’m such an idiot. 

I didn’t stop to think for a second.  It’s so rare for anyone to actually offer to help, that I guess I was momentarily dazzled.  As AJ reached down for the drawer, he caught a glimpse of my ankle. 

Instantly he scooped me up and started toward the living room.

“I can’t believe you’re walking around on that ankle!”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You’re done.  You have two options.  You can shout directions from the sofa and I will finish dinner, or we can go out.  Actually, you have three options; I can go pick up something.  Actually, four, we can call and have something delivered.”

“It’s not that bad.  I’ve been on it all day.”

“Which is why it’s a mess.  You need to get off of it so that it can heal.”

“I’ll just finish dinner, then I’ll put it up, I promise.”

“I’ll call your mother.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

He started for the phone.

“You don’t have her number.”

“She left a message on the landline.  I’m assuming that I can hit redial.”

“Wow, you’re good.”

“You have no idea.”

I smiled, “I’m starting to get a few.  Ideas.”

His eyebrows danced and then he disappeared back into the kitchen.

I could hear glasses being taken out of the cupboard, then things clanging around as if someone that actually knew what they were doing was working in a kitchen.

He soon brought me a nice cold Pepsi.  When the potatoes were done, he drained and mashed them.  He remembered the rolls but forgot the veggies, which is even better, because I didn’t have to eat the veggies to be polite. I hate veggies. 

He brought everything out to the coffee table and positioned the low table so that when I bent over to grab for things, it all seemed rather graceful and my stomach didn’t do that weird thing where I have 3 little rolls around my waist.  That drives me crazy, even though I know it’s just a part of bending over.

We were all settled and eating when we were able to continue our discussion.  Unfortunately, he hadn’t lost his place in the conversation.

“So, tell me, how can you look in a mirror and not know how impressive you are?  You’re a smart woman Cara, you must know that men find you irresistible.”