carefully transferring the bowl to the counter and shoving the other one into the microwave in its place. Too sweet. Colin was a wonderful human being, but he was also human. And male. Sweet generally wasn"t in his line. I programmed the microwave for two minutes and jabbed the start button. As the round dish began its methodical revolution, I leaned back against the counter and eyed my boyfriend suspiciously. “What"s really up?”
Colin clasped his arms behind his back, the picture of wounded innocence. “Isn"t wanting to see you enough?”
It was a decidedly lukewarm attempt. He knew the game was up. So did I. “No,” I said firmly.
“Mmm,” said Colin, looking off to the side. I could almost see the little thought bubble over his head, like one of those old Peanuts cartoons. He was thinking, If I kiss her now, can I distract her enough that she"ll forget the question, or will that interfere with the preparation of my dinner? In a determinedly casual tone, he said, “I have to go away for a bit.”
“To Italy, yes?” He had already told me that he was going to be spending the week between Christmas and New Year"s with his mother and stepfather in Italy. I gathered that this was in the nature of an olive branch to his mother, but that was pure reading between the lines on my part. Colin didn"t like to talk about his family. Not the live ones, at any rate. He had become slightly more forthcoming about the long dead ones, which was quite useful when I was in grad student mode, but less useful in girlfriend mode.
We had already discussed the Italy trip. It made calling schedules slightly more complicated, but it really wasn"t much worse than calling England. It simply meant working around his family members.
Colin developed an intense fascination with the rotation of the microwave. “Not just Italy.”
The microwave let out a long squawk but I let it go. “What do you mean?”
“I"m going to be away for a bit longer than I thought. Just some… business matters. Do you think the saag is done?” he asked hopefully, reaching for the microwave door.
I made a belated move to intercept him. “How long?”
“Not too long,” he said vaguely, neatly evading me and carrying the steaming bowl to the table. “Just a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?”
Wonderful, scented steam was wafting up from the lamb saag. My traitor stomach rumbled.
Colin poised a spoon above the bowl. “Lamb saag or chicken tikka?” he asked.
He was cunning, that one. I couldn"t deny it. “Both. How many weeks? Where are you going?”
“I"ll be back by the end of January,” Colin said cheerfully, ladling a whopping portion of chicken tikka masala onto my plate. “Naan?”
The loud crinkling of the foil in which it had been wrapped effectively forestalled further questions.
I gave him a narrow-eyed look, a look that said, I know what you"re up to.
Colin smiled blandly back. “Onion or garlic?”
“Onion,” I said, with a sigh. “No, garlic. Oh, whatever.”
He tidily tore off a half portion of each and gave me both. I looked gloomily at the little pile of food on my plate. Beware what you wish for…. Perfect boy, perfect food, and I was a perfect idiot. I couldn"t decide whether I would be an idiot to interrogate him further (I could just see the Cosmo headline, “Don"t Crowd Him!”) or an idiot not to interrogate him. Either way, I was an idiot.
Piling saag on his own plate, Colin cannily seized advantage of my momentary silence to change the subject. “Which museum did you go to today?”
Fine, so maybe he wasn"t the only one with a secret or two. “How much naan would you like?” I asked.
He gave me a narrow-eyed look.
I crinkled the foil.
“Are you trying to make a point?” he asked darkly.
I blithely seized the opportunity and ran with it. I raised both eyebrows over the silver expanse of foil. “What point do you think I"m making?”
“Mmph,” said Colin.
There"s nothing like a guilty conscience
Colin clasped his arms behind his back, the picture of wounded innocence. “Isn"t wanting to see you enough?”
It was a decidedly lukewarm attempt. He knew the game was up. So did I. “No,” I said firmly.
“Mmm,” said Colin, looking off to the side. I could almost see the little thought bubble over his head, like one of those old Peanuts cartoons. He was thinking, If I kiss her now, can I distract her enough that she"ll forget the question, or will that interfere with the preparation of my dinner? In a determinedly casual tone, he said, “I have to go away for a bit.”
“To Italy, yes?” He had already told me that he was going to be spending the week between Christmas and New Year"s with his mother and stepfather in Italy. I gathered that this was in the nature of an olive branch to his mother, but that was pure reading between the lines on my part. Colin didn"t like to talk about his family. Not the live ones, at any rate. He had become slightly more forthcoming about the long dead ones, which was quite useful when I was in grad student mode, but less useful in girlfriend mode.
We had already discussed the Italy trip. It made calling schedules slightly more complicated, but it really wasn"t much worse than calling England. It simply meant working around his family members.
Colin developed an intense fascination with the rotation of the microwave. “Not just Italy.”
The microwave let out a long squawk but I let it go. “What do you mean?”
“I"m going to be away for a bit longer than I thought. Just some… business matters. Do you think the saag is done?” he asked hopefully, reaching for the microwave door.
I made a belated move to intercept him. “How long?”
“Not too long,” he said vaguely, neatly evading me and carrying the steaming bowl to the table. “Just a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?”
Wonderful, scented steam was wafting up from the lamb saag. My traitor stomach rumbled.
Colin poised a spoon above the bowl. “Lamb saag or chicken tikka?” he asked.
He was cunning, that one. I couldn"t deny it. “Both. How many weeks? Where are you going?”
“I"ll be back by the end of January,” Colin said cheerfully, ladling a whopping portion of chicken tikka masala onto my plate. “Naan?”
The loud crinkling of the foil in which it had been wrapped effectively forestalled further questions.
I gave him a narrow-eyed look, a look that said, I know what you"re up to.
Colin smiled blandly back. “Onion or garlic?”
“Onion,” I said, with a sigh. “No, garlic. Oh, whatever.”
He tidily tore off a half portion of each and gave me both. I looked gloomily at the little pile of food on my plate. Beware what you wish for…. Perfect boy, perfect food, and I was a perfect idiot. I couldn"t decide whether I would be an idiot to interrogate him further (I could just see the Cosmo headline, “Don"t Crowd Him!”) or an idiot not to interrogate him. Either way, I was an idiot.
Piling saag on his own plate, Colin cannily seized advantage of my momentary silence to change the subject. “Which museum did you go to today?”
Fine, so maybe he wasn"t the only one with a secret or two. “How much naan would you like?” I asked.
He gave me a narrow-eyed look.
I crinkled the foil.
“Are you trying to make a point?” he asked darkly.
I blithely seized the opportunity and ran with it. I raised both eyebrows over the silver expanse of foil. “What point do you think I"m making?”
“Mmph,” said Colin.
There"s nothing like a guilty conscience
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