you some breakfast?”
I screwed my face into a grimace. Was he kidding? We always argued when I wasn’t interested…argued or got cold and distant, one or the other…sometimes both. “Wait, I’m sorry, come back.”
“You made it quite clear that you are not in the mood. I got it. I’m not about to force myself on you.”
“Yeah, but I was just being silly…come back.”
“No. You are not…in…the...mood. I am going to go make you breakfast. Now just relax, and let me do something for you that you might enjoy.”
I was suspicious of his kindness but agreed. “Okay. What are you going to make?”
“What would you like me to make?” he said, with a heartfelt smile.
This was kinda freaking me out, but I said, “um, pancakes…with blueberries….and Mountain…”
“…Mountain Tea Song tea,” he finished. “I KNOW you.”
Gosh, he was being nice. What was the matter with him? What was the matter with me for being distrustful?
As Cam traipsed down the hall, whistling, I got out of bed and started the shower. The water was brutally hot and sprayed out like little needles on my skin. I let it pummel me until my back was beet red. Then I washed my face, armpits, crotch, belly, and legs with minty shower gel, washed and conditioned my hair, and turned the water off. Toweling off my hair and tugging my robe around me, I bounced down into the kitchen.
“This smells wonderful,” I exclaimed. He strode over with a steaming hot cup of tea and commanded me to sit. He placed a napkin in my lap and a plate on the placemat in front of me. Then, he came back from the stove with a stack of blueberry pancakes and set it down in front of me. The butter dish and syrup were placed just within reach. There was a single strawberry, juicy red and glistening, perched to the side as a garnish.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice infused with genuine appreciation. “Why are you being so nice?”
“Are you implying that I am NOT nice?” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
“No...I am not saying that. But usually when I am not in the mood…well, we usually fight or something.”
“People can change, babe.” He grabbed a plate and piled it with pancakes for himself. Sitting next to me, he let his knee fall to touch mine. This all felt so intimate, I was at a loss for words. My leg started to work up and down like a sewing machine needle. I forked a bite of pancake and chewed, letting the sweet, sticky syrup ooze down my throat. We ate in silence until our plates were clear. Then, Cam said, “Are you nervous about tonight, sweetheart?”
“Yes!” I said with a snap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out so sharp. I really, really, really don’t want to go. I have thought up all sorts of excuses to get out of it.”
“You’ll be fine. Z will be there, and I will be here when you get home. Don’t worry, babe.”
“I sure don’t trust Mr. Dallas – or Jill – for that matter.”
“You’ll be fine, Chér,” he said again. “What could possibly happen with all those people around? Look for Zuri in the audience if you get scared and remember that I will be home waiting for you.”
“If you say so…”
“Trust me – you’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen with all those people in attendance. You’ll be great.”
Cam was being so darn nice to me, so supportive, that I began to melt inside.
“Cam…” I said; my voice all timid and shy. I pushed my empty plate away from me.
“Yes?” His face lit up with that same tender smile he had been using all morning.
“We could…I mean, I could…I mean, if you wanted to, we could go back into the bedroom.”
“And what would we do there?” Clearly, he was not going to make this easy for me.
“We could…you know…what we started to do earlier. I guess I wasn’t ready.”
His languorous reply rolled off his lips. “Hmmm… what, exactly, did we start earlier? Refresh my memory.”
“Cam…you know what I am talking about.”
I screwed my face into a grimace. Was he kidding? We always argued when I wasn’t interested…argued or got cold and distant, one or the other…sometimes both. “Wait, I’m sorry, come back.”
“You made it quite clear that you are not in the mood. I got it. I’m not about to force myself on you.”
“Yeah, but I was just being silly…come back.”
“No. You are not…in…the...mood. I am going to go make you breakfast. Now just relax, and let me do something for you that you might enjoy.”
I was suspicious of his kindness but agreed. “Okay. What are you going to make?”
“What would you like me to make?” he said, with a heartfelt smile.
This was kinda freaking me out, but I said, “um, pancakes…with blueberries….and Mountain…”
“…Mountain Tea Song tea,” he finished. “I KNOW you.”
Gosh, he was being nice. What was the matter with him? What was the matter with me for being distrustful?
As Cam traipsed down the hall, whistling, I got out of bed and started the shower. The water was brutally hot and sprayed out like little needles on my skin. I let it pummel me until my back was beet red. Then I washed my face, armpits, crotch, belly, and legs with minty shower gel, washed and conditioned my hair, and turned the water off. Toweling off my hair and tugging my robe around me, I bounced down into the kitchen.
“This smells wonderful,” I exclaimed. He strode over with a steaming hot cup of tea and commanded me to sit. He placed a napkin in my lap and a plate on the placemat in front of me. Then, he came back from the stove with a stack of blueberry pancakes and set it down in front of me. The butter dish and syrup were placed just within reach. There was a single strawberry, juicy red and glistening, perched to the side as a garnish.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice infused with genuine appreciation. “Why are you being so nice?”
“Are you implying that I am NOT nice?” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
“No...I am not saying that. But usually when I am not in the mood…well, we usually fight or something.”
“People can change, babe.” He grabbed a plate and piled it with pancakes for himself. Sitting next to me, he let his knee fall to touch mine. This all felt so intimate, I was at a loss for words. My leg started to work up and down like a sewing machine needle. I forked a bite of pancake and chewed, letting the sweet, sticky syrup ooze down my throat. We ate in silence until our plates were clear. Then, Cam said, “Are you nervous about tonight, sweetheart?”
“Yes!” I said with a snap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out so sharp. I really, really, really don’t want to go. I have thought up all sorts of excuses to get out of it.”
“You’ll be fine. Z will be there, and I will be here when you get home. Don’t worry, babe.”
“I sure don’t trust Mr. Dallas – or Jill – for that matter.”
“You’ll be fine, Chér,” he said again. “What could possibly happen with all those people around? Look for Zuri in the audience if you get scared and remember that I will be home waiting for you.”
“If you say so…”
“Trust me – you’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen with all those people in attendance. You’ll be great.”
Cam was being so darn nice to me, so supportive, that I began to melt inside.
“Cam…” I said; my voice all timid and shy. I pushed my empty plate away from me.
“Yes?” His face lit up with that same tender smile he had been using all morning.
“We could…I mean, I could…I mean, if you wanted to, we could go back into the bedroom.”
“And what would we do there?” Clearly, he was not going to make this easy for me.
“We could…you know…what we started to do earlier. I guess I wasn’t ready.”
His languorous reply rolled off his lips. “Hmmm… what, exactly, did we start earlier? Refresh my memory.”
“Cam…you know what I am talking about.”
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