with a swig of orange juice.
“Now, back to you,” she says.
Way to jinx myself.
“Don’t believe a word Cameron says, Ingela. He’s dreaming. Probably has a peanut-sized penis.”
She giggles excitedly and slaps her thighs. “Good one! What about Leon? They say he’s crazy in bed, like dangerous! Is he hung like a boar?”
“Are you messing with me? What the hell kind of question is that?” This isn’t the first time I would have been better off not letting her suck me into discussions. I never know with Ingela, and here we are again: she just learned that I’m expecting, and her first inquiries relate to the father’s size and bed manners. Classic. “And plus—a boar ? Who cares about boar penises?”
“Not me,” she agrees, shaking her head. “I only care about Leon’s—so compare to something else, then. Carrots, cucumbers, kittens. Whatever works. Or centimeters would be easy.”
Of course. Gotta make this easy on Ingela.
I look at my watch. I’m hours from having to leave for work. Hours! “You going to class today?”
“No.” She sinks her chin into both hands, grinning wide.
I sigh. “Ingela.”
“Yeees?”
“Please promise me you won’t tell anyone. Things are… complicated with Leon and me.”
A slight frown appears between her eyebrows. “I can keep a secret. Why, though?”
Where to start? I flip the rest of my eggs down the dark bowels of the trashcan and load my plate into the dishwasher. “I’ve worked at Smother for three years, and I know Leon well, okay? He has issues, Inga, and we’re just not compatible.”
She weaves into my explanation. “Do you love him?”
A serious expression tenses her features, and again she surprises me. I sort of expected her to insist on Leon’s problems, then maybe dish out some crazy, yet genuine, opinion on the pregnancy.
I laugh. “I really don’t want to talk about this.” The baby is one thing, but to delve into my feelings for Leon?
“You do love him, huh? You look like you do,” Ingela adds. She reaches out a sun-bronzed hand and pets my hair. I’m not one to feel sorry for myself, but she’s being so sweet—
Shit.
I’m tearing up.
“Aw, Arriane. I’m going to slaughter the gay!”
I can’t help chuckling through the tears. “‘Guy,’ Ingela, ‘guy,’ and please don’t kill him. He’s just a bit on the unfixable side, and he has no idea how I feel about him.”
“Oh, you should tell him. Tell-him, tell-him! I can if you want.” Ingela grabs my shoulders and shakes me a little in the seat. “Let me?”
I’m laughing in earnest now. “Sure, I’ll hide behind a corner while you give him a note from me.”
“Weird Americans. We did that in elementary school in Sweden.”
“Inga, I’m kidding. No—there’s no need to share. I’ll get over my little crush.”
She’s quiet for a moment, back to petting my hair like I’m a cat. It’s touching and funny at once. I’m all over the place emotionally.
“So you’re not going to try a relationship with him or anything?” she asks. A thought hits her, lips pursing with suspicion. “He knows you’re pregnant, right?”
“Yes, and those rumors are true: Leon is the furthest from boyfriend material there is. I’ve watched him leave a river of heartbreak in his wake, so nope. I’m not trying for anything with him.”
“Well, I think he should at least ask you. He’s a, um, cocksucker if he doesn’t.”
What? Jesus H!
“Ingela, you really shouldn’t use the word ‘cock’ at all.”
“It’s not nice-sounding?”
“Right. Makes you sound like a vulgar man.”
“Okay, fine, but he’s that, though, unless he begs you to be his, uh, GF . Leon should plead on his elbows and knees for you to be with him. You’re sooo nice,” she explains, “and sooo gorgeous! You’d be the prettiest couple ever. Plus he’d be lucky as hell if you said ‘yes.’” She beams at me.
“You’re silly. He did ask me, though.”
“To be
“Now, back to you,” she says.
Way to jinx myself.
“Don’t believe a word Cameron says, Ingela. He’s dreaming. Probably has a peanut-sized penis.”
She giggles excitedly and slaps her thighs. “Good one! What about Leon? They say he’s crazy in bed, like dangerous! Is he hung like a boar?”
“Are you messing with me? What the hell kind of question is that?” This isn’t the first time I would have been better off not letting her suck me into discussions. I never know with Ingela, and here we are again: she just learned that I’m expecting, and her first inquiries relate to the father’s size and bed manners. Classic. “And plus—a boar ? Who cares about boar penises?”
“Not me,” she agrees, shaking her head. “I only care about Leon’s—so compare to something else, then. Carrots, cucumbers, kittens. Whatever works. Or centimeters would be easy.”
Of course. Gotta make this easy on Ingela.
I look at my watch. I’m hours from having to leave for work. Hours! “You going to class today?”
“No.” She sinks her chin into both hands, grinning wide.
I sigh. “Ingela.”
“Yeees?”
“Please promise me you won’t tell anyone. Things are… complicated with Leon and me.”
A slight frown appears between her eyebrows. “I can keep a secret. Why, though?”
Where to start? I flip the rest of my eggs down the dark bowels of the trashcan and load my plate into the dishwasher. “I’ve worked at Smother for three years, and I know Leon well, okay? He has issues, Inga, and we’re just not compatible.”
She weaves into my explanation. “Do you love him?”
A serious expression tenses her features, and again she surprises me. I sort of expected her to insist on Leon’s problems, then maybe dish out some crazy, yet genuine, opinion on the pregnancy.
I laugh. “I really don’t want to talk about this.” The baby is one thing, but to delve into my feelings for Leon?
“You do love him, huh? You look like you do,” Ingela adds. She reaches out a sun-bronzed hand and pets my hair. I’m not one to feel sorry for myself, but she’s being so sweet—
Shit.
I’m tearing up.
“Aw, Arriane. I’m going to slaughter the gay!”
I can’t help chuckling through the tears. “‘Guy,’ Ingela, ‘guy,’ and please don’t kill him. He’s just a bit on the unfixable side, and he has no idea how I feel about him.”
“Oh, you should tell him. Tell-him, tell-him! I can if you want.” Ingela grabs my shoulders and shakes me a little in the seat. “Let me?”
I’m laughing in earnest now. “Sure, I’ll hide behind a corner while you give him a note from me.”
“Weird Americans. We did that in elementary school in Sweden.”
“Inga, I’m kidding. No—there’s no need to share. I’ll get over my little crush.”
She’s quiet for a moment, back to petting my hair like I’m a cat. It’s touching and funny at once. I’m all over the place emotionally.
“So you’re not going to try a relationship with him or anything?” she asks. A thought hits her, lips pursing with suspicion. “He knows you’re pregnant, right?”
“Yes, and those rumors are true: Leon is the furthest from boyfriend material there is. I’ve watched him leave a river of heartbreak in his wake, so nope. I’m not trying for anything with him.”
“Well, I think he should at least ask you. He’s a, um, cocksucker if he doesn’t.”
What? Jesus H!
“Ingela, you really shouldn’t use the word ‘cock’ at all.”
“It’s not nice-sounding?”
“Right. Makes you sound like a vulgar man.”
“Okay, fine, but he’s that, though, unless he begs you to be his, uh, GF . Leon should plead on his elbows and knees for you to be with him. You’re sooo nice,” she explains, “and sooo gorgeous! You’d be the prettiest couple ever. Plus he’d be lucky as hell if you said ‘yes.’” She beams at me.
“You’re silly. He did ask me, though.”
“To be
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