“Dinner wasn’t the main attraction?”ĭinner can’t be the main attraction. His eyes darken as he considers my invitation. Care to skip to the main attraction? I wore a skirt for the occasion.” “The salad will keep, and the carrots can be reheated. He smells like a mix of earth and citrus, as though an orange fell from a tree and someone plucked it up from the rich soil and packaged it on the spot. I take his hands in mine, lean forward, and kiss his neck, burying my nose in his skin and breathing him in deep. Obviously we both need to be reminded why we’re here. Well, heart, we certainly can’t have any of that. But it feels like my heart’s making room for Max to come inside even though I don’t want him there.

Is it possible for your heart to expand in your chest? I don’t know enough about anatomy to say for sure. “So thank you for letting me be more than just anyone.” I mean, I get the sense you don’t share what’s bugging you with just anyone.” He caresses the sides of my face and presses a kiss to my forehead. And I suspect it would be impossible for you, too. Keeping it casual doesn’t mean I won’t care about you as a person. “I came here to spend time with you,” he says, “and if that means we talk about something that’s bothering you, then I don’t have a problem with that. He turns his body sideways, placing his feet on the bottom rung of my stool, and then he gently turns my chin in his direction. You didn’t come here to listen to me talk about this stuff.” I wave my hands as though I can erase the last few minutes in one motion. Max must be regretting this dinner as we speak. Might be nice just to have it for posterity’s sake.” I briefly close my eyes, upset with myself for revealing how even the smallest things set me off. And maybe I could record her making a dish. I tilt my head in his direction, envisioning how that would work. When she says, ‘a little bit of this,’ you say, ‘show me using the cup.’ Then write every step down so you can work on it here.” You know, show up one day with measuring cups and spoons and a notepad. “Maybe you could try forcing her to do it your way. Most people might laugh off that fact, but in times like these I want my mother’s recipe in printed form and I want things like a quarter cup of oil-not eh, about this much, filha-to be reflected in it.

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