Page 63 of Dreaming of Dawson

“She used salt instead of sugar.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“Yeah. My mom’s never had the same culinary skills as Aunt Bernie, but she tries, bless her.” She rolls her eyes, and I have to smile… again. Macy tips her head to one side, like she’s surprised my lips are capable of turning upward. I can’t blame her for that, though. She’s never seen me smile before today.

“Bernie’s cakes are legendary,” I say, sticking to our topic.

“They are.” She puts down her sandwich and takes another sip of water. “What about you?” she says. “Do you have any foods you really hate to eat?”

“Only mac and cheese.”

“Mac and cheese? But that’s one of the best creations in the world.”

“I know. My dislike of it is purely psychological.”

Her brow furrows, although she’s still smiling. “Why?”

I realize I’ve talked myself into a corner, and even though I don’t want to mention the past – at least not mine – I’ve left myself with no option.

“It was on the day Stevie and I first moved here. As you know, we had to live in what is now my bedroom, but I managed to lay some wood over the holes in the floor of the main room so we could at least use the kitchen… such as it was. There was a sink, and a few cabinets, with the doors hanging off, and a stove that was as old as time. What we didn’t realize, though, was that the whole damn thing used to get boiling hot, even if you just lit a burner. I offered to cook because Stevie was exhausted, and I thought I’d keep it simple and make us some mac and cheese. I’d just taken a shower, and I—I wasn’t wearing anything at thetime, and…” I stop talking, wondering how she’ll react to that, but all she does is smile, and try not to laugh.

“W—What happened?” she says, still struggling.

“Let’s just say I wound up with a blister in a very painful place.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. I’ve never been able to look at mac and cheese in the same way since.”

She laughs, and I stare at her beautiful face and feel my body relax. Not just because Macy didn’t make that awkward, but because I think that might have been the first time I’ve mentioned Stevie’s name and not thought about her leaving me… and that feels good. It’s certainly different. And different is definitely good.

“What about if someone else makes it for you?” she asks.

I shake my head, finishing the last bite of my sandwich. “The associations are still there, and they’re enough to make my eyes water.”

She laughs again, and I’m tempted to join in, although at that moment, the door opens and three people walk in. They’re wrapped up against the cold, and take a moment undoing scarves, and pulling off hats.

“I’ll go,” Macy says, sliding to the edge of her seat.

“No.” I reach over and grab her hand, halting her, and we stare at each other for a moment. “Finish your sandwich. I’ll go.”

She looks into my eyes for a heart-stopping second and then nods her head. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You really don’t have to thank me, Macy. I’ve had a great time.”

“So have I,” she says, although she bites on her lip as she says the last word, like she didn’t mean to say that. Even so, it’s out there now and I’m gonna make the most of that.

I get to my feet, leaning in to her. “Good,” I whisper. “We’ll have to do it again.”

She looks up at me, and although she doesn’t move, I can see a sparkle in her eyes, which has to be a good sign, doesn’t it?

It’s been an odd evening. It hasn’t been busy, but we’ve had a steady flow of customers, which unfortunately, has meant Macy and I haven’t been able to talk. Not for any great length of time, anyway.

That said, I’ll admit, I’ve found it more difficult than I expected, just to get through the last few hours. Physically, I’ve been feeling progressively better all day. My tongue stopped feeling like sand by mid-morning, and my stomach ceased churning at around lunchtime. Even the headache has subsided, but the problem is I haven’t been this sober for years, and I’m just not used to it. I’ve made a few mistakes with orders, and marveled at how I seem to be able to operate better when I’m drunk than I do when I’m sober.

Still, I’m sure I’ll get used to it.

I wasn’t always a drunk, after all.

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