Page 32 of Desire

“I guess they only eat lettuce leaves in boiled water.”

“You jest…”

“Then feast away. I’m going to get some of the gumbo. What do you want?”

“I’ll have jambalaya, but can we also get some boudin balls and maybe some calas for dessert. God, I’d forgotten about those deep fried rice cakes, Mama always used to make calas on a Sunday.”

“Of course, why don’t you take a seat at one of the tables, and I’ll get us a selection of things.”

“Thank you.”

Elise starts to walk away, and I momentarily admire her backside again before remembering she‘s probably thirsty.

“What do you want to drink?” I call out.

“Just water, please,” Elise replies.

I watch as she finds a seat for us, and having made herself comfortable, she turns her attention to the Ella Fitzgerald tribute act on the stage. I take a moment to admire her before getting the food. She has the biggest smile on her face, and her body’s swaying to the tempo. She’s definitely mine now.

It doesn’t take me long, and I join Elise at the table just as the music changes to a Ray Charles tribute.

“My daddy always used to play his music on a Sunday afternoon. We’d sit reading books or doing puzzles as we listened to it,” Elise tells me with a hint of sadness in her voice.

“He was a good man, your father—the best.”

“He was. There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t miss him. I wish he could have seen Izzy.”

“I’m sure he’s up there looking down on her.”

“It’s a thought I hold in my heart.”

Elise picks up her knife and fork and starts diving into her jambalaya. She groans with how delicious it tastes. I take a mouthful of my gumbo and make the same noise.

“This is the best food ever.”

She picks up a pork boudin ball next and pops it into her mouth.

“That’s it. I’m going to start cooking Cajun food!” she exclaims.

“I hope I’ll get an invite for dinner.”

“You might not want to. I haven’t really cooked properly for ages. I wonder if Natalie will give me some lessons?”

I take one of the boudin balls and devour it.

“I’m sure she will.”

“I miss yourmamá’s Spanish cooking.”

“I miss it as well. I’m afraid she didn’t pass her cooking genes onto me. I burn toast nine times out of ten.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, but I might look at getting a cook for the future for us.”

We both fall silent at her words.

Eventually Elise says, “If it comes to that, of course.”

“It will.” I reply adamantly and reach out to take her hand.

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