Page 110 of Damaged

“I’ll call. No matter what.”

I like this idea. I think most couples would be shocked by how, in the everyday hustle of life, little time they end up talking to each other. I remember with Jake, it would get to the point where we sat on opposite ends of the couch on our phones. It was a quick recap of the day for each of us, and that was it.

We never talked about what we were really thinking.

“Every day? You sure you won’t get bored of me?” I ask.

James’s eyes light up as he looks into mine. “You have no idea how much I want to know every little fact about your life. Every memory you have. Every story.”

“And will I get the same privilege, Mr. Mysterious?”

“Of course you will, but before this ritual begins…”

“What?” I ask.

“Are you hungry?”

After burning dinner, my hunger vanished, but now that James is back and I’m feeling better about things, I’m starving.

“Yes. Very.”

“This will have to be resumed after cheeseburgers,” James says, standing up. He offers me his hand, and I take it.

“Cheeseburgers? Are we going out?”

“I usually have the chef stock ground beef, unless you burned that, too.”

“I thought about it,” I tease.

We go to the kitchen, and James pulls out cheese and beef. He takes his suit coat off smoothly, undoes his cufflinks, and rolls up his sleeves.

I watch him with an amused grin growing on my face. “How the hell did you learn to cook?”

“I grew up on my own, largely.”

“I’ve heard stories.”

James grimaces, like the past causes him some pain, but continues. “I learned young to fend for myself. I knew what perm press did on the washer before most kids could tie their shoes.”

“So, what does it do?”

He smiles. “Reduces wrinkles.”

“Ah.”

We ditch the deep stuff and laugh and play around the kitchen while we make our burger patties. We both makedoubles, and when we’re done eating and stuffed, we both plop back down on the couch simultaneously.

“It’s good to be back,” I say, wiggling my shoulders into the cushions.

He puts his arms around me and pulls me partly onto him.

We’re quiet for a minute, and I adjust so we can look at each other. Since he brought up his past, I feel a little more free to ask. “Can I ask what happened to your parents, James?”

His expression doesn’t change any. No dark cloud comes over him. He takes a deep breath and sighs, and then his eyes flicker with a little bit of sadness.

“Cancer. Both of them.”

“Jesus.”

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