Page 47 of Paradox
I peel back more of the foil from around the sweet potato and take a bite instead of answering him.
“I bet it was last year.”
I roll my eyes. “Is that so?”
“Mhm. And you were romantic about it. Took her to dinner. Did it on a weekend when your parents weren’t at home.”
“I guess you’ve got it all figured out then.”
“Was I right?”
“Sure.”
After scooping out the last bit of sweet potato from its skin, I scrunch it up inside the foil and hold it out, silently asking where I should put it. Taking it from me, Eden unwraps it and takes out the skin. Holding it to his mouth, he bites at it until every last piece of edible flesh that I hadn't even seen, is gone, then throws it and the foil over his shoulder like he did with the bottle opener.
"Here," he says, offering me the carrot, but I shake my head.
“I’d rather eat that last.”
Eden rests it on his thigh. “I thought you didn’t eat beets.”
“A person will do crazy things when they’re hungry… You should let me cook them next time.”
With an almost cute flourish of his hand, Eden gestures for me to help myself.
It smells a lot sweeter than I expected when I unwrap it, but it's definitely overdone.
Tilting it down towards the light of the fire, I locate the stub of its stalk and try to dig at it with my fingers.
“Start from the other end,” Eden says, snatching it from me.
With the carrot on his lap and beet in hand, he lays the baked potato skin on the foil beside him; for later, I guess? And after spinning the beet, he bites off the little pointy bit at the bottom, then thrusts it back in my direction. “It’s easier to peel from there.”
Even in the dim light I can see my fingers staining burgundy.
“You’ll look like you fingered a virgin for a day or so.”
“You’re repulsive, you know that?”
The disgust in my tone has Eden silently nodding to himself as he breaks the carrot in half and puts the still wrapped portion on my leg. Resting his forearms on his knees, he silently eats, and I do the same, because I'm not used to any of this.
I have friends, and they ask questions, but… this is different.
Eden isn’t my friend.
He’s a man in his thirties with so much sexual experience that I’m petrified to make one wrong move in case he can smell the bullshit seeping from my pores.
“Here.” I hand off the beet to him.
He takes it and digs his middle and index finger into its soft flesh. “Now we match,” he says, holding his fingers up against mine. “I never cheated on her.”
Frigid stillness crashes down on us.
It’s awkward, but calm at the same time.
When I place the last bit of foil on the porch behind me, Eden turns his body ninety degrees towards mine.
“I never cheated on Shawn,” he repeats like it’s a puzzle that means something else entirely. “I loved her, but she’s a fucking bitch, and I can’t stand her, too.”
