Page 70 of Love and History
“This orzo looks delicious.”
“Nice choice. We’ll make that. Let’s go to the store, baby.” I hopped up, clapping like a coach rallying his team.
* * *
The menu was simple.Salmon, salad, and my dad’s Mediterranean orzo.
I emptied the grocery bags and lined up the ingredients on the counter while Holden went to move his laundry into the dryer. The domestic vibe should have set off internal sirens, but it comforted me and I didn’t get it.
Holden surveyed the veggies and salmon. “Yes. How can I help?”
“Do you know how to make a salad?”
“Surely you jest. I’m an expert salad maker,” he bragged, moving to the sink to wash his hands.
Companionable silence gave way to light conversation about everything and nothing as we chopped and sauteed. Yet another layer of domesticity I liked more than I understood.
I assembled the orzo while the salmon grilled, then plated our meals before following Holden outside. Summer sounds drifted through the early evening air…chirping crickets, a neighbor’s sprinklers, and a faraway jingle from an ice cream truck as we settled in the Adirondack chairs around the fire pit.
“Cheers.” I clinked my glass to his in a toast.
Holden forked up a bite of orzo. “Mmm. This is delicious. Kudos to your father.”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
“His cookbook is a nice piece of family history. You’re lucky to have that.”
“Yeah…I guess. Family is funny business,” I replied cryptically. “Do you miss yours?”
Lame deflection for sure, but Holden went along with it. “Sometimes. I’ll visit them before the fall semester starts. I haven’t seen them in a while.”
“It must suck not to be closer…proximity-wise.”
He gave a careless shrug. “I’m used to it now. We FaceTime every so often. I’m the youngest and my siblings are all busy with their own families and careers, so it’s different…as you know.”
I nodded. “Sisters, brothers? Are they much older?”
Holden bit into his salmon. “Two sisters and a brother. We’re all two years apart. But they seem much older and much more settled in life. Maybe that’s because I’m still in school.”
“You’re getting your PhD, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yes, and they understand. They’re all educators too, but we’re on different paths. We haven’t really been close since we were kids. And that’s okay. I have great childhood summertime memories of following my sisters and brother on hiking trips in the woods near our house, swimming in the creek, chasing fireflies, sneaking pineapple applesauce cookies when Mom wasn’t looking, and—”
I gaped in horror. “What the actual fuck?”
He snort-laughed around a sip of wine, sputtering to avoid spitting it out. “They were good! I promise.”
“That’s not remotely possible, Holden. A pineapple has no business jumping into a cookie. It ain’t right.”
“You take cookies too seriously,” he chided playfully.
“You don’t take them seriously enough.”
His smile grew until it took over his face. Everything in him was involved in the gesture—his eyes, his mouth, his nose. Joy tumbled out of him, painting his surroundings in rainbow technicolor. Christ, he was beautiful.
I could have stared at him for hours. Why did I love that smile now? Why was I so…gone for him?
I sipped my wine and made myself look away. “You’re gonna have to give me a better childhood memory so I don’t feel sorry for you for getting stuck eating pineapples in the country.”