Thou Shalt Not(32)

Instead I placed the bowl in the sink, ran some water into it, and went into the living room to retrieve my cell phone out of my pocket. I had the urge to tell April that she had just transported me back twenty-plus years.

It’s already after five, I thought to myself. You can just tell her tomorrow since you are going back tomorrow.

I knew this was probably the most appropriate thing to do, but I wanted to text her anyway. Texting had the ability to add a strange level of closeness between people, freed them up to maybe say things that in person would have made them nervous. The power of electronic communication gave people boldness, and I was just like everyone else.

I knew her husband would be at the stadium, so it wasn’t like he would see a text from a strange man and flip out on her. Although, I was certain he was the type of man who would flip out on her, and probably had many times.

I wanted to have a conversation with her, more than just a one text “thank you, it was amazing” kind of thing.

So, I sent her a text that read: So, I just tried the posole...

I knew dangling it out there like that might immediately make her think I didn’t approve, which would fill her with relief when I told her that it was actually one of the best things I had ever eaten.

...And?

I couldn’t help but notice how quickly she responded. I was starting to think that maybe she didn’t have a lot of adult interaction in her life.

It was awful, wasn’t it?

Truthfully, it was one of the best things I have ever eaten.

You better not be bullshitting me.

I actually couldn’t believe she had used the word “bullshitting.” It was definitely not Lakefront appropriate.

I’m so sorry, she replied back, once again as if reading my mind. That slipped.

Haha. Don’t worry ;-) Then I added, And no, I’m not bullshitting you :-)

Fucking emoticons. What was I, a twelve-year-old girl?

You actually liked it?

Yes, I actually liked it. Loved it, to be exact.

Wow, I am so relieved. Phew!

It took me back to being a kid sitting in my Mexican grandma’s kitchen.

Hopefully she was a good cook!

She was the best.

I think you are just being sweet, but thank you. I am really glad you liked it.

This statement could be responded to in two very different ways. I could simply say “Thanks” and make it clear that our conversation was basically over. Or I could try baiting her into talking more to me. If she didn’t want to, she would just ignore my attempt and let the conversation end. So, I threw out the line to see if she would bite.

No, thank you for making it. I might just have to order more once I finish this batch.

And I waited for a response. This one took a little longer to receive than the others.

Maybe I’ll start a posole catering service :-)

She bit!

Well, you would definitely have one consistent customer.

Not my husband though, unfortunately. :-/

At least now I didn’t feel so bad about my juvenile emoticon usage with her using them just as much.

What! He didn’t like it?

I knew he was probably an asshole, but an asshole with no taste in food? God, I hated this bastard even more. How could he possibly not like the masterpiece his wife created?

No. He said it just wasn’t for him.

Well, I don’t know him, but now I know he’s a little crazy! :-)

I realized after I hit send that calling her husband, the father of her children, crazy was probably not my best move.

Just teasing! I immediately added.

Then there was silence. One minute passed, then two. Then three.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I called her husband crazy and crossed the line. I hadn’t been trying to be disrespectful. Fuck!

Holly walked out of the bathroom in a navy blue and white sundress, looking like she was ready for a night out on a boat. The dress deepened the blue of her eyes, and even from a distance my first thought was of wanting to dive into her eyes for a swim.

“What’s that smell?” she asked.

“It’s the smell of sex, I think,” I replied, smiling. I had no pocket to drop my phone into, so instead, I reached down and picked up the rest of the clothes that had been strewn about the living room.

“No, smartass. I know what sex smells like. This smells like food. Like chili or something.”

The posole. I immediately had to decide how much I was going to tell her about the origins of the meal. Obviously, I couldn’t say it came from a married woman who made my heart race.

Why the hell not? I asked myself. You guys aren’t in a relationship!

That might be true, but whether you declared yourself to be in a relationship or not, sometimes your actions said completely otherwise, and we were walking that tightrope if we hadn’t already fallen off.

“It’s a soup. One of my coworkers made it for me and gave it to me today.”