Blind Carnival

An Aubergine in the Room

She has half a thought to chicken out of the dinner at his place the next day. She's distracted, she's written less than normal. She wanders her flat, chews on crackers, and altogether shows all signs of overthinking.

She can bet, it's all simple in his head. They shag. It's going well. There's no obstacle that the likes of her are obliged to put in their novels. Basically, it's all dog's bollocks. There's no drama - no misunderstanding; no clan rivalry; neither of them has a tragic, unrealistic past. The two of them fit. The problem is that her virtual knickers are in a twist, and it's solely happening inside her head. But as her therapist - and Albus Dumbledore - said, it doesn't make it less real.

She sits in her armchair and stares at Mr. Thornton.

You look preoccupied, human. Have you forgotten to buy my food?

She shakes her head. The cat studies her some more.

Is it about the bigger human? The sneezing one?

She sighs. And it's not like she wants more from this relationship. They've only just met, and it's going ace. The only aggro is her anxiety and pessimism. Just taking it easy and letting it take its course isn't in her nature, but it's not one of her books. She can't control the narrative of this story. She can't make sure it won't go pearshaped one day. And most relationships do. And that's OK, that's normal. She's a healthy, relatively happy woman. She'll manage a breakup.

She's just scared. Because being alone is much easier. And safer. And she's done a brilliant job for seven years. The problem is that she's falling for him - whom are you kidding, Olivia, you're already all loved up! - and she's getting invested, and she will get used to him, and it'll change. Relationships always do.

She decides that this flurry of thoughts and emotions is as useful as the blankets that she supplied her latest characters with: they're on a tropical island, they don't need them. The only point of the aforementioned blankets will be using them as padding for their shag, and she wrote it as a standing up act.

Olivia gets up, takes a shower, puts on jeans and a cheery jumper with little whales on it, and calls a cab.

***

He opens the door for her and leans in. The kiss is light, and gentle, and flirty, and she smiles into his lips. She feels so much better right away. He's such a calming presence!

"Hi."

He quickly kisses her cheek as well.

"Evening. Come in."

He lets her in, and her nose catches some delicious, exotic smell. He chuckles.

"Your nose is twitching. Like a rabbit's."

She's taking off her shoes, he's standing near, watching her. He looks good. She forgot how good he looks. Yesterday she was busy sexually objectifying him. Today she's been worrying about her feelings for him. She simply forgot he's a person. She gives him a look over. He's in a pair of dark denim, a soft grey jumper, and funny socks, with bright red and blue stripes. She steps to him, her arms go around his middle, and she presses her forehead in his chest. Maybe they will be fine. Maybe she's just being daft, and emotional, and it's not that scary, and not that difficult. People date all the time. But then she asks herself whether the two of them are dating. It hasn't been verbalised, has it?

"What's for dinner?"

Well done, Olivia. That is, of course, the only thing you wanted to ask about.

"Aubergine stew with pomegranate molasses."

"Sounds amazing."

"One of my specialties. I'm properly trying to impress you."

His shoulders are shaking in laughter, and he embraces her. And then he turns her and starts walking her backwards towards the kitchen.

"How was your day?" he asks.

She so fancies the little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

"Good. Gerome has found out about the protagonist's transgression with his cousin, but he still wants to marry her, since he just wants to ruin her family. It's very dramatic. I'm considering a pregnancy scare."

The two of them are in the kitchen, and he picks her up under her arms and carefully places her on a chair. She giggles. It smells even better here, and there are some appetisers on the table. She only recognises dolma, the rest is mysterious and looks mouth-watering. Suddenly her stomach decides to sing the song of its people. John chuckles, kisses the tip of her nose, and goes to the stove.

***

"Liv, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

She's in the process of stealing a slice of some thin flat bread from a board in the centre of the table, and she freezes. He turns around and places a plate in front of her. She isn't feeling that hungry anymore - because he isn't smiling. With the exception of just a few episodes - those including him being very, very randy, and him feeling insecure - he always does. There are myriads of smiles in his arsenal, and she fancies every single one of them. He's so mellow he's like a healthy dose of SSRIs, all natural, and in a neat sexy package.

Right now, there might even be a small frown, and she drops the bread back on the board. He sits down in front of her.

"It's lavash. It's Iranian. One of my colleague's family is from there. He taught me a few dishes," John explains.

Not the topic of the conversation Olivia is currently preoccupied.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Oh no! He's just sighed! And now he's poking his stew, which by the way smells heavenly.

"I have this dinner party I'm invited to on the weekend, and it's my friends... from before. From the old firm. And my ex wife will be there." He's moving what seems to be a pomegranate seed with his fork around his plate. And then he sighs again and finally looks at her. "I was wondering if you'd go with me."

She momentarily wonders how men and women even manage to procreate. Because clearly John Gray was right, and one needs a spacecraft to cover the distance between the two genders.

The John in front of her clearly thinks she's capable of answering this question. In his mind apparently there is a simple 'yes' or 'no,' and he's patiently waiting for it.

In her head it's basically the Helm's Deep battle, featuring roaring hordes of conflicting thoughts and the deafening banging of a battering ram. She feels like asking for a pen, a piece of paper, and giving him the list of what she's just gotten out of his question, plus all the reasons why it's not OK to expect a simple and quick answer to it.

A. He's just asked her out. That would be their second date that involves anything but a straightforward shag. Right underneath her first, blind one, in the list of 'The Times Olivia and John Didn't Meet Up to Simply Bonk.' That changes their association on the fundamental level. Unless, the two of them see the aforementioned level differently.

B. He's just offered to introduce her to his friends.

C. He hasn't specified whether those people are still his friends, since they are friends 'from before' in his own words. What exactly are we talking about here? He has to go, but doesn't want to? He wants to go, but he's not fond of all of them? He is still chummy with all of them?

And of course, D. The wife!

Olivia has the only solution to this barney. She stalls. She stuffs a large piece of lavash in her mouth and chews.