You Are My Wildest Dream

Amore Mio

Hannah and I make our way back into my hotel room, and instead of our plans of being tied up for the evening, I now begin to "tie down" and get changed into something else to wear for Paris's sneaky little plan. As Hannah too is getting changed, she thinks out loud, "I wonder what she's up to." She begins putting on an old Lumineers tour t-shirt. "Oh, and for the record, Paris is always up to something, so get used to it. But the good news is her ideas are always stellar. I don't know how she constantly thinks of new ways to impress me." I begin putting on a faded blue t-shirt I thrifted; it's from a surfing company and on the back printed is a pineapple riding a wave with his own pineapple drink in his hand. (HOW SICK IS THAT?! PINEAPPLE ON PINEAPPLE!) I respond back to Hannah, "First, good to see you like The Lumineers; I can confirm we are officially dating now. Second, I have no idea. Well, maybe one idea kinda sorta maybe." I look away and pause for the dramatics which causes Hannah to get all riled, "ROWAN, SPIT IT OUT, JUST SAY IT PLEASE HURRY." Hannah exclaims. With a laugh, I say, "That pun she threw in there was oddly specific — pastabilities was it?" I pause again to take in Hannah's face which is so intrigued that you'd think I was cracking the biggest murder-mystery case in the country. Continuing on, "So between the pun and the clothing change I think we're cooking dinner?" Pausing one more time for good measure, and with a swift lean in towards Hannah's face I whisper, "I think it's pasta."

We both finish up getting changed and head out just one room down the hall to Paris's room. We arrive at the door and before we can even knock Paris swings it wide open, "Oh, what an ABSOLUTE pleasure to welcome in these two lovely guests!" Paris widens the door even more, at this point I wonder if it'll just go through the wall it's so opened, "Well, come in, PLEASE! PLEASE!" Her character and dramatics cause us both to laugh and I whisper to Hannah as we enter, "Please tell me she was a theatre kid." Hannah immediately whispers back, "Is it that obvious? I couldn't tell at all. Oh, and just wait until she starts singing; you haven't seen her like that yet."

As we enter Paris's massive room which includes a full kitchen and island, flat-screen TV, fireplace, cloud couch, and two bathrooms, Hannah immediately chirps up, "Wait, this has to be a joke, Paris." She pauses taking in how big the kitchen is one more time, "This is YOUR hotel room? I love you but WHERE WAS MY CLOUD COUCH?!" Paris, who is exuding an oddly deep sense of chill reminiscent of Queen Cher, responds, "Darling, you never asked." She tosses her scarf over her shoulder and walks into her kitchen, signaling for us to follow. Holding back a laugh so I can continue watching this play front-row, Hannah and I stand side-by-side as Paris turns on the kitchen lights to illuminate what's on the counter. Paris exclaims, "Voila — welcome to A Night of Pastabilities. You have many, my angels. Let's get started, shall we?" Glowing on the granite are pots of plain pasta already cooked and ready to be dressed by the enormous topping bar that she has set up; basil, tri-color tomatoes, black olives, parsley, cheeses as far as the eye can see. Not to mention all the sauces; simply perfect garlic and olive oil, the prettiest blush, creamy and rich vodka, and the thickest alfredo. Paris points out, "And you stars better believe it's all vegan." She pauses while looking only at me and softly continues, "I told you, I'm inclusive, baby." Accompanied by the most playful wink.

"I'll leave you two to get started here since you both arrived oddly earlier than I was expecting. Rowan, you must be a good influence, as this one is always "fashionably late."" Before Hannah can even protest that statement, Paris dips to freshen up.

We each pick up a bowl and browse our first selection: the pasta. There's angel hair, bowties, fettuccine; so many damn pots in this SO BIG kitchen. I have no idea how she did all of this, but I'm in HEAVEN. I go to reach for the angel hair and Hannah says, "Hey, wait!" I look up and reply, "Why—" I'm interrupted by a pinch of white dust getting tossed into my neck. Before I can even assess the situation, I go into survival mode and find my own bag of flour to start throwing back at Hannah. Within seconds the kitchen air looks like smog and I can barely see her outline while she's within a few feet of me. Full of laughter and energy, we pause mid-flour fight to catch our breaths and cough out the dust. We hear Paris talking to herself (as per) and her voice gets closer and closer to the door. "Oh shit," I say out loud, as Hannah and I drop everything to start cleaning up as fast as possible.

Within minutes, Paris emerges from the other room and stays planted in her doorway. As she looks up she begins laughing at the massive mess we made and waving her finger as if to scold us like children. Her expression changes slightly as she notices how close Hannah and I are standing together with flour handprints all over us from each other. "Oh, wait, am I interrupting something?" Paris asks slyly. Hannah and I look at each other with an "oh fuck" type of look, not because we don't want to tell people about "us", but "us" is only a few hours old! Even WE haven't talked about how we're going to tell people. As I'm finishing up the classic Rowan Internal Monologue Mini-Freakout Moment, I notice Hannah's expression is softer now, and almost seems like she's waiting for me to speak up first. To say it out loud first. To show her I truly am working on ~that department~ in my life so that our new relationship can be stronger than our wobbly first few days.

I try and channel courage and strength as I stutter a bit to buy myself time, "Hannah? Oh? Pshhh. I. Uhhhh." I pause. I can't resist staring at her perfect face covered in flour; I can't hide it. I find the power I need to say it out loud; in front of Hannah, in front of myself, in front of Paris (who we know already knows but just wants the satisfaction of hearing me say). I keep my eyes on Hannah's and reply softly while taking her hand into mine and showing it to Paris, "She's amore mio. She's my love."