"Is it like this correct?"
Benny turned to Frida, she was holding up a shrimp cut in half right along the back. "Exactly. Perfect." She smiled with satisfaction and continued with the rest of shrimp.
"Sing a Song" by Earth, Wind and Fire was playing in the background while Benny and Frida prepared their aliments on the kitchen island. He, wearing a brown long apron, chopped the vegetables while she, with an apron which matched his, took charge of cleaning the shrimp, both facing each other on the island, chatting and even singing from time to time as a team. As Benny said, he had almost everything ready at home, they only stopped by at the minisuper for more toasts.
Upon arriving, Frida was wrapped by a welcoming sensation and trapped by the memories from the night she spent here weeks ago. It was crazy how their situation changed since then, she herself felt different in the inside. Those were good changes that she admired with proudness.
Benny, as good hostess, gave her the best attention from the moment they arrived; from a glass of water, a place for her bag, and not to mention the amount kisses they shared in the elevator and then in the apartment. That was her favorite part. They kissed almost desperately, as if after so long a furious volcano had erupted. He wouldn't stop repeating how beautiful she looked and how much he struggled to maintain the composure in that damn store. His praises brought confidence to her, based on an acceptance that she had long craved.
They got to work on the shrimp, a dish she had never tried but Benny swore was his specialty; garlic shrimp and ceviche, accompanied by fried rice he kept on the fridge from previous days but that was still intact and eatable. Frida watched his development in the kitchen, must admite he was a man of habilites, Benny perfectly knew what he was doing. His strong arms stretched and flexed with skill and their fingers handled the knife with precision. He was a delight for any woman to see. Damn, I'm so lucky that woman is me! She'd think every time he came to supervise her technique.
"Do you cook for yourself?" She asked, peeking out briefly to his side on the island.
"Not always. I usually have something quick for breakfast, like coffee and eggs with toasts, or just coffee. Then I have lunch at some restaurant I like or I order food. Same at night."
"And how come you know so much then?"
"I lived alone in France, remember? I could have paid for a housekeeper, but instead I learnt to do everything by myself. From making a bed to washing the bathroom, and of course cooking."
Frida left the knife on the marble and looked at him in surprise. She didn't expect that from him at all. She'd thought he'd have a maid to fulfill his house needs, like everybody on their social circle would do. But here he was telling her how he chose to break all those stereotypes and learn to take control of his own home. "That's... impressive."
He raised an eyebrow. "You think?"
"Yeah. I mean, nothing extraordinary, but considering your position..." she hesitated. "Don't get me wrong. I mean—"
"I understand." He smirked. "Yeah. I've had plenty of facilities during my lifetime. We had personal that cooked for us, that made our beds, that opened the car door for us, that washed our clothes and refilled our glasses during dinner... those are privileges you have when your parents have a privileged position, I guess. Or facilities that anyone with enough money can have. But I wanted to do it all by myself. Wanted to know what it was like to have a normal life."
"And you like it?"
"It's gives me satisfaction." He replied shrugging. "I'm not going to lie to you, tho. I have someone who comes over once a week to clean and stuff, but I can perfectly survive."
