𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑋𝑜𝑛𝑒

𝑋𝑉𝐼

The kitchen filled with the rich, savory aroma of home, cooked soul food. I could smell the catfish sizzling on the stove, the hot oil crackling and popping as the fish browned, its golden crust becoming crispy. The scent of seasoned cornmeal, spiced with paprika, garlic, and a hint of cayenne, wafted through the air, giving the fish that deep Southern flavor that felt comforting and familiar.

As the grease bubbled, I could detect the faint sweetness of cornbread batter waiting to be baked, its scent mixed with the earthy warmth of butter and honey. There was a subtle hint of greens simmering somewhere in the background, collard greens likely, their smoky essence mingling with the tang of vinegar and a touch of pork fat. It smelled like a Sunday afternoon at grandma's house, rich, hearty, and filled with love.

The air was thick with warmth, a combination of fried food, sweet corn, and slow, cooked spices that clung to everything. It was the kind of smell that wrapped around you like a blanket, instantly taking you back to simpler times, filled with family, laughter, and the comfort of a home cooked meal. It was the scent of tradition, of care, of time spent together.

And it was ready. Janet prepared a plate, leaning on the opposite side of the counter, her eyes fixed on me. She had served up greens, mashed potatoes, and perfectly fried catfish. I watched as she expertly cut through the fish with the side of a shiny gold fork, the crispy crust giving way with ease.

Then, with a piece of fish balanced on the fork, she looked at me, her gaze intense. "Open up," she said, her voice playful but with a touch of command.

I grinned, keeping my lips sealed in defiance. She laughed softly, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Open up, baby," she repeated, this time softer, more seductive. Then, with that signature bluntness only she could pull off, she added, "You open your legs, you can open your mouth."

I couldn't help it, laughter erupted from me. Janet joined in, waiting patiently for me to stop, before gently feeding me the crispy, crunchy, hot piece of fish.

"Mmmhh," I hummed, savoring the perfectly seasoned bite. The crunch of the coating mixed with the tender fish inside was everything.

"It's good, huh?" she teased, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

"Everything you do is good," I responded, still enjoying the taste of the catfish.

"Good isn't good enough. I have to do better," she said, standing upright as she took a bite herself. "At least that's what Joseph would say."

Her words hung in the air, and I began to see even more clearly the weight she carried, the high expectations, the pressure to be perfect, especially from her father. It started to make sense, why she was so afraid to come out, to live fully as herself. With parents like hers, especially Joseph, perfection wasn't just expected, it was demanded.

We finished the plate of food and went back for seconds, washing it all down with glasses of wine. Janet led me to her lounge area, where a plush couch faced a cozy fireplace. She wanted to cuddle, and I could tell she didn't want the night to end any more than I did.

We sank into the couch together, talking and sharing life experiences, the fire casting a warm glow across the room. It was sweet how she kept talking, even as exhaustion crept over her. Her yawns came more frequently, her eyes half closed, and at one point, she leaned her face against her hand because she no longer had the energy to keep it up.

Eventually, we shifted so that we were lying longways on the couch. My back pressed against her front, and she wrapped one arm around me, holding me close. The rhythm of her breathing slowed, and I could feel her drifting off, though she fought it, as if not wanting to let the night slip away.