Our Story

Cooking

I pulled him into the kitchen, and he was crazy about organization and cleanliness, I didn't even need to tell him to, he started washing the dishes.  I love that about him these days. So much. Plus, when he's mad, his way of releasing stress is by cleaning and tidying up. Thank you, God.

—Ok, I will start cutting onions. 
—Did you know that the people in this house keep the jar of peas together with the one with corn? How embarrassing.
—Sure. —I replied sarcastically.

Nowadays, Sheldon has developed a keener sense of sarcasm detection, but back in 1996, when we were 16, he was terrible at it.

—Oh, my...
—What it was?

Turned around, I heard Shelly regurgitating, and screaming: "Oh, my! Oh, my!"

I couldn't help but laugh as he ran to the bathroom.  But when I looked into the closet, I couldn't help but feel disgust.
There was a rotten, moldy taco that must have been there for decades! So disgusting!

—Oh, god! Oh, my... —I filled a glass with water and took it to Shelly. —Are you okay, dear?

—Ah... I hate tacos. Thank you.
—Your welcome. —He drank the water.  —Do you feel better?

—Yes, I do. Thanks again. —I smiled.
—Your messy hair looks funny. —I combed his hair with my hand. —Well... —I pulled away from him and stood up. —I'll continue cutting onions.

—Okay.

After a few minutes of chopping the onions, I started cutting some sausages,  and in the middle of the road, I cut myself, it hurt like hell, but I pressed my bloody finger and asked Shelly for a band-aid.

—Oh, my, are you okay?
—Just get me a band-aid, please. It's burning. Sack...
—Okay. I'll bring it.
—Thanks. But fast! It's bleeding!
—Okay!! —I laughed at his irritated voice. —Here. Let me put it to you.
—Thanks, again. —He opened the band-aid, took off the sticker, and stuck it on my finger. It didn't ease the damn pain, but at least I wasn't about to pass out anymore.

—I think you're my hero. —I gave a small laugh, embarrassed by what I said. —Uh... Sorry.

—Why? I like it. I'm like Einstein, aren't I? He was a hero to mathematics and beloved science. 
—Try telling that to the people who suffered through the chaos of the atomic bomb.
—Damn, good point.
—Yup, I know. But now, You cut the sausages. 
—Of course.

Aware of the accident, I went to tidy up the dining room. Which I call the dining room, because we don't just have dinner there. This is stupid, but I prefer it my way.

—Wow, are these porcelain plates? They are much prettier and more complete than my mother's.
—Thank you. My mother collects these things.
—Interesting. There are so many. Which ones should I wear to dinner? This one or that one? —I showed the two porcelain plates for him, asking.
—The one on the left, of course.
—Hm, sorry, Mr. Obvious. — I laughed.
—Stupid.
—Okay, but which left? Yours or mine?
—There's only one left, May.
—Of course not. Say it.
—The left!
—Which?!

—Oh, damn! —He dried his hands and walked over to me, standing behind me as he stood with his back to me placing the plates on the table. When I turned around, I was slightly startled, because he was so close to me at that moment, he came closer, stretching to grab the right plate and point it at me. —This one. —He sighed. —Okay? This one.

—Hm... Okay. Get it. Thank you.
—You're welcome. —He walked away and continued cooking.

When I finished setting the table, I proudly called Sheldon to see it.

—So, what did you think?
—Do you really want my opinion?
—Yes, why not?
—Well, the cutlery is on the decreasing line, but it should be on the increasing line, those cloths are not napkins, are "nappes décoratives pour tables dressées", if you don't understand, it's in French.

—Oh. Nobody cares, right?
—I care.
—Then go take care of your life.
—Rude. —I smiled.
—I know you love me. Is the pasta ready?
—Let me see. Hm, yeah, it's ready.
—Right. GUYS! THE PASTA IS READY!
—Oh, my... Need to shout?
—You do this all the time.

At dinner, we had guests, Meemaw and Dale, her boyfriend. He was funny, but a big drinker, like George.

—So? What did you think?
—It's very good! I loved the salad, sweetie.
—Meemaw, you didn't even touch the noodles. Didn't you like it?
—No, sweetie, I liked it. But I can't eat much lately. I'm going to have to get my... colon checked.
—And with me! —Dale laughed.
—Good luck, you'll need it. —Georgie laughed.
—You were never my favorite grandson.
—I know you love I.

—Me!
—Yeah, yeah, that's it.

—Enough. That's enough, dear. You two really did a great job.
—And I saw that you used my porcelain, it was beautiful.
—Thank you.
—May, where is your mother and sister? why aren't they eating with us?
—Mandy is feeling a little unwell, Missy. I don't know why.
—It must be something she ate. —She said.
—Probably. 

(...)

On the balcony, looking at the view, there I was. Enjoying the moonlight and the beautiful stars. 

—Where's Maya? —I heard Shelly say.
—I'm here! In the balcony!
—Oh, what are doing here? —He spoke through the window.
—Come here, outside.
—Okay.

He opened the door and sat down next to me.

—It's cold here.
—I like the cold. If you want, you don't have to stay here.
—No, I'm fine.
—Look.
—What?
—The stars. Are beautiful, aren't they? —He looked at all the greatness of God and said:

—Hm, yes.
—Really? I hate you.
—Stupid.
—You. —I smiled. —Well, I better go home. Bye, Shelly! —I gave him a hug, my arms around his shoulders and he wrapped his arms around my waist. I didn't want to say I did it on purpose, but I did.

—Bye, May.

(...)