Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 44.3: 1995, Ruiz

Chapter 44.3: 1995, Ruiz

The toast's corner was getting soggy in my mouth as I lost myself in thought again. The smell of bacon sizzling on the stove was trying to tease my nose without much success. With a stab of his fork, Ambrose flipped one over and a renewed sizzle met my ears. He was making me breakfast to try to apologize, every strip of bacon an apology. Just for me.

"Is the toast good?" he asked, looking down and wiping his hand of the grease on one of Miss Cha Cha's aprons, which he'd donned for the occasion. It was bright red, my favorite color. I noticed every detail. He was trying so hard. 

I bit down, and the bread crumbled into my mouth. Unable to speak now, I nodded to him. He smiled hopefully, then turned back to his task. I chewed, thinking more.

He really didn't have to be trying so hard. I understood now. All I wanted was to know more. More about what he'd been lying about. What would he tell me? I wanted him to feel like he had to tell me. 

I felt like he had been telling me the truth. But I wanted to know more of the truth. Now that he had opened up, I wanted this opened path to connect with me even more. 

He dipped his fork into the pan again, and brought out bacon onto the paper towels. Each one flopped on, not crispy just like how I liked it. Without a moment's hesitation, he poured the bowl of beaten eggs into the pan and began poking at it as it fried up. 

An image appeared in my brain. A little boy with shiny black hair, much shorter in stature, poking at a pan of fried eggs. I'd been looking into the pan eagerly, watching the yellow eggs scatter around and plump up from liquid to semi-solid. Begging him to put in the cheese, now, please now! 

Just as I thought it, his hand pinched into a smaller bowl on the counter and yellow crumbled cheddar jumped into the pan with the eggs. The smell of melting cheese flew into my nose lazily and I about melted with it. Oh, this smell...it brought me back to my grandmother's kitchen. 

And the two of us, so much younger. How old had we been then? Ten? Eleven? Where had Ambrose learned to cook? My head tilted, my eyes closed. I really could not imagine his father teaching him how. Had he then learned on his own? When?

Ambrose. I stared at the back of his head, his hair so neat and finely combed. This Ambrose here, he was the same Ambrose as back then. But then why...he was so different, yet so the same. Why had he changed? Why did he change?

"Ah, cheese," he said in a snort, dumping the last of it in. I couldn't help but smile. It sounded like he had just stifled a laugh. Why was he laughing?

"Was that a giggle?" I asked, picking up my triangle of toast again.

"Oh," he giggled, this time in full. It made me smile. "Oh, good, you're smiling."

"Yeah," I said, shaking my head to shake off a feeling like I was falling. My world was upended and I was smiling. How strange.

"I'm glad." His words sounded so warm. 

"Mm." I stared at him, chewing more toast with crunches. "What are you laughing about?"

"Well," he turned back to his work, giving more pokes, "I don't know if you remember. But I remember when I made this for you the first time. You really wanted the cheese. You were so scared I'd forget. So I put in all the cheese just now because I know you'd want all the cheese."

It was my turn to start laughing. 

"Hmm?" he asked, scooping the egg onto a plate waiting on the counter with last frying noises. His fork scraped the bits of it out, the sticking cheese coming with it.