An Ocean Apart

With Harry, things were different.

I stood over the gas shove top, watching the noodles boil in the hot water and imagining everything that could possibly go awry with what I’d agreed to do tonight. Every bubble inside the pot seemed to be a thought of my own. For every bubble that popped a new one emerge just as infuriating as the last. The process was maddening. I couldn’t clear my head if God himself had asked it of me.

Most obviously, a large part of my subconscious was thrilled with my acceptance. The smaller portion, the logical portion, was not so elated. What really did I know about him? Why don’t I feel like this matter is as simple and uncomplicated as it seems? I knew I was over thinking the entire situation but with my history, I felt I had somewhat of a right to do so. I had no plans to be hurt in such a way again.

But logic can only do so well against emotion. I wanted to see Harry. I wanted to get to know him. I’d already admitted to my aunt and myself the feelings and attraction I had for him. I may not know a fact more than the color of his hair and height but that did not suppress the desire to further my knowledge. Would the world end if I never saw him again? No, but wasn’t it about time I let go of my past and let my heart do a little of the thinking?

Stirring the noodles one last time, I tested them with a quick taste. Satisfied, I pulled the silver pot from the burner and switched it off. Relief washed over my body when the bubbles slowly vanished. With something to focus on other than watching the sluggish process of pasta cooking, my array of thoughts seemed to filter themselves out. It was possible now to preoccupy myself with straining the noodles and dishing our lunch on plates with Alfredo sauce rather than the pros and cons of tonight.

“Finally,” Pia groaned as I stepped out of our small kitchen to the living room with two full plates of food in my hands. She reached for the one in my left hand the second it was within reach. “I have no idea why,” she started, already shoving her first fork full of pasta into her mouth, “but I’m so much hungrier here than I am at home.”

I chuckled and twirled my own first bite around on my fork, “I’m sure your scale will appreciate that.” I winked before placing the food in my mouth carefully.

“Hey!” she protested, covering her mouth in attempt to keep noodles from slipping from her lips, “I run in the morning, thanks.”

“Oh, like you did this morning?” I teased, with a slight smirk as I mouthed another fork full.

She scowled taking a nip of garlic bread, her eyes rolling back into her head, “That’s not fair. I’m not used to the time change yet.” Swallowing, she probed her silverware in my direction, “Besides, what else do you think I’m gonna do while your off with Harry?”

I couldn’t gage my feelings on her casualty when calling him by name. His name fell off her lips so easily; like he was someone we’d be referring to for years. I, on the other hand, had to taste the word before I could speak it aloud. The name was common enough but it still felt so foreign to me.

A half smile crossed my face and my eyes diverted to the food on my white plate, “Guess so.”

She studied my demeanor for a small second before returning her attention to her food and acknowledging the elephant in the room, “You nervous?”

I chuckled bitterly while stabbing a noodle with my fork with more force than was necessary, “You could say that.”

“It’ll be fine,” she predicted, attempting to comfort my spiking nerves, “He seems like a nice guy.”

“And there is lies the key word: seems.” I interjected with a sudden lose of appetite. I placed my half-eaten plate down on the cherry wood table sitting in front of us and leaned against the back of the couch, “I mean, we don’t know anything about him. He could be a rapist for all we know.”