Pickled

| eight |

Chapter Eight

"Listen closely to what I'm saying. La brisa."

"I don't know it."

"You totally know it. La brees – ah."

"Okay, now it sounds like you're making this up."

Alex threw his hands into the air with defeat, slapping the notebook's pages on his lap. "It means 'the breeze'. As in, la breeze-a. Brisa."

For what must have been the hundredth time, Diana sighed heavily and barely resisted rolling her eyes. Alex had been attempting to quiz her on Spanish vocabulary for the past half-hour, with only twenty-five terms. She was still no closer to knowing more than two-thirds of them.

"You may as well give up now," Diana advised him, ladling more sweet brine into the jar set before her. "I'm a lost cause when it comes to Spanish. I'll be lucky to remember half of this tomorrow."

"We are not giving up," he replied firmly. "Let's try the other way around. What's 'the beach'?"

He was balanced on a wooden stool, which he'd dragged right up to the kitchen table before Diana as soon as he arrived after practice. Diana could see the sweat in his hair, and there was a greenish-brown streak across the left side of his t-shirt, like he'd slid across the field from a fall. It had taken everything in her power not to point this out to him when he walked in the door.

Alex glanced up when Diana didn't respond right away, giving her a look. She was focused on screwing down the Mason jar's lid. "Forget about the jar for a second and tell me what 'beach' is."

She shot him a glare in return, snapping, "I have about thirty more of these to do. I'm not trying to be in this kitchen until midnight, thanks."

"It's a nice kitchen, though."

Even Alex couldn't keep a straight face when Diana gave him an unamused look. He readjusted the notebook on his lap, tall body bent at an awkward angle on the stool with his knees nearly touching his chest.

"I told you already," Diana said, with a hint of annoyance in her tone, "we have regular chairs upstairs. You look ridiculous."

"No, I like this stool." Alex was still grinning, curling into himself even more to exaggerate how lanky his legs seemed as he balanced on the seat. "Besides, that's too much effort to go all the way upstairs."

He was joking, but Diana couldn't agree more. She didn't like to put in any extra effort than necessary, even if it was just to climb a flight of stairs.

"Alright, enough fooling around," Alex began seriously. "Translate 'the beach'. Quick."

Diana sliced into the next cucumber, deciding it would be easier if she just humored him. "Playa."

"Excuse me, which playa?"

"La playa," she repeated, emphasizing the "la" because he was so picky when it came to Spanish. He should have been happy enough that she even remembered part of the term – not to mention the more important part. "What's the difference?"

He shot her a knowing look over the notes. "Do you really want me to explain it?"

"No," Diana admitted. She packed the sliced spears into the empty jar before her, managing to maneuver an extra slice inside. "I have to stick to the basics. Otherwise I'll have to give up."

"Again," Alex told her firmly, "no one is giving up. You're doing great. Give me 'umbrella'."

She sighed audibly and screwed down the jar's lid, this one closing much more smoothly than the last. "El paraguas."

"Wow," he said, clearly surprised at her unusually quick response. "I'm impressed."

Diana tried to shrug nonchalantly, but her tiny grin gave her away. "I just think of penguins under an umbrella."

For once, Alex's half-smirk dissipated and he stared openly. "I'm sorry, how exactly does that make you remember the word for umbrella?"

She had moved onto the next jar, wiping the sticky sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. "I don't know," Diana replied absentmindedly. "Paraguas sounds like penguins. So, you know. Penguins under an umbrella."

"That makes zero sense, Diana," he told her bluntly.

Diana narrowed her eyes at him and raised the knife a little higher, pointing it in his direction and warning, "At least I remembered it."

"You're right, you're right." Alex put his hands up, palms outstretched, pretending to be afraid. She had lifted the knife jokingly, of course. Mostly.

Alex suggested they take a quick break, which Diana welcomed hastily, because all these Spanish terms were making her brain ache. An easy silence fell between them after that, where Diana continued to slice cucumbers and pack them into glass jars. Alex watched her work, eyes following her movements over the edge of his notebook.

"It really isn't that interesting, you know," Diana reminded him, because Alex was watching her with the attentiveness of someone viewing the Olympics.

He shook his head, leaning forward on his elbows. "No, it's interesting. I just can't understand it. You probably know everything there is to know about pickles, and you have trouble remembering Spanish. It makes no sense."

Diana groaned, shaking her head as she poured brine into the next jar. "Trust me, I'd rather know nothing about pickles."

"But it's so cool," Alex said, and he seemed to ignore the incredulous look Diana gave him. "I mean it. I love watching you work."

Diana's hand slipped and brine splashed onto the countertop. "Damn it," she cursed, fumbling to set the pot of brine back down without spilling any more. Alex had leapt up, notes flying off his lap, to grab the roll of paper towels from the other side of the table. She took the rag off her shoulder and began to mop up the mess, telling Alex, "I got it, I got it."

But he was helping her anyway, tearing off several sheets of paper towel and dabbing the table. He swept his Spanish notes to the side so the paper wouldn't fall victim to the brine, at the same time looking over at Diana and teasing, "You definitely just did that to ruin my notes."

"No," she bit out, not annoyed with him but rather with herself for causing such a mess. "I didn't tell you to jump up and drop everything."

"There was a crisis. I had to step in."

She rolled her eyes, lifted the half-full pickle jar and wiping it down. "Well, you were distracting me."

"Sorry," Alex replied sheepishly, still smiling. He tossed the paper towels dripping with brine into the garbage. As he collected his notes, Diana turned to the sink to wring out the towel and wash her hands of the sticky brine.

She was lathering her hands with soap when Alex came in beside her, rolling up his sleeves to wash his own hands. Diana shot him an annoyed glance because he had encroached on her personal space, something she valued highly. But Alex appeared not to notice, reaching across her arms to pump soap onto his palm.

"Excuse you," Diana told him pointedly, shifting to the side as best she could. He smelled like sweat and dirt.

"My bad," he grinned. As he rubbed his palms together, bubbles leaking from between his fingers, he nodded toward Diana's hands as she rinsed them. "How's your battle wound?"

She blinked, then turned her hand over to expose the scabbed cut on her palm from where the knife had slipped two weeks ago. It was surprising he had even remembered, but then again, Alex somehow always seemed to know too much about her. "Oh, you know," Diana said, "they didn't have to amputate."

Alex let out a whoosh of air, running his hands beneath the faucet. "You're very lucky."

They dried their hands on either end of the towel, which seemed to please Alex immensely and irritate Diana just as much. Alex clapped his hands once they were dry, tossing the towel back onto the rim of the sink. "Alright. Back to Spanish."

"Do we have to?" she asked.

"Yes. Come on, you're getting better at it. Let's go."

Diana groaned, but she followed him back to the table all the same.