"Hey, did you mean to book three dates with me this week?" She called as soon as she let herself in, heading toward the restroom to pee and wash her hands. Based on the smell and sounds coming from the kitchen, he was making dinner. When she walked past the living room, she was surprised to see Eli sitting in the armchair, reading a book with about as much interest in the world around him as the potted tree in the corner. If he was surprised that they were meeting three times that week, he kept it to himself. Bemused, she continued to the kitchen.
"Isn't that what you usually do?" He asked when she came into sight. "Three dates a week?"
"I didn't think you heard me." He'd made fajitas; as soon as he slid the bowl of meat and vegetables in front of her she started picking out choice bits with her fingertips.
"Here," he told her, shoving a warmer full of tortillas at her. She reluctantly stopped cherry-picking and began to construct her dinner. He rolled toward the living room with a loaded plate on his lap and one of the beers left from their first "date" between his knees.
He was back after an indistinct exchange of masculine joviality with Eli. Starving and not wanting to begin without him, she'd made a plate for him to pass the time.
"Drink?" He offered. She looked hopefully toward the coffee pot, and he looked reluctantly toward the cups, the spoon, the fridge, his food...
"Apple juice?" He suggested, like it wasn't the official beverage of childhood. She laughed.
"Apple juice sounds great." She laughed harder when he put an actual juice box in front of her.
"What?" He asked, feigning hurt. "It's the good kind. And the big boxes no less. See? Six point five ounces." She popped the straw in.
"It's delicious," she agreed. "I love it. I don't think I've had apple juice from a juice box since foster care." She had been about to take a bite, and she stuffed the fajita into her mouth to shut herself up. Please don't ask, she thought. Please. His interest did look piqued, but he dug into his plate without commenting. Eli brought his plate to the kitchen, washed it quickly and left again, earbuds in.
Karin raised her eyebrows curiously. Eli hadn't stayed before.
"He made the food," Rick joked. "I told him I wanted to impress you." He winked and started clearing the table. Unsure of how to help, she took over the dishes.
"I am impressed," she told him, "whether you or he cooked it. It was good." They finished their respective tasks without saying anything else, and he started coffee.
"I've been a bit... off, today," he admitted truthfully. "I wanted to see you but I was afraid I'd have a seizure or something. Eli offered to stay and it seemed like a good idea." She wasn't sure what to say, biting her lip uncomfortably.
"Are you alright?" Karin didn't know enough about his condition to know what him not being alright, would entail.
"Yeah," he said, though his hand was a little unsteady when he poured the cream. "I'll probably be fine once I'm more heavily medicated," he hinted, tipping his chin toward the tray sitting on the counter. She sat on a barstool and pulled it toward herself.
"Three?" she asked. "Four?"
"More," he rhymed sincerely. "I like it when you leave a couple rolled for me." She smiled affectionately.
"If you weren't feeling well we could have skipped this," she paused to run the tip of her tongue along the glue. "Apparently you're going to see me tomorrow anyway." She handed him the first joint to light, while she rolled half a dozen more. Lucky seven, she thought.
"This is what I need," he said, exhaling. She wasn't sure if he meant the weed, or her company, or...
"Not sex," he told her, passing. "Just, you. You make me feel... sane." She was grateful to have the chance to hide her blush in the smoke.
"E?" He called randomly into the living room, startling her. She was afraid he was having some crisis she hadn't noticed. Eli sidled in and accepted the joint nonchalantly, still tuned into his earbuds.
"I didn't think he smoked," she murmured, still rolling.
"He's off-duty," Rick said with a half-shrug and a grin. Eli smoked silently while she rolled the last two joints and brushed her fingertips clean. Hitting it one last time, he passed it back to Rick, hooking one finger in the wire to pull the earbud out of his left ear.
"Can you do a blunt too?" He asked, nodding toward the tray. She blushed just slightly, he hardly ever spoke to her.
"Yeah," she smiled, nodding. "I can, but my roommate Angie is even better. She taught me," she told him honestly. He raised an impressed eyebrow at Rick and replaced the earbud, smiling a silent retreat to the living room. Rick rolled his eyes.
"He always says he wants a fat blunt for his birthday. I tell him I don't know how to roll them, and buy him a stupidly expensive one because he deserves it anyway, and he acts like I bought him a Camaro and won't even share it with me, because he has to save it." She loved Rick's laugh, he sounded so legitimately happy.
"Let's go onto the balcony," he invited. "The coffee is done, I was afraid I'd drop it, to tell the truth," he said shyly. "It's probably cold by now,"
It was nothing the microwave couldn't fix, and she told him so. She carried both cups, and he got the door for them.
They were halfway through the second joint before he was brave enough to lift his cup from the patio table and take a drink, thanking God he didn't pour it all over himself.
"Are you going to tell me why you booked all my dates this week?" Great, so she was going to make him choke on it instead.
"Because... I want to see you," he croaked, wiping his mouth.
