Part I {Saturday, around 6:30pm}
Beneath the smoke, the vapor, the smell of garlic and onion, there's someone turning the heat off upon checking on the saucepan. The food isn't anywhere near ready, but something has changed the plan, a deviation from the course.
I clean my hands on a towel which was lying nearby as my feet get to the door. I peep through the device at the door to suddenly feel a mix of nervousness and excitement: she's there, at the other side, out of the door. I clean my hands again and lazily set my hair straight (which just won't do but is the whole purpose, otherwise I'd use a comb!) before unlocking the door and opening it.
"You're here early!" Just like a kid who has no filter, I hear the words leave my mouth. She smiles – perhaps she's used to all of this awkwardness? – and looks down to her hands that are holding things inside a box. Kitchen utensils and grocery, it seems. That's my queue to move out of the way and point her where the kitchen is. Yeah, she couldn't know where it was since she had never been there before. She hadn't been around in a long time.
"I've got this recipe... And it would be better to do it in here already, so I wouldn't have to move things around, different temperatures and all." She sounds different, precise, yet as adorable as I could remember. My feelings get me lost so I can't even venture to ask her how did she get my address, nor how did she go past security to just knock on my door. Does it matter? I think not.
There's this thing in the air, I guess it has always been there... ever since we had shared what we felt for each other, and pretty much decided not to act on anything for several stupid reasons. That had happened about two years ago, when I was getting back on my feet after the dissolution of a five-year relationship. She hadn't been much different, still recovering from a break up that had left her incomplete. We, then, became good friends although there was some sexual tension and a spark here and there. She was also on the verge of leaving town and we worked side-by-side, five days a week. As I said, we decided not to act on anything for several stupid reasons.
Right now the "thing in the air" had gone from interesting and fun to something cold and perhaps bitter with a pinch of awkward. I took my time to watch her work the ingredients of her recipe while browsing through diverse topics that keep conversation flowing. It wasn't difficult talking to her, or being near her. It had always been very pleasant, even when both of our spirits were crushed. Her showing up at my doorstep, nonetheless, was strange. Especially if we consider that she had returned to town a day ago and that all of her innumerous friends were possibly trying to see, visit her.
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom – nature calls – and can get a glimpse of her there, in the kitchen I barely let anyone use but me. I ponder if I should feel lucky or anything, really, to have her at my place so suddenly, so unexpectedly. It feels slightly uncomfortable and exciting at the same time, but it's important to stop wondering before any expectation is built – that's why the glimpse is fast and alone time in the bathroom seems necessary.
On the way back to the kitchen I proceed cautiously, attentive to the kitchen sounds that have diminished yet are still there – why am I being cautious? I don't know, I just am! I find it better not to get too close because there were feelings involved, I had feelings for her when she was around, and when she left, and when she said she was coming back. I, then, lay against the door frame at a distance, asking about what she's doing and getting didactic and cheerful responses. Just like that everything seems lighter and I learn that my feelings and instincts can't be trusted. Maybe I'm the one casting the dark and heavy clouds on the matter, as if sabotaging myself and any possibility of rekindling our friendship. The whole situation seems fairly normal, despite of the fact she got past the building's security – but she has always had her ways, hasn't she?
"So... do you want something to drink? There's water, maybe some coffee left..."
"I've helped myself already, thanks"
"See? My hostess skills are still as crappy as you can remember!" I laugh and so does she. Yeah, all that heaviness and whatever weirdness I thought might be going on must, really, come from my head. Gotta see a therapist to figure it out, perhaps. Whilst the thoughts run through my head, I watch her as she gets back to her business. I pour myself some water and ask her if she needs any help or tool, but she says she's good. Yeah, she definitely is. I excuse myself and trail my way to the living room that is just a few steps away, sitting at the black couch and flipping through channels on the TV, occupying my mind.
I'm hardly over checking the TV schedule when I feel maybe a gust of wind on my hair? I raise a hand to straighten it, finding another set of fingers. I look up to see her standing behind the couch, giving the TV a weird look and then moving her eyes towards mine. Tension builds up inside of me.
"You left me alone in the kitchen to be here doing nothing? I'm offended!" She pulls a bit of my hair, as some sort of punishment following her words, and curves the edge of her lips in a simple smile – not too obvious since she was supposed to be offended, after all.
"My plan was actually to drag you outta the kitchen, away from those sharp knives, wooden blocks, glasses..." I smile as well, keeping it playful whilst she goes around the sofa to sit and give another weird look at the TV. "I was looking for a tennis match or something... Maybe you've learned a bit about it already?" I lay my head against the back of the sofa, leaning to her side to meet her gaze.
"Maybe I did!" She manages to sound confident and a bit cocky. "What about you? Have you finally managed to run or you're still lying to girls when you 'go for a run' that is actually a jog?" Her imitation of me has always been priceless, and that memory is amazing. I laugh, remembering that once I invited her for a run and, within 2 minutes, I was already giving up as she kept a sprinter pace.
