Surviving Valencia

“Are you in the mood for pancakes?” I called from the kitchen.

He rushed into the kitchen. “Pancakes? Are you in the mood for pancakes?”

“Yes. Let’s go get some.”

“Really? Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, pausing from arranging the flowers.

“Does the baby want pancakes?” He came over and slid his hand inside my robe. I hated how I was instantly turned on. He started rubbing my belly. “Whoa, honey, you feel like you’ve lost ten pounds! I can feel your back through your stomach! Are you alright?”

“There is no baby. I’m just hungry for pancakes.”

“I have known you for years and I have nev

er seen you eat a pancake.”

“Adrian, just forget it. I will make myself a sandwich instead.” I pulled my robe together.

“No, we should get pancakes. Let’s go.”

A half hour later a stack of blueberry pancakes were placed before me. Adrian dug right into his buttermilk tower, while I picked at mine and washed down each bite with sips of orange juice. After not eating for days, the sweetness of the syrup was giving me an intense headache. I set down my fork, trying to speak.

“Look at you, wearing clothes,” said Adrian, smiling at me. “The robe look is nice, and it says ‘low maintenance’ which I can respect. But this is attractive too.”

I nodded, looking down at myself. I cleared my throat. “Adrian?”

“Hmm?” He asked me, simultaneously flagging down the waitress and holding up his empty juice glass. He shrugged, smiling a sheepish grin. Like Oops, I drank it all.

The waitress giggled and took it from him, rushing off to refill it.

Hello? Can anyone see me here? I am his wife. Just give him a refill. You don’t have to giggle.

This was the problem with Adrian. He could charm anyone. Including me. I still liked him, still had a crush on him. Even when I hated him, I still became a sixteen year old girl if he looked at me right. He had the power in our relationship.

The waitress was back and the glass had a big slice of orange stuck on the side of it. She had clearly just reapplied her lipstick.

“For you,” she said. Fucking bitch.

“What made you start working at Border’s?” I asked him.

“I needed the money.”

“But why Border’s? Why not some other bookstore? Or, say, a CD store? You love music.”

“I probably applied at other places but they were the first ones to hire me. I don’t know; it was a long time ago. Why do you ask?”

I pushed a slice of mushy pancake through a river of buttery syrup. “It’s just, if you hadn’t, we never would have met.”

“We might have met anyway,” he said.

“Wouldn’t the Border’s on the east side have been closer for you?”

“Maybe a little bit. I think I wanted to work at the one on the west side because it was closer to my other job and I could just shoot over there straight from work. Not have to go home and see Belinda. We weren’t getting along much by that point, you know.”