Save Me, Daddy

I feel like I'm laying out treats for a feral animal, just trying to lure her into my presence. Sometimes it's food, sometimes it's the sound of the doorbell or the scraping of a chair. More and more, she's curious about me too. More and more, we have shy conversations where I try not to be too overbearing, and she tries not to be too fucking adorable.

The ham pops dramatically, spraying a little bit of grease into the air. I slide a plate onto the counter, then after a thought, a second plate. One for each of us. Why should I pretend this is just for me? Obviously, it’s for both of us.

With a fork, I pick up the two fat slices and put them on the plates, positioning them so the scorch marks are face up, glistening and delicious. Then I crack a couple of eggs into the bottom and listen to that sizzle.

There it is. That tiny sound.

I look up, careful not to smirk in triumph that I've drawn her to me yet again. She stands at the edge of the room, balancing on her toes, trying to see what's on the plates. Obviously, two plates is an invitation. Also, it’s a bit of a confession. But when s

he tiptoes to the chair across from me and pulls it out gently, I still feel like I have won some kind of prize.

“Good morning,” she says in a small, polite voice.

I mean to say good morning, but I just kind of grunt instead. That's good. At least I haven't turned into complete mush.

“That looks delicious,” she continues.

“Do you cook?” I ask her without looking up.

She taps her fingertips on the granite, drawing my attention to her pretty fingers.

“I do, but not very much,” she admits. “I'd like to learn. Do you want to teach me?”

That takes me aback, but I try not to react. Instead, I flip the eggs carefully, without breaking the yolks. After they firm up for a few seconds, I slide the eggs onto the plates.

Sometimes she does that, little actions and words that seem to be flirting with me. I'm never sure if she's really flirting with me, though. Maybe it's just her friendly nature. Maybe I'm just hearing what I want to hear.

“I need to… I'm going out of town,” I inform her as I give her a fork and pour some grapefruit juice into a glass.

“Out of town?” she repeats, scraping her knife against the plate.

“Yeah, just a short trip. It's been on the schedule for a long time and I can't get out of it,” I lie. I'm not sure why I am lying, but I'm just not ready to explain my mission yet.

She chews slowly, looking around the room as though this bothers her, but she doesn't want to say it.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Three days. Maybe a little more.”

She nods, tearing through the ham with relish. She's a healthy eater. I like that. Hunger is good.

“Will you be all right?” I ask her. “Alone, I mean?”

She chuckles, almost snorting. “Will I be all right?” she repeats. “I’m sure everything will be fine, Daniel. I think I can handle being on my own for a few days.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, trying to appear serious. I can sense that she's getting a little defensive and now that triggers my urge to tease her. But not too hard, not enough to make her mad. She gets down from the chair, taking her plate to the sink and washing it immediately like a good girl.

“I could find someone to stay with you if you're frightened?”

She stares at me with one hand on her hip, her weight cast to one side, her head tipped slightly toward her shoulder. I almost want to laugh. This is her trying-not-to-be-seen-as-stubborn posture.

“And of course, you can ask Freddie for anything that you need,” I tell her. “Groceries, alarm codes, anything.”

She nods curtly. “I'm sure everything will be fine, Daniel,” she says for the second time. “You'll be gone for three days, right? That's not even enough time for me to starve to death.”

“It isn't?” I ask her. Of course, I know she’ll be fine, but teasing her like this amuses me for some reason. It's fun to watch her navigate between asserting herself and offering me the kind of polite respect she thinks I've earned. Which, in fact, I have earned. Maybe it pleases me because I like to know how much she really does respect me.

“No, it isn't,” she says pointedly. “In fact, if I stopped eating right this moment, I wouldn't even be close to starvation by the time you get home in three days. I promise, really, I'll be absolutely fine.”