“Pretty well, thanks. You?”
“Very well.” She sits up and adjusts the sheets over her legs. “Your bed is great, very comfortable. I love the pillows, too. They’re so soft!”
“Yeah, it’s one of the few things I actually pay attention to,” I tell her. “Military bedding sucks ass. I go all out with the stuff now.”
“Oh! You were in the military? What branch?”
Her tone isn’t right. It’s a little high for what should be a casual question, and the inflection at the end falls instead of rises. I have no doubt that she already knows the answer to her question, but I can’t think of why she would pretend not to know.
Regardless, I shouldn’t have brought it up, but it’s too late now. Answering her will lead to more questions, and I’m feeling too good to delve into all that shit. However, if I refuse to answer, she’s going to wonder why I’m avoiding the topic and ask again at another time. Deflection is my best ally.
“Marines,” I say bluntly. “What sounds good for breakfast?”
“I’m famished,” Alina says. “I’d be up for anything.”
“Waffles?”
“That sounds wonderful!”
I exit quickly and dig the waffle iron out of the back of a cabinet. It came with the apartment, and I hadn’t used it before, but I remembered using a waffle iron a lot when I was a kid living in a convent with a bunch of other unadoptable orphans.
I mix up some batter and begin pouring it onto the heated iron. Though I don’t have a lot of fond memories of my early years, I feel a little nostalgic. It’s probably just the good night’s sleep preceded by good sex, but I’ll take it.
Alina sits at the table and watches me.
“Can I ask you something, Evan?”
“You can ask,” I reply. I’m guarded, to say the least. If she wants a bunch of information regarding my military career, I’m just not prepared to go there. If she decides to ask about my current career, that would be even worse.
“It’s an observation more than a question, I suppose.” Her words don’t make me any less wary, but I nod at her to continue anyway. “You seem like you want a girlfriend.”
I laugh loudly. Opening the waffle iron, I dislodge the first waffle and set it on an empty plate.
“Hardly. I’ve been there and done that. Way too much trouble.”
“Trouble, as in you would have to make breakfast for her in the morning?”
“This”—I point a spatula at the waffle iron—“is not trouble. This is what I want for breakfast. Making two of them isn’t any harder than making one, and I don’t have to cut the recipe in half.”
“So what kind of trouble are you avoiding?”
I glance at her sideways. I’m tempted not to answer at all and let my silence speak for itself, but I have the feeling that won’t work. It’s better to let her know exactly how I feel about it.
“The kind where the chick asks a lot of questions,” I finally reply.
I pour the remaining batter and close the lid. The only sound in the kitchen is the sizzling noise from the waffle iron as some of the batter leaks out the side. When the waffle is done, I place it on a second plate and bring both to the table.
“Syrup okay?” I ask. “I have strawberries if you like.”
“Syrup is perfect.” Alina is quiet again.
Admittedly, I’m glad. I probably shouldn’t be, but I am. It’s yet another reason an actual girlfriend is problematic—she’ll get all pissed when you tell her to shut up. Alina seems pretty good at taking a hint, and she doesn’t ask any more questions.
Once breakfast is done, I take her back to her corner and drop her off. No “goodbyes,” no “see ya laters,” not even a “thanks for the fuck.”
I just drive away.
The temperature is a little warmer than usual, and I decide to drive over to the lake and walk along the shore. Before Odin died, I would take him here to run around in the sand and chase seagulls. I again wonder if I should consider getting another dog but quickly dismiss the idea. I don’t need the added responsibility, and having anything around that I care about has always proven itself to be a risk.