dinner

Melody watched from her spot at the table as Ace climbed up on the stool to see what options the cupboard held for their dinner. From what she could see, the only food to speak of was canned: applesauce, a row of Progresso soups, tuna and the likes. He reached toward the back and pulled out a bag.

"Pasta," he said as he leaped from his perch.

She watched as he filled a sorely dented pot with water from the sink, as he opened the fridge and pulled out a crusty jar of tomato sauce, and as he sliced tomatoes - in his hand - to add to an odd mixture of sour cream, pineapple and cottage cheese.

He chose to steep grainy Lipton tea over their usual, smooth Taj Mahal because he claimed to have forgotten what it tasted like and wondered if it was as bad as they both remembered. It was.

He placed the cooked spaghetti on a glass plate, meticulously layered deli-style slices of chedder cheese on top and poured the cold tomato sauce over the whole thing. He put the dish in the microwave and pulled it out two minutes later. Mel couldn't help but giggle when, with an impish smile, he said, "I found a napkin." It was next to his shoe. On the floor.

He offered her a bite from his plate. She accepted. Warily.
She lied to him and said it was good and scrunched her nose when her stomach churned a moment later.

"Battery's almost dead," Ace announced a little later, while they were watching foreign cartoons on his computer. He shrugged and continued, "I guess it's time to take you home."

She knew when he picked her up earlier that the night probably wouldn't go well, but her heart still fell hearing the words. She had secretly hoped - especially after they both established the fact that neither of them had plans for the following day - that she would spend the night as usual.

It had been weeks since the last time she was there, though, and the terms on which that particular R-rated rendezvous ended were far from agreeable. Mel vividly recalled her oafish movements, and transparent embarrassment and obvious discomfort at the uncommonly frequent missteps. At one point she had even tripped on one of the stray articles layered on Ace's bedroom floor and rammed her knee into the support of his queen-sized bed. Mel remembered the way his voice dripped with impatience and frustration later that evening, and despite his many soft apologies, she knew he doubted the nature of their relationship.

Mel hadn't heard from him for weeks following that unfortunate tryst, but as Murphey would have it, as soon as she considered herself "so over it," he made contact.

She vowed this time would be different. She planned to make him work for her attention, but his charm broke through the feeble, guard at her heart, and she let him in again.

She tried to forget about him later, but every day brought new reminders. Just when she thought she could keep him from her mind forever, he showed up for lunch with mutual friends, ran into her by chance, even called just to chat.

Still, she forgot many things about their relationship. At the time, she tried to memorize everything but in time many of the smells, feels, conversations, even sounds she once associated with him were forgotten. There were certain things she would always remember, though: the salty softness of his earlobes; the surprisingly soft texture of his unshaven jaw; his unbearably attractive, slightly sweaty smell; the feel of his barrel chest against pressed against her small body.

She was going to have to find a way to cope.