biscuits
You let yourself in. The hallway door opens before you’ve brushed through the doorway and removed your shoes. My face is illuminated with puppy-like delight verging on beatific disbelief. Sometimes I try to play it cool. Today is not one of those days.
“Rey! You’re back! It feels like ages!”
I step towards you and you basically have to abort bending down to unfasten your shoes or else I’m simply going to hug the top of your head. Scarcely have you straightened but that my arms are clamped greedily about you, making a spirited effort to redistribute the ponderous weight of your chest to elsewhere about your body. My cheek presses against the angle of your shoulder and my butt wiggles with delight.
“Not that I’m not happy to see you but… it’s been five days.”
“I know! Five harrowing days, where I have languished—” I step back when you good-naturedly push me away in order that you can actually take your damn shoes off— “Languished in the dark, never knowing whether you endured, fearing the worst—”
“We texted every day.” I backpedal as you advance into the living room, smirking. “I sent you a picture of my tummy.”
“Dim, dim the memory of that benighted time! That picture a glimmer almost swallowed up by the despair of missing y—”
“Look, clearly you have to get something out of your system. Could you make me a tea while you’re doing it?”
You flop yourself down on the couch, which bears the soft but significant impact with a low creak. I grin, dropping the high-energy gesticulating.
“It really is so good to see you, Rey. I missed you.”
Tea comes with biscuits. My fascination with chocolate hobnobs continues unabated, but you also have digestives, chocolate bourbons and custard creams to choose from. As you raise your mug to your lips I curl up on the couch next to you and look you up and down. “You’re skin and bones.”
You laugh, then open your mouth obligingly as I proffer a hobnob. It breaks between your teeth: I watch the chosen piece disappear within your mouth, then thrill with quiet wonder as I brush an orphaned section from the corner of your lips to follow its luckier sibling.
“I’m like two hundred kilos, you doofus.”
“You know what I mean. You’ve lost weight while you’ve been… away.”
“Busy,” you say, mysteriously. “But anyway, I’m back. And starving. This plate of biscuits isn’t going to touch the sides. I hope you can do better.” You accept the rest of the biscuit, munch it happily and chase it down with a swig of tea. “What do you have that will keep you off the menu?”
I grin. “It’s so, so good to be asked that question. I have just the date planned.”
As I detail plans, I feed you biscuits. Watching you pack away a cumulative two packs of biscuits feels to me like an act of worship.
Your hunger is barely touched. But it is piqued. Good. I bustle off to the kitchen to make some sandwiches to put you on for lunchtime. Lunch will be a roast.. But the meal you’re most looking forward to, I haven’t gone into detail.
You’ll have to guess.