Amber went straight for the cupboards, pulling out what she needed for their feast, like pans and flour. She hoped Eric took his time in the shower so that he wouldn't catch her in the middle of her preparations: this had to go just right. The perfect breakfast would make their problems seem pale in comparison. From his own sullenness, Amber suspected this would be one of his longer showers. He was probably going over just how awful her family was, imagining how horrible they'd be to him. The thought of that didn't exactly make her ecstatic, but it wasn't as if she could disabuse him of those notions, either. All she could do was start up a pot of coffee. Was there anything she could to her mom? Call her up and say, "Don't be too racist."
Hah.
She was uniting the items on the balcony, so it wasn't until she crossed to the fridge that she noticed the piece of paper on the table. She hadn't left that there. Amber read it and recognized Eric's messy handwriting (a doctor down to the very last detail): going for a run. back soon. love you, Eric.
A complex tangle of feelings knotted in Amber's chest, happiness and embarrassment and anger. With a single squeeze she crumpled the note. Love. It was all relative, wasn't it. Maybe he hadn't loved Shanelle or the last woman he'd dated, but he'd loved other girls. What use was it? Maybe one or more of his past loves had been black. Amber bet their families hadn't posed a problem for Eric. Maybe he missed that. Maybe he was regretting being with her.
But she couldn’t throw it out, either. Seemed harsh to leave it a ball, so Amber smoothed it back out, wrinkled but with the words still there. Where to put it? On the fridge she’d see it; anywhere in the kitchen and it’d get even dirtier. So she made a quick trip back to her room and shoved the note into her bed stand drawer, together with all her lube and condoms.
With that, it was easier to get out the rest of the ingredients and focus on cutting, measuring, mixing, frying. The scent of percolating coffee kept her company as she created new ones, turning her attention away from her disappointments as her hunger grew stronger and stronger.
no subject
Hah.
She was uniting the items on the balcony, so it wasn't until she crossed to the fridge that she noticed the piece of paper on the table. She hadn't left that there. Amber read it and recognized Eric's messy handwriting (a doctor down to the very last detail): going for a run. back soon. love you, Eric.
A complex tangle of feelings knotted in Amber's chest, happiness and embarrassment and anger. With a single squeeze she crumpled the note. Love. It was all relative, wasn't it. Maybe he hadn't loved Shanelle or the last woman he'd dated, but he'd loved other girls. What use was it? Maybe one or more of his past loves had been black. Amber bet their families hadn't posed a problem for Eric. Maybe he missed that. Maybe he was regretting being with her.
But she couldn’t throw it out, either. Seemed harsh to leave it a ball, so Amber smoothed it back out, wrinkled but with the words still there. Where to put it? On the fridge she’d see it; anywhere in the kitchen and it’d get even dirtier. So she made a quick trip back to her room and shoved the note into her bed stand drawer, together with all her lube and condoms.
With that, it was easier to get out the rest of the ingredients and focus on cutting, measuring, mixing, frying. The scent of percolating coffee kept her company as she created new ones, turning her attention away from her disappointments as her hunger grew stronger and stronger.