“Can we try those chocolates now?” He asks abruptly, pushing his hair back, “I haven’t had anything but cafeteria food in ages and I’m dying for something that doesn’t taste like boxed pudding and gelatine.”
I hurry to get the box out of my bag and undo the ribbon. Something, maybe a slight movement, maybe a change in his breathing makes me hesitate for a second. I don’t look up, but I become aware that he’s watching me, feel his dark eyes tracing my motions as I remove the velveteen lid with some effort.
At the edge of my peripheral, I can see his expression - too, intent - I try to pretend I don’t, making a show of selecting a bonbon with two fingers, unreasonably embarrassed. My face flashes red and white like a siren.
I’ve taken one bite when Kattar scares me half to death - saying suddenly - “Wait! Is that the goober nougat?! I want that one!”
“I already took a bite out of it,” I stammer, somewhere between annoyed and disconcerted.
“Don’t care.”
I surrender the half-eaten bonbon but feel the need to add, as a last, exasperated complaint “It’s just a glorified peanut butter cup.”
Kattar smiles impishly, self-satisfied, a brilliant flush blooming in his cheeks as he pops the bonbon into his mouth, watching my face the whole time.
“I’ll make you a sandwich,” I say quickly, and head into the kitchen.
Kattar wheels himself into the dining room as I pull out the peanut butter and jelly. The ‘help’ has kept his pantries well stocked, though it’s questionable how much cooking he’s been able to manage from the weird angle he’s trapped at, in his chair.
I figure I’ll do the dishes too, since the cleaners won’t be back until tomorrow.
I hand him the plate and I start to turn back toward the kitchen, but hear him laugh-
“What? You didn’t trim the crusts off! The service at this place is terrible!”
I decide to ignore him, rolling my eyes and heading back to the kitchen, but with a “Hey-” he reaches out and tries to snag me by the sash, which comes undone, and slides unceremoniously to the floor.
I turn beet-red, crouching quickly to retrieve the sash from the carpet, avoiding his face as his gaze burns into the top of my head.
“Getting into the Christmas spirit?” He laughs as I retie the sash aggressively, burning with embarrassment and frustration simultaneously.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You look like a Christmas present all tied up with a bow,” he jokes, smiling up to his eyes, glowing with enjoyment. I turn redder still.
Don’t know what possesses me but I walk over to him without the slightest grain of hesitation - of bashfulness - of worry that I’ll regret this later and sit down on the edge of his bed, taking his face in both of my hands.
“Yah. Viejo.”
I can feel his furious heartbeat through the delicate skin - red and white and that perfect cashew brown all at the same time. I could find it in me to kiss him right now and forget about anything else - about reason and consequences - but instead, I press his forehead against mine and just breathe. I feel the heart skip beats, flip, somersault, and then calm down into a steady rhythm. I feel the skin growing hot under my fingertips, but I know if I open my eyes now, it’ll break the spell.
I whisper a sort of prayer my mother used to say to my brother and me when we were small.
Peace, my sweet, my heart.
“Have at it if you like, but I’m warning you, my mom’s set a high bar. She made me a little bit of a party connoisseur, you know. You think you can impress me?”
“Oh yeah,” I smirk, crossing my legs with a diva-ish air, “That’s not a concern.”
I dare to smile a little teasingly and watch the poker face waver, just a tad -
“-I have a certain secret weapon that your mother didn’t make.”
The color deepens from his cheeks to his ears under the faint shadow of his mane.
Gotcha.