Page 101 of Speechless
This was our first date. If she didn’t like thefonton the menu, I wanted to know.
Her hands kept fidgeting, and she blushed, the slight color barely visible in the dim light. “It’s embarrassing.”
Embarrassing? I couldn’t imagine anything she would say would be embarrassing. We all had embarrassing stories, myself included. I kept my hand on her skin, loving the feel of it.
“One time, when I was a teenager, I snuck out and got drunk. Had a good time. But I wasn’t an experienced drinker. The hangover wasbrutal. I threw up all over my clothes.
“It was common for me to sleep in on weekends, so I was trying to sneak back into the house without my family knowing. But I also knew if they saw me with vomit on my clothes, they’d know something was up.”
My parents would have been more upset with me for sneaking outside our security perimeter than the drinking, but that wasn’t the point of the story.
She laughed, a musical sound that I wouldn’t mind being the soundtrack of my life. “Why do I feel like this isn’t going to end well?”
I smiled. It was easy to smile with her. “Still hungover, maybe even still drunk, I decided to take my clothes off and put them straight into the washing machine. We had staff, so my mother would never know. And it was a Sunday. They were meant to be at church. So I did just that. I stripped, washed off what missed my clothes with the garden hose, and snuck in through the staff area.
“I almost made it. All I had to do was get upstairs to my bedroom, and there was no one home. I thought I was free and clear.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, no, indeed. I walked into the main living room to find myparents, their close friends and colleagues, the local priest,andthe local bishop, all there, all having tea, all staring at my dick.”
She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her laughter. “What did they do?”
“They stared at me, and I stared at them. It took about five seconds for everyone to realize what was happening. Then I bolted for the stairs. Didn’t come down untilwellafter the priest and bishop left. They never looked at me the same way.”
“I’m sure. That’s a good story, but I’m not sure why you’re telling it.”
Leaning in, I brushed my lips over her cheekbone. “Because it’s embarrassing. We all get embarrassed.” She gasped softly. “Tell me, please.”
Trinity let her head fall a little. Now her head leaned against mine. A tiny gesture of trust and submission. Her voice was tiny. “I’m a picky eater. I really wish I wasn’t, but no matter how hard I try some things, I just don’t like them. One of those things is seafood.”
Ahh. The menu here was almost entirely seafood. “Why is that embarrassing?”
“Because I’m an adult?” She winced. “It feels… it feels silly. And it’s all right. I’m good at finding something to eat that I like.”
“What kind of food do you enjoy?”
“I like lots of things.”
I pulled her mouth to mine again, unable to help myself. I liked lots of things too, including her and the way she tasted. “Tell me what you want to eat and I’ll have the chef make it. It was my error. I should have asked you what kind of food you enjoyed.”
She looked up so fast, horror on her face. The expression would be comical if it wasn’t so sincere. “Don’t do that. Please. It’s so beautiful here, and I’ve always wanted to come. I didn’t even think about it. I don’t want to force them to do something they’re not prepared for.”
The fear she felt was real. Of causing other people inconvenience. It was a common feeling, but this felt deeper. Fear of being a burden, maybe?
“The desserts look amazing, though,” she said, lifting the menu again. I looked with her. Raspberry crème brûlée, a flight of ice creams with uncommon flavors and a variety of toppings, a pumpkin cake, and tiramisu.
“How about this,” I said. “Let’s eat dessert here. Then we’ll go eat the main course somewhere else.”
“That wouldn’t bother you?”
“Not at all. I want you to enjoy everything.”
The way she stared at me reminded me of the story I told. Those five seconds when no one knew what to do. She was trying to figure out if I was serious. I was.
Because too many men carried their egos in their pockets instead of awallet, I knew what she expected: for me to complain because I’d planned this, and feel resentment or anger because she wasn’tgratefulfor the effort.
Trinity never needed to worry about that with me.
