Page 61 of Holding Out for a Gyro
Out the front window, enormous flakes dropped like they’d been cut from paper by kindergartners. Evan and Elizabeth ran outside to catch them on their tongues, but Chelsea and I stayed in to enjoy the beautiful view.
Elizabeth came back inside, shaking snow from her hair. “Good call on the forecast, Mr. Spurlock.”
Evan glanced over at her like he wanted to lick the chill off her cheeks. “I told you.”
Chelsea said, “Are you sure you didn’t call for an eight-inch pounding?”
Elizabeth did a spit take. “Warn a girl.”
Then an oven timer dinged, and I headed back toward the kitchen. “Are we making dick jokes again? I had one.” What was it? “Shit. I forgot.”
Evan glowered. “Is dinner ready yet?”
Thanksgiving was always one of my favorite holidays. The aromatic blend of cloves, nutmeg, and orange along with the savory char of meat would have made a statue salivate.
I started with an appetizer of smoked pheasant. Evan and Elizabeth both made satisfyingly appreciative moans of pleasure. Chelsea said, “If my mouth could orgasm, this would do it.”
“Holy mother fuck,” Elizabeth said. “I could eat this all day.”
Evan stared at his empty plate, like he was trying to conjure up more. “That was amazing.”
Then I passed around salmon in filo, pleased with how well itturned out, and preened when Elizabeth said, “I’ll never be able to eat anything ever again. What did you do to make that taste so delicious?”
I said, “Nothing. It’s just filo and salmon.”
Chelsea scoffed. “The hell it is. There’s no way you didn’t add some secret ingredient.”
We shared a wry smile, then my dick joke came back to me. “Oh, I remembered my joke.”
“Well?” Chelsea urged.
I pointed toward the window. “It’s coming fast and hard.” It wasn’t high quality, but I wanted to get in on the fun. Chelsea and Elizabeth stared at each other for a half a beat before dissolving into laughter.
When I carried out the main course, they all gathered around the table, set with everyday plates and silver. I’d laid out a nice tablecloth, and the candles in the centerpiece made the feast seem like the occasion it was. And if the decor hadn’t proven it, the food marathon would have done the trick.
The squab I’d made in place of turkey had been braised in white wine and rosemary. I added lobster to the mac and cheese. My sweet potato casserole was old school with toasted marshmallow for nostalgia, and I added dried onion and bacon to the green beans. Cranberry, Southern dressing, gravy, and buttered rolls rounded out the table. A pumpkin pie waited in the kitchen along with whiskey-spiked coffee with whipped cream.
“Eat, drink, and cranberry!” I said to delightful eye rolls. “Laugh now, or I won’t serve the pie later.”
They all gave dutiful hearty laughs and then began to fill their plates.
Chelsea said, “Don’t mind Bas. He was raised in a punitentiary.”
Elizabeth ladled gravy over her dressing and mused, “Ours isnot to squander pie. Ours is just to do or…” She looked to Chelsea.
Chelsea winced. “Or dine?”
I snorted. “Excellent team work. I will assimilate you all into the pun collective yet.”
Soon, we were too busy eating to talk, but I loved hearing the grunts of pleasure, seeing the closed eyes of bliss. This was what I wanted to be doing with my life.
“I could die on the spot,” Chelsea exclaimed, going back for thirds of the sweet potatoes.
“Seriously, I’m going to eat until I injure myself,” Evan said, dragging a roll through the gravy. “It’s all fun and games until you bust your pants.”
“Over-the-top incredible,” Elizabeth agreed.
This was how I showered love on everyone. Chelsea and I weren’t nearly at the point where we’d make such declarations, but there was time. I hoped to talk to her tonight about where we were heading as a couple. As much as she’d pushed me away at first, we’d fallen into such a comfortable rapport. She was so easy to please, with food, with sex. With me. I’d never clicked with someone like this. This was more than friendship, more than casual sex, and I wanted her to agree to be exclusive. I wanted her to agree we were starting somethingreal. It was time to put a label on whatever we were and quantify us in a way I could explain to my nosy family.
