Chapter 54B: Making Amends

We sat and cuddled for a while. Eventually, she stood up, pulled me to my feet, and steered us to the bathroom for a shower. We washed and cleaned up each other, enjoying soapy, slippery fun but not going further than that. After we toweled off, while she was tending to her hair with a hair-dryer, I collected my clothes, and went to the guest room to dress. Putting on a t-shirt and jeans, I began to pack my suitcase for the trip tomorrow. Dana, dressed in her bathrobe, dropped by to check on me.

Seeing me put my dirty clothes and underwear in a nylon bag before placing them in the suitcase, she asked, "What are those?"

"Things I wore in the last few days. I'll get them washed in the hotel."

"Take them out. I'll put them in the washing machine with my stuff," she said.

"That's all right, Dana. No need to—"

She grabbed the bag from me without any word, and left the room. I just stood there somewhat stunned for a few seconds before I thought of following her.

"Dana!" I called out, as I chased her in the hallway.

"What?" she retorted without breaking her stride.

"You don't have to—"

She stopped and turned on her heels. "I know I don't have to. I want to!" she said. Tilting her head, she added, "Now, may I?"

"Uhh... OK!"

"Good. Now scoot."

I returned to the guest room and continued packing. Dana returned a few minutes later.

"Are you packed already?" I asked.

She nodded. "Have a few things more." Seeing me pick up the garment bag, she said, "You don't need that."

"I guess I don't. The suit is ruined. You'd better throw it away."

"It's not ruined. When Sarah and I went out yesterday, I took it to a tailor and asked if he could fix it. He said he could. The tears were on the seams, and he thinks he can fix the pants leg, too, but he told me to get them to a dry-cleaner; he didn't know if the stains could be cleaned. So, I left the pants and the jacket at the dry-cleaner. The dry-cleaner told me they would try, but couldn't promise anything. I'll pick it up after our vacation, then we'll see." With a smile, she reached to my chin. "Close your mouth."

As she was explaining what she did, my jaw had dropped. To tell the truth I had forgotten about my suit, and never expected what she had done. Now, I remembered that she had mentioned she would check if it could be salvaged. I felt my insides fill up with warmth at what she had done. Even though my mom, and sometimes Kathy, took care of me in a similar fashion, I was used to taking care of myself. This was a very pleasant surprise, indeed. Without thinking, I pulled her into my arms, and kissed her forehead, before my lips searched for her lips.

"Thank you, love." I kissed her again, soundly, tightening my arms around her, before I relaxed my hold.

She returned my kiss softly, but with passion. "You're welcome."

Extricating herself from my arms, she took the garment bag, and went to her bedroom, with me following closely behind her. She put it in her wardrobe, telling me she would need it when my suit was returned. While I watched her, she resumed packing her suitcase.

"Do you have sweats?" I asked, and when she nodded, I continued with, "Do you run or jog?"

"Not really. Why?"

"I usually jog or run, in the morning, and sometimes in the afternoon. I was thinking if you..." I trailed off.

She thought about it for a second or two, and then she turned to open a drawer, and pulled out dark blue sweats. Putting them in the suitcase, she searched in the bottom part of her wardrobe for shoes. Holding out a pair of tennis shoes, she asked, "Will these do?"

"Sure. Otherwise, we can always pick up something from a sports store. You sure, you want to run?"

"Why not. It would do me some good," she replied, while putting the shoes in a nylon bag and placing them in her suitcase. "I'm finished. I only need to pack my toiletries, but I'll do that in the morning, after the shower."

"Well, then, let me start on dinner," I said, leaving her to pick up the room.

I went to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove to boil some water to have a cup of herbal tea, before starting on dinner preparations. She came in when I was filling the cups. I looked over my shoulder. She was dressed in panties and one of my wool, button down shirts, the one that I had worn in the past few days; I thought she had put it in the washing machine. Seeing my questioning look, she moved behind me, and wrapped her arms around my belly. She nibbled my ear, making me shiver, and then she said, "Do you mind? I like to smell you on me."

I shrugged, as I had no clue about why she would feel like that. However, it reminded me how my mom wore my dad's old shirts when Dad was away.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, not satisfied with my shrug.

"Nope. I just thought it strange. It probably smells of smoke and sweat."

"It smells of you. Your musk, aftershave, deodorant, and smoke," she replied softly before she resumed nibbling on my ear, and followed it with little kisses to my neck. "I remember Dad, when I was young. He would carry me to my bed to tuck me in with Mom right behind him. My arms around his neck and the smell of his tweed jacket... pipe tobacco, brandy, aftershave, and wool..." Her voice was soft, dreamy, distant, lost in the childhood memories, reminding me a childhood memory of Mom, of her smell as she hugged us when we arrived at home after school.

I took one of her hands and kissed her palm in lieu of an answer, before turning my head to share a kiss with her. She traced a finger from my temple, along my cheek, down to my chin. Then, her eyes locked into mine, searching for something...

"You're not my dad," she said softly, and for a moment, I stiffened as if I was shot. She laughed at my reaction. "I'm not telepathic. I'm just intuitive. Did I scare you?"

"I don't know," I replied with a wry grin. "I guess it could get scary if you can read me like that." My eyes searched her eyes, those dark blue pools that held me captive with their depth of feeling. I felt my shoulders relax, and sag. "I think I know why you did it... and you did it on purpose."

She arched an eyebrow in question.

"You wanted me to know that you can read me, and that I should get used to it," I offered.

"Not always... but sometimes it's easy to read you," she corrected me, giving a small smile. "It's part of communicating, getting to know one another. You're quite intuitive as well."

I smiled at her reply. "So... what am I thinking now?" I asked pointedly.

"You want me to take my seat before you serve me tea," she replied, her eyes laughing at me, not mocking me, but challenging me to contradict her. When I didn't respond, she asked, "Am I right?"

She wasn't right, but she wasn't far off the mark as well. "I think that was a demonstration of your power of suggestion."

That garnered me a tinkling laugh, and a sensuous kiss. She released me, and turned to take her seat at the breakfast nook. I doctored my tea with a bit of sugar, then brought the cups to the table, and took a seat across from her. My mind was still busy with what Kathy did, and now that a little bit of time had passed since I had made a spectacle of myself, I felt like I could ask the question that kept bothering me. While we sipped our tea, I asked Dana if Kathy tried to probe her.

"No, she didn't," she answered. She played with her cup as if she was mulling something in her mind. As if she had come to a decision, she put her cup down, and reached to take a hold of my hand. "I think she wanted to ask if there was something bothering you," she said.

"What made you think she wanted to ask that?"

"I'm not sure. I think she felt uncomfortable with what she did, causing that little argument. Let's face it, she must have realized that asking me something like that would put me in a rather awkward position, and Kathy isn't about to do something like that. She was feeling uncomfortable about what had already happened. Maybe if we had known each other a bit longer, she might have come out and asked," she replied.

"Do you think she'll probe Sarah?"

"Maybe... I'm not sure. It all depends on what she hears from Sarah. Kathy knows our situation is rather unusual, so she'll probably wait and hear what Sarah has to say, before she tries to probe her. And in this instance, I think that Sarah will be able to divert Kathy's attention away from what happened. I don't think she'll let Kathy in on anything serious," she replied slowly, lost in thought.

"But they are best friends," I countered.

"Honey, you asked Sarah to keep the incident to herself, and I believe she'll do just that. This is between the three of us, and she knows it. She doesn't strike me the kind that would blabber things, especially knowing what you and Kathy are like. Do you think she'll spill the beans?"

"No. No, I don't think she will." I sighed tiredly. "I just over-reacted! If I hadn't Kathy wouldn't have any reason to suspect anything..." I mumbled.

"Kathy might suspect that things might be a bit awkward between us; after all we have a rather unusual arrangement. There's no reason for her to suspect anything other than some issues in regards to our triangle."

I considered what she said, and it seemed very plausible that Kathy might think I was hiding something like that, if I were hiding anything. "Yeah. I think that's the most plausible thing," I agreed. I also remembered I mentioned changes were happening in my life, and I knew Kathy got what I meant by that. Perhaps, she would think I was having some difficulty in trying to adapt to those changes. That thought eased my worries considerably. "Yeah, I think she'll probably think that we are all trying to find our way in this triangle, or that I may be having some personal issues in regards to changes in my life. She knows I haven't been in a relationship for several years..."

"That's what I think, too," she said, and patted my hand. "So, what are we having for dinner?" she asked, changing the subject to something neutral.

I told her the menu: shrimp for starters, steak and rice with stir-fry vegetables.

Finishing my cup, I started on dinner preparations, a mild marinade for the meat with pressed garlic, soy sauce and some herbs. She watched while I worked. I offered her a little bit, and after tasting it, she nodded that I could marinade her steak. I brushed both sides of her steak with the marinade. Then, I added a bit of wasabe powder to the remaining marinade to make it a bit spicy, and applied it to my steak. I prepared two other sauces (dip sauce), one for the steak and the vegetables, and the other for the shrimp. The first dip sauce was a mixture of sesame seeds, sesame oil (paste), soy sauce, and some herbs, with a creamy, light brown color, and the other one was mostly a mixture of soy sauce, sake and other herbs. They were not exactly according to the Japanese recipes, but doctored for my own palate and what I hoped would be for hers. While she cut and diced the various vegetables for the stir-fry, I started on cleaning the shrimp. In half an hour, everything was more or less ready for cooking. The first thing I did was to cook the rice; after I boiled some water in a deep pan, I added a bit of sake, chives, and a pinch of wasabe powder. Using a strainer, I rinsed the rice—my favorite, Basmati rice—to get rid off excessive starch, before I added it into the pan, and turned down the flame to cook it slowly which would allow the grains to swell and make the rice a bit sticky.

I helped her set up the dinner table, and opened a bottle of red wine for her. I decided to drink sake. Although we lacked the proper utensils for the sake, I improvised. She had a wide, deep pan in which I could place a small porcelain kettle. I filled the kettle with sake until it was half-full. Then I filled the pan with water and set it to boil. When the water was hot, I moved the pan onto the electric plate to keep it hot, and placed the porcelain kettle inside th pan. I also placed a porcelain espresso cup next to the kettle; the latter, I would have to make do with to drink the sake! I knew the sake would get warm pretty quickly, and stay warm for a while.

All through this activity, I was aware of Dana watching me from her seat at the breakfast nook. When I finished my preparation and took a short breather, I found her shaking her head with laughter in her eyes, clearly amused with my innovative manner of warming up the sake! I returned a wry grin trying to hide how self-conscious I felt under her scrutiny, which earned me a full-throated laugh.

"Creative," she commented still chuckling.

I shrugged, and retorted, "Well, you know what they say: 'necessity is the mother of all inventions!'" which resulted in another round of laughter and chuckles from her.

When the sake was warm, I filled up my cup and joined her in the breakfast nook. I took a sip and closed my eyes in bliss, resorting to a bit of theatrics to demonstrate my pleasure. When I opened my eyes, I found her grinning at me, and shaking her head at my antics.

"How come you like Japanese food?" she asked when she recollected herself.

"It's a long story... I had tasted some things when I was visiting Mr. Nibori, Hachiro Nibori, my sensei. After our practice, he would prepare tea, and if it were late, he would prepare a light snack. So I got an early introduction to some of the Japanese food. I especially liked the little rice cakes, and some of the sweets he made. I also tasted some of the simple vegetable and meat dishes, but the exotic stuff such as sushi... ugghh! Anyway, I did try, but didn't really develop a liking for them at the time. It was a couple of years ago, during my trips abroad, that I really came to appreciate Japanese food. In fact, I had my best experience with various Asian dishes in the Netherlands. Tried Chinese food in The Hague, and then started experimenting with others like Indonesian, Thai, Vietnamese, and finally went back to Japanese to try the stuff I tried to avoid in the past."

"Really? I'm surprised."

"About what?"

"What you said about Chinese. I would have thought you'd learn about it earlier on. There are quite a few Chinese restaurants, although not any Vietnamese, Thai, or Indonesian."

"Oh! Well, some things conspired against it," I replied cryptically.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't know this, but I was a picky eater when I was young. Even though Mother is a good cook with extensive repertoire, she's had some trouble with me."

"Really? But you seem to enjoy food a lot, even enjoy cooking," she countered.

"I do, but it's a later development. You have to understand something. At home, mother cooked all kinds of food. Besides the usual fare, we also had Russian, Greek, Italian, and French dishes. And except for what I had with my sensei, I had no real idea about Asian food. As I said, I found it very different. And here's something else to think about. There are three major cuisines in the world; Chinese and French are two. The third one is ours, and comparatively, it's much richer and varied than the others, because it ranges wide, from parts of Asia to Middle East to Europe. When you have such a wide range and variety, why would you go looking for something else, especially when you were young, and a picky eater to boot?"

"Yes, indeed, why would you?" she replied with a small smile. "So what changed?"

"I grew out of that phase for one thing, and I also learned to cook. I had a better appreciation of the effort that went into preparing food." I grinned at her and added, "But Mother played another very important role along the way. She was very adamant that both Kathy and I had to finish what was on our plates since we were little kids. So, I practiced a lot at home, and that helped me when I had to eat with my sensei... well, most of the time! I was, after all, trying to be polite."

She laughed. "Oh, you poor baby!"

"Who's the pot, who's the kettle, my love?" I retorted.

She tried to shrug it off, but then smiled and said, "I admit, I'm not too keen on Japanese."

"You've been to Japan before. What did you eat during your travels?"

"Mostly the European fare, and sometimes the simple things like vegetable dishes or noodles. Meat is very expensive there. Grilled fish is good, as long as I know what kind of fish it is. I've heard of some of the things they eat; things that could poison or kill you."

I knew the fish dish she was referring to. "Yeah. It's a very exotic specialty. Personally, I haven't tried it, and I doubt I'll try it. My ideas of experimenting or enjoying different foods don't extend to playing Russian Roulette with them."

She chuckled at my quip. "So, how do you like the other Asian foods?"

"I enjoy Chinese very much. When I tried it the first time, it hadn't been a far stretch for my palate to make the leap from some of our dishes to Chinese. Except for the differences in some of the ingredients and cooking style, there are some similarities. Indonesian food was a bit of a challenge. I don't think I'll ever get used to cooked fruits, or fruits being mixed into the main dishes, but I know I can eat it. Thai is great, because I love spicy food. However, it does require some getting used to; some of their dishes are just too damn spicy!" I mimicked wiping my forehead with the back of my hand in an 'it's damn hot, and makes you sweat' gesture.

"Oh, yes! It's very spicy, but tastes great," she responded. "Which do you prefer?"

"Well... I've learned to enjoy most of the Asian cooking. I think if I express a slight preference for Japanese, it's because I got acquainted with it when I was young, and later I developed an appreciation for what it all entails. It's very refined, and like all other things Japanese, there's a painstaking amount of attention to detail, in both preparation and presentation. First, it's a feast for the eyes, and then, a feast for the palate. And those chefs... they do put on a mean show when they are preparing the food in front of you."

As I intended my last remark elicited a series of chuckles. "I know what you mean," she said. "Did you learn anything from your sensei, about how to prepare the food?" she asked with an expectant tone.

I didn't think she was serious about expecting me to perform like those chefs, not with that glint in her eyes. "You're wicked!" I retorted. "If I try something like that, I'll probably end up cutting myself into pieces. Besides, what we're going to have isn't really Japanese, but sort of an adaptation. I never studied the proper cooking style, and I hardly use all the correct ingredients. Over the years I managed to pick up some things from my sensei and also by watching the chefs in the restaurants, and then adapted them to my palate." I decided to tease her back. "But I know how to prepare Sushi! It's very easy."

"Oh, no! Not raw fish!" she exclaimed.

I laughed. "You know, I'm going to regret telling you this, but... did you know that I learned to enjoy Sushi, because a Dutch colleague of mine had insisted that I try raw herring?"

"Really?"

"Yep. Most of the Dutch are nuts about raw herring. It was the first time I tried raw fish of any sort. It wasn't anything like I thought it would be. Food is a rather cultural experience, dictated by what your taste buds are used to. You can learn to enjoy some things, once your palate is trained, but you have to be willing to experiment. I'm willing, but I have my limits. I haven't tried snails for example. I don't know if I'll ever try it. Oh, I know it's just a gut reaction, and it's possible I will like it if I try it, but... I think it's a question of how open you are to new experiences."

"It is," Dana agreed. "And when you travel extensively, it widens your horizons."

"Oh, it does. I know I benefited from the few trips abroad. It's exhilarating to get to see different cultures, and customs. I'm glad that I had the opportunities I've had. I hope that I've learned something from them."

"Why do you say that?" She asked.

"What?" I didn't get her meaning.

"Do you have any doubts that you didn't learn something? Based on what I've come to know of you, of your family, and our talks on various subjects, you and your sister are very cosmopolitan and sophisticated. It—"

"Sophisticated? Me?" I blurted, laughing at her words.

"Yes, you are."

"My tastes and likes run to simple things, Dana. I'm not—"

"That may be so, but you're not ignorant or closed minded about things. Kathy and Sarah are the same from what little I gathered about them," she countered.

"Perhaps," I said with a shrug.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she came back.

At the back of mind was the uncomfortable reminder of what took place on the phone with Kathy, a little while ago. "Nothing," I said, because I didn't want to get into it again.

"It's not 'nothing, '" she countered.

"I... I have some rough edges," I replied.

"Rough edges? Everybody has rough edges. That doesn—" She stopped suddenly as if something else had occurred to her. "Is this about the argument you had with Kathy? Are you still bothered by that?" she asked pointedly.

Damn it! Am I so easy to read?

"Well... I guess it is..."

She shook her head, and said, "Come on, Mitch. We talked about it already. It does happen. Among family, between best friends..."

"I know. But it wasn't a very good example of my best-sophisticated-self," I retorted trying to make a joke of it.

She shook her head with a reproving look, but decided to let it go.

I took a last sip from my almost empty cup, and decided to move on. "I think the dinner is almost ready. Let me check the rice."

We both stood up and moved to the stove. She took out a wide non-stick frying pan and put it on the stove for me to cook the shrimp and the steaks, and another to stir-fry the vegetables. I checked the rice, which was ready. I removed the pan with the porcelain kettle of sake from the stove, and set the electric plate to its lowest setting. After I stirred the rice, I placed a double sheet of paper towel over the pan and closed its cover, then moved the rice pan on to the electric plate to keep it warm and allow the paper towel to absorb most of the excess steam. Hearing a chuckle, I looked over my shoulder, and saw her shook her head in wonder and grin.

"You really know how to cook, don't you?" she said in answer to my unspoken question.

"I tend to think I'm fairly competent."

"And modest as well," she retorted.

I asked for a cover for the large frying pan, which she took out from a cupboard beneath the counter. I waited for the large pan to get hot, while keeping the flame low for the small pan, knowing I would need it hot in a short while for the vegetables.

After a few minutes, she asked, "You're not going to burn my pans, are you?" with a slightly worried tone.

"Trust me. Your pans will be safe. Just watch."

I was glad that she had a combi-stove with one electric plate and three gas rings plus a gas oven. I was more used to cooking on gas and I usually used the electric plate to keep things warm.

When the large pan was really hot, I dumped the shrimp into it. In a few seconds, they let out a cloud of steam, and started to sizzle without any oil or butter. I turned down the flame a bit, and stirred the shrimp for half a minute until the steam went away. Then, I added a bit of butter and garlic, and some seasoning, and continued to stir them. I gave it another minute and sprinkled some sake over them, which produced some steam. I covered the pan with a large lid, and turned down the flame a bit more, to let it simmer. Next, I dumped a portion of the vegetables into the small pan, and stirred them, adding a bit of seasoning, and some butter and garlic. After two more minutes of stirring, I turned off the stove, and distributed the shrimp and vegetables onto two serving plates.

"Starters ready. Shall we?"

She nodded and took the plates from me, and I took the condiments and the cups with the dip sauces. After seating her, I ran back to the kitchen to get the kettle with the warm sake, turned off the electric plate, and returned to the table. I filled her wine glass, and my cup, and offered a toast. "To us."

After we took a sip from our drinks, I waited for her to taste her food, wondering how she would like it. She cut a small piece of her shrimp and tasted it, and followed it with some vegetables. "Mmmm... It's really great."

I dug in as well. It was up to my usual standard, but the vegetables were a bit saltier than I expected. I made a mental note to go easy on the seasoning. The shrimp had a slight flavor of the sake, and I was happy that I had managed to keep them from turning into India rubber. She also tried the dip sauce for the vegetables and the shrimp, but wasn't keen on them, preferring the shrimp as they were. When we were almost finished, I asked how she wanted her steak.

"Rare to medium rare."

"OK! If you give me ten minutes, I'll have your steak ready," I replied, while finishing the last of my plate.

I stood up, and picked up my plate. I was surprised to see her pick up her plate and glass of wine as well, even though she wasn't finished.

"I'll accompany you and finish it in the kitchen. I want to see how you cook," she said.

"Oh! You want to steal my secrets?" I teased her.

"I liked what you did and I'm curious," she replied.

Back in the kitchen, I ran the hot water at the sink, and picked up the large pan. When the water was hot, I washed the inside of it with only hot water, and closed the tap, then wiped the pan dry with a paper towel. "I just wanted to get rid of the melted butter and any remaining juice from the shrimp," I explained.

I waited until the big pan was hot, while warming up the small pan. I put the steaks in the pan, and after half a minute, I turned them over, sizzling both sides, before adding a little bit of butter, and letting it melt on the side. I put the flame higher for the small pan. Then I moved the steaks around to distribute the melted butter, and turned the steaks over again. While the steaks were cooking, I dumped the remaining vegetables, and a bit of butter and garlic, and some sake and a pinch of seasoning into the small pan. I turned the steaks again, and put the lid on the large pan. I kept stirring the vegetables. A minute later, I turned off the stove. I served the steaks, vegetables, and added two large spoonfuls of rice to the side on clean set of plates, before we took them to the dining room.

Like the first round, I waited until she cut and took a bite of her meat. Her face lit up, and she said, "This is really good."

I sampled my steak, and was happy with the result, especially with the slight bite of wasabe enhancing the flavor. I cut a small piece, dipped it into the sesame dip sauce, and offered her a taste, warning her that the meat was a bit spicy.

"It's really different, but I think I can get used to the taste," she said. She must have liked the mixture, since she began to use the sesame sauce every now and then with her steak, and more frequently with the vegetables.

This time everything was perfect, even the rice, although she thought it was a bit sticky.

"Sorry. The rice is starchy, and I cooked it so that it will be a bit sticky. That's the reason why I bought that particular type of rice, instead of others, such as 'instant-cook' or 'easy-cook.' They don't have much starch. Before cooking it, you need to wash this particular type of rice longer than I did; that should get rid of most of the starch. Then, use a little bit less water while cooking it. I kinda like sticky rice, and one of my favorite desserts is rice pudding. So, no surprises there. Mom, on the other hand, always manages to cook any kind of rice without getting it sticky. Since I developed a liking for Asian style rice, I prefer to cook it like that," I explained.

"And your mom is surprised with you?" she asked, making me wonder again about her perception, because I didn't think I said anything to imply any surprise from my mom.

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Was easy. I think she knows, or has seen you cook anything as she does. Kathy told me about your kitchen adventures with your mom. So, knowing that, if you changed the way you cook rice, she must have asked about it, especially because you weren't messing up the cooking, but cooking it that way on purpose."

I couldn't help but laugh. She was right about the whole thing.

"OK! Next time, I cook it like she does. I might even treat you to her saffron rice recipe."

"I didn't mean it like that. The rice is quite all right. It's not a big, sticky chunk of gunk. Most people turn it into that," she replied. "And yes, I would love to taste that. It must be something."

Shortly at a loss for words, I nodded, and then I managed to say, "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, honey, but I thank you. The dinner is simply, delicious," she returned.

After finishing the food we continued to chat; she sipped her wine, and I sipped my sake. I had a nice buzz from the drink, and she was aware of it.