Chapter 45

The next day we were talking about how to tell his parents, when I found myself confused over a small, yet important detail.

"Jeff, did one of us propose?"

He thought about it. He started shaking his head slowly. His shoulders came up in an unhurried shrug.

Finally, he answered. "I don't think so."

"Hmmm," I hummed.

"Ashley, will you marry me?"

I smiled. "Jeff, will you marry me?"

We both laughed and I buried my head in his chest.

"So, how do we do this?" I asked.

"Dinner at my house. What's your poison?"

"Ohhh, I loved Sam's chili. Can you make that?"

He smiled. "We can make that. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

"No, but what's wrong with tonight? I can't wait. The anticipation is making my nerves raw."

I realized I was bouncing.

"The beans have to soak a long time."

"What about canned beans? Let's go to the ACME."

"Too much sodium," he said.

I was bouncing even more determinedly.

"Enjoy the anticipation. Tonight, we'll get together and have a nice leisurely -"

"Dinner," I said.

"That, too."

"Oh, boy."

"Looking forward to it?"

"Am I ever."

"Let's just do it now and get it over with," he said.

I stopped bouncing. He'd never said it quite like that. I was disappointed.

"You'd rather wait?" he asked in a seductive voice. "You have the enjoyment of anticipating it and then the enjoyment of enjoying it?"

I gave him a frown.

"Can't you ever just tell me something, instead of making me answer it myself?"

"It's not as memorable, nor as much fun. Let's take a ride."

"To?"

"Shopping."

At Produce Junction we bought red peppers, large onions and a lot of garlic. At ACME we bought six pounds of crushed tomatoes, three pounds of tomato sauce, three pounds of dried kidney beans, three pounds of ground beef and three pounds of ground turkey.

I kept looking at Jeff in a funny way. Finally, he was unable to take it.

"What?" he said.

"Are we feeding the homeless? All the homeless?"

He laughed.

"Sam worked out this recipe while he was on the commune. His recipe is for twenty four without the meat. There were more people than that to feed, but that was the size of the pot.

"Nobody's ever tried to convert it to an actual family. We make it and freeze whatever's left."

"That's good, because I'm not that hungry."

"If you ever get that hungry we'll be coming up with names for quintuplets."

Back at Jeff's house, he took out a large pot and covered the beans with water almost to the top. He said you needed around three inches over the beans or they'll be poking out when they've absorbed all the water they can.

"That's it for today," said Jeff. "Now it's time to go have dinner and then consummate the engagement."

"I've never heard of consummating the engagement."

"It's a very old tradition."

"How old?" I asked.

He looked at his watch. "I'd say it started in about three hours."

He estimated it correctly.

We were trying not to be too obvious, so we each slept at home.

Sandy let me in around ten, as always with the big hug.

"Jeff's in the kitchen." She sang it.

The beans were boiling and he was skimming off some foamy white stuff with a big spoon.

"What is that?" I asked.

"The farts."

"Jeff! That's not you. Where did that come from?"

"That's what Sam calls it. It's actually the oligosaccharides, which are -"

"Okay, it's the farts."

Does the rest of his family find these long explanations interesting and endearing? Or do they sometimes want to scream, like I do?

After two or three minutes there were no more farts collecting at the top.

Jeff laid out the plan for cutting up the peppers and onions and sautéing them. He had his own version of The Joy of Cooking, which he demonstrated.

I started to cut a pepper and Jeff proceeded to show me the proper method. He moved behind me. More accurately, he pressed himself into me. He slid his hands down my arms to my hands. He kissed my neck.

I'm sure that's an important part of the technique, I just can't explain why.

He held my left hand on a halved pepper, and moved my right hand, the one holding the large vegetable knife, to cut it into strips. He had my left hand turn the strips ninety degrees. Then, he nibbled my ear.

"Never try to cut anything while you're doing this," he said.

He gave me a moment to recover and then placed the tip of the knife on the cutting board.

We slashed the blade down without moving the tip. He advanced my left hand to move the strips under the knife and slashed down again. Suddenly, we were done.

"That took like two seconds," I said.

"How long is it supposed to take?"

"Longer."

Jeff released my hands and put his hands on my hips. He pulled me tight against him. Then he put his arms around my waist and squeezed.

"What are you trying to do" I asked.

"Hold you closer."

Was he setting this up on purpose?

"If you hold me any closer, I'll be in back of you," I said, without the cigar and the impression.

"Groucho. A Day at the Races," he said without hesitation.

He playfully nibbled my neck. He moved his arms up, around my shoulders and rocked.

"You are an exquisite human being."

He buried his nose behind my ear and nuzzled my hair.

"And that is how we work in the kitchen. If you're a good girl, later I'll show you how to cut onions."

Between us we made quick work of the peppers.

I squeezed by him, placing my hands on his shoulders and dragged my breasts across his back as I slowly moved toward the refrigerator.

"I'm going to get something to drink," I explained.

"Yeah, it can be pretty hard to squeeze by here with only twenty feet between your back and the wall. Not that I'm complaining."