February 10, 2004
Hopeful
I went to open the door for him, my socked feet padding against the black-checkered tile. He stood outside, hat pulled low to his brow, arms full.
My notebook. A tubberware of his chicken noodle soup. Chocolate milk.
"Sucking up?"
I took his arm, a smile playing on my lips. Part of me wants him to be repentant, though he is not at fault. An anxious thread of thought springs up between us... it's been a long day.
"I have nothing to suck up for." He says, a hint of severity in his tone. Perhaps his hand grips tighter around the bottle of Nestle's Quick.
"Just teasing." I said, pressing closer to him. He smells like his car and his coat, he has a good, singularly Mike smell.
I'm relishing the bounty of his visit this morning. I finished my zoology exam in fifteen minutes, and, if today's fortune is in my favour, I pulled a B after two hours studying last night and a brief review this morning.
The soup is filling.
I'm still thinking about the cold concrete uptown, slick with ice and warmed with memory, the two of us strolling up and down when Starbucks is too crowded to offer us a seat. I'm drinking caramel apple cider, and Mike is lamenting his roommate, who, apparently, has been looking at my ass. Or, at least, has regarded it enough to remark that I don't have one.
I can't tell whether to take that as a compliment or not.
I didn't want him to stay last night. I felt guilty for his having to come up at all, but I could not help but grab a few fleeting moments on the common room couch, my head in his lap, listening to him talk about wireless vs. wired. Was I interested more in the movements of his mouth or the words that came tumbling out? Was I waiting for sentiment, or content with sincerity?
I'm not a silly girl. I know better than to buy my boyfriend chocolate and an ID bracelet for Valentine's Day. I know.
I'm going to paint him a Thundercats mug this afternoon, and fill it, maybe with some tea.
astera at 10:49 a.m.