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I release the sheets, turning around to face him once I’m on my feet, and find him looking down at where the sheets are wrinkled.
“Have a shower and then meet me in the kitchen. Follow the smell,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll leave something for you to wear on the bed.”
Then I walk out of the room, listening to the sounds Gael makes to make sure he doesn’t need help. I pause outside the door, where he can’t see me, and stay there until I hear the sound of the bathroom door closing. Only then do I walk back in and place some sweats, a hoodie, and a pair of socks on top of the sheets. When I’m sure he has everything he needs, I walk away.
Once in the kitchen, I busy myself with pulling out the ingredients to make a light breakfast. Bagels, soft cheese, eggs, and butter. I pull out a pan and then let the joy of cooking take over. I hum, happy to do something I love, and let everything I felt in the bedroom leave my body so I can get my balance back.
When I hear Gael’s steps coming, I’m just placing the plates of toasted bagels, topped with soft cheese and with fluffy scrambled eggs on the side, onto the table.
I watch him inhale the smells filling the kitchen, and laugh when his stomach emits a bear growl.
“Take a seat and enjoy.” I invite him in, before taking my place in front of the other plate.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him take slow steps toward the table. He reminds me of a squirrel, always attentive of his surroundings and fearing whoever gets close.
I pretend to keep my attention on my plate, but I don’t relax until he’s seated in front of me. When he picks up his fork and begins eating, I do the same.
I’m content when a companionable silence fills the room, interrupted only by the sound of the forks hitting the plates.
I leave the table to grab something to drink, and when I get to the fridge, I ask him what he prefers.
“Gael? What would you like to drink?”
When silence is the only answer I receive, I turn around to find Gael looking at me as if not knowing what to say.
“I have milk, orange juice, cranberry juice, and water.”
“Cranberry juice, thank you.” When he licks his lips, I turn around before he notices my eyes filling with lust. I don’t want him to fear me.
I return my attention to the fridge. I should have known, as it was always his favourite drink. But how could I have been sure after all these years? The thought has the wheels inside my head turning, and a sense of frustration builds inside me.
I put a full glass of cranberry juice in front of him, and I’m ready to say “here you go,” but my mouth has a mind of its own. The words I didn’t want to say, or say so soon, are out in the open. And I need to know the answer. Like, right now.
“Why did you leave?”
Another kind of silence fills the room. The kind of silence people want to run away from, and I expect Gael to do just that. Instead, he places his fork down, picks up the napkin, cleans his mouth, and then looks me straight in the eyes.
“I had to.”
What?
What kind of answer is that? Is he trying to string me along until he’s well enough to run away and leave me with even more questions?
Then the silence is back, and my frustration is up.
Okay. Let’s start from today, or this week, or whatever period of time has passed since I found him.
“Why are you back?”
“I couldn’t stay away.”
Come on! Give me something! Anything that will make the ten years I’ve waited for him worth it.
The words are loud in my mind, but the silence is heavy in the room.
“You need to give me something.”
“I can give you the truth.”
