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The thought of having a one night stand has always been a conflicting one for me. It’s not that I have anything against that. It’s all about instant gratification, and if both parties agree to it, then by all means. But, I guess for me, sex has always been something intimate, something I wouldn’t do with strangers. That’s probably why I’ve only slept with one guy, and that was my high school sweetheart, with whom I was in a 5 year relationship. My girlfriends still make fun of me, occasionally nicknaming me the nun, but I know they don’t mean anything bad by it. They understand it’s just how I’m wired, and there’s little I can do about it.
Anderson puts two pancakes on my plate, then tries to give me a third one.
“No, no,” I shake my head. “I can’t eat that much.”
“Don’t tell me you’re on a diet?”
“No, just… three is too much.”
“Since when are three pancakes too much for a grown up person?” He tilts his head a little to the side, to give me a weird, puppy dog eye look.
“It’s not, I guess. I’m just not very hungry.”
That seems to dissuade him, and he puts the third pancake on his own plate.
“Where’s Fynn?” I ask, but not out of any desire to see him. Still, my question surprises Anderson.
“On the porch,” he explains. “Someone always needs to be on the lookout. Especially at night.”
“Is that how it always goes? This safe house deal, I mean.”
“Yeah,” he nods, pouring some maple syrup over his four pancakes. “But, with Sven, I’m surprised our chief didn’t let us take some more guys.”
His comment makes me put down my fork.
“I don’t mean to scare you, but it’s good for you to be aware of the situation,” his voice is grave, but not hopeless.
“That’s fine,” I nod. “I don’t want you to keep me in the dark.”
“We don’t plan on doing any such thing,” he assures me. “Especially not Fynn. Only, he’s doing it in his own, special way.”
Our conversation takes on lighter overtones, and I feel pleasant again, almost completely safe, like my life wasn’t hanging on the line.
“So, isn’t he having any breakfast?” I ask, finally putting that piece hanging from my fork into my mouth.
The moment my tongue feels the sensation of taste, I realize that I’m starving. Maybe I really will have that third pancake, as the adrenaline has finally left my body, and now it is starving for nourishment.
“I told him to come, but I guess he’s not hungry,” Anderson tells me, not looking particularly concerned whether his partner will eat or not.
His face looks jovial, as he keeps stuffing it with maple syrup pancakes, but my mother’s voice arises from somewhere deep inside of me and takes over.
“I can take some to him, outside.”
My statement surprises us both. He starts coughing so hard, that I jump up and slap him on the shoulder, until he finally manages to breathe again.
“You OK?” I ask, my hand still electrified on his shoulder. I quickly pull it away, before he notices.
“Yeah…” he coughs again. “Fine. Thanks.” He pauses, then nods. “Sure, take him some. He might… be hungry.”
For some reason, I wonder if that’s what he wanted to say initially, but I leave it alone. Instead, I put three pancakes on another plate, douse them with some maple syrup and then head outside.
I find Fynn sitting on the porch, in one of the rocking chairs. I feel like I’m seeing him for the first time now, when neither of us is veiled by darkness or fear. We’re just two normal people, put in an abnormal situation.
“Hey,” I tell him.
He just looks up at me. His piercing gaze confuses me. He has the look of a vet who’s seen his fair share of h
uman malice, and he’d rather just be left out of it all. I think he wants his eyes to appear fearsome, to make you think that he could hurt you just like that, so you’d better leave him alone, but in fact, they look sad. Deeply, profoundly sad.
