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Part of my love of this food is that I was so restricted with what I was allowed to eat for all those years growing up. Everything was chosen for me, portioned out, every calorie counted including whatever might be in the whitening toothpaste I was forced to use three times a day.
Where I developed the taste and tolerance for wildly hot spices I don’t know, but nevertheless it’s an oddity that brings me pleasure. Stas says it is one of the parts of me he loves. The part that enjoys the pain and somehow twists that pain until it becomes pleasure. Who knows? What I do know is these chicken strips are bringing me more pleasure than is probably legal in many states.
George adds as he pulls the door closed behind him, “Alright. Enjoy yourself. Don’t burn your tongue off. I happen to think Stas would be a little pissed about you losing a valuable body part to some fire breathing chicken strip.”
He starts to tap the keys on the alarm as his phone rings. He glances my way before answering in a hushed tone and rushing out the back door.
These guys and their oh-so-secretive business calls. I shake my head, finish the food and lick each fingertip, listening as the garage door goes up, tires scrape on the gravel, then it clatters back down.
I look over to see the red light on the alarm blinking slowly, which means George must not have hit the right code or the right buttons in the right order when he hurried out the door.
I take a deep breath, telling myself I need to work on my irrational anxiety when I’m here alone. I mean, there’s a gate at the road, hardly anyone drives all the way down to the end of the cul-de-sac where Stas’s home is situated on forty-six acres. It’s not the main drag. Besides, I’d rather face my fear of not having the alarm on than the risk of setting it off again.
And, Daddy says, sometimes I need to pull up my big girl panties. Not just about the alarm but about other things. I decide a nice shower and getting into my jammies is a good next step for the evening.
After working in the garden, playing with the animals and cleaning out their sheds, a shower would do me good and I’m sure George wouldn’t fight me on that as well. I’m sure I smell like donkey poop.
I grab a Post-it off the desk and scribble a note to George so he will know where I am and what I’m doing if he gets back. Don’t need him coming to look for me in the shower. We are friends, but I know that wouldn’t sit well with Stas and would make our future interactions a bit awkward.
A minute later, I’m out of breath from bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. It’s part of my exercise routine. Stas loves me like I am, but I feel uncomfortable still with my too fluffy back side and the way my love handles squish out over the waistband of my clothes.
I shed my outfit from the day and turn on the water in the enormous marble shower. The multiple jets and showerheads make it almost an adventure rather than a routine.
In the steaming hot water, I wash my hair with the lavender shampoo I make myself. That’s something I love to do, and I love knowing that Stas enjoys using my handmade, natural products: shampoos, soaps, even cleaning stuff. It started with my love of plants and trying to treat them with nature instead of chemicals, and just kind of went on from there.
Soon after I’d moved in, I stopped taking on new jobs. Daddy didn’t like me going to strangers’ homes by myself, and truth is, once I thought about it, I didn’t either. Besides, I’ve got enough around here to keep me busy. Taking care of our own gardens, the babies, the donkeys and Daddy.
He said if I ever wanted to go back to school, or work somewhere else, we would come up with a plan, but truth is, I’m just enjoying my life for the first time while I figure out what it is I really do want.
I reach outside the shower where I have set my phone and grab it. Bringing it in the shower to snap a few pictures and send them to Daddy. I don’t expect a reply, because I’m pretty sure he’s flying now, but I know how much he will enjoy seeing them when he lands. When I’m done I open the glass door and set my phone back on the table outside the door.
I’m surprised when a few minutes later my phone rings and it’s him.
I reach out the glass door again and answer, putting him on speaker.
