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“Guess,” I said sure that she had requested it.
She looked over everything laid out in front of us.
“I’m sure she made you a pan of lasagna or something. Check in the fridge.”
“I did,” I said knowing that the chef would have if Eris had asked.
“Oh well. This is better for you anyway,” she said grabbing a bottle of wine and glasses.
“I’m sure,” I replied knowing I could never take a lifetime of this.
Watching her eat, I tried not to stare. When she was done with the salad, she moved on to the fruit.
“The fruit is really sweet,” she said staring into the bowl. “It’s good. I like it.”
“Me too,” I said eating my portion after her.
With the wine flowing freely, Eris turned to me with a telling look in her eyes.
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
I looked at her. There was no question that she was.
“You’re one of the prettiest women I’ve ever met,” I said honestly.
“Then why don’t you want to have sex with me? Is it because you’re gay?”
“And if I was?” I asked fantasizing about finding a way out.
Eris laughed. “I’ve heard stories. I know you’re not gay. But what is it?” She said feeling the alcohol.
“Maybe I was just waiting for the right time,” I suggested suddenly filling her with hope.
“And what time is that?”
“Maybe it was the night before our engagement party at a beach house we had to ourselves.”
“Oh yeah,” she said excitedly.
“Yeah,” I replied with a smile.
“Would you like to kiss me?” She asked with drunken apprehension.
“Maybe I would,” I said staring at her.
“Then, why don’t you do it?” She asked shyly.
“Then, why don’t you come here.”
Eris got up from her stool across the kitchen’s island and immediately bent forward.
“What’s the matter?” I asked innocently.
“Nothing, it’s just my stomach,” she said before straightening up and trying again. “Oh,” she said pausing. “Excuse me.”
Erythritol is a zero-calorie sugar alcohol put in deserts to lower its calorie count. A few months ago she had tried a new brand of protein bar that didn’t agree with her stomach. The main ingredient? Erythritol, which is also available in granular form in the baking aisle.
“What’s the matter, dear? Not feeling well?” I yelled while cleaning up the dishes.
