She played it to the hilt, flipped
pages, flipped pages, flipped pages. Finally she spoke. “Ahem. I quote directly from Ms. Julia Mann in her section on brie baking: ‘The addition of any oil to brie, or any other soft-ripening cheese, prior to baking, is redundant at best, disastrous at worst.’”
Gabriel tried not very hard to conceal a smug grin. Natasha glowered first at Gabriel, then Kate, then for no good reason, me. You could hear a pin drop.
And then a brie. It was wrapped in plastic, so there wasn’t a mess, but the fall to the floor left the cheese looking wounded and misshapen. It was such a pathetic sight that I couldn’t help but giggle, and in one of those magical tension-loosening moments that I believe float aimlessly around the planet, easing awkward situations worldwide, everyone broke out laughing. Gabriel put his arm around Natasha, and Natasha put her arm around Gab- riel, and there we were, all laughing in a circle around a fallen brie, when Adam walked in.
The first thing I saw were his shoes, which were black and thick–the direct opposite of Adam, come to think of it. My eyes just went up his jeans, up the row of buttons on his Oxford, un- even like a lazy fence out in the country somewhere, up his freshly shaven chin to his smile to his bright green eyes, and I felt myself fall right into his pupils.
“The door was open,” he said apologetically, peering over Natasha’s shoulder at the fallen cheese.
“That’s because we wanted you to come in,” Kate said charm- ingly, standing up on tiptoe and kissing him on each cheek. Gabriel snorted and went back to the cutting board.
Natasha picked up the cheese with one hand and extended her other one to Adam. “Hello, Adam,” she said demurely.
Kate returned the cookbook to the cupboard, clearing a path between Adam and Flannery. Their eyes met across the nearly empty room.
“Flannery,” he said, and smiled. “Flannery,” he said, and smiled. “FLANNERY,” HE SAID, AND SMILED. SMILED SMILED SMILED.
Ahem. Not only did he smile at me, he said my name, and there wasn’t a question mark after it, as in “Your name is Flannery, am I right?” nor was it a simple, cold acknowledgment, as in, “I re- cognize you but I’d much rather talk to Natasha, who has cleav- age.” He smiled; I think, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we can surmise he was glad to see me.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me too,” he said. Our eyes met, and locked, and I know it’s corny to say that but what the hell it’s late at night, I’m a little tipsy and besides it’s my own journal so who cares.
Kate coughed slightly and we came to. Adam blushed slightly, even; but his shirt was pure white, so it just made him glow even more. Don’t think I don’t realize the drippiness of this prose.
“Folks,” he said–what a charming thing to say! “Folks!” “I know you asked me to bring wine, but I forgot to ask what we’re having, so I didn’t know whether to bring white or red.”
Natasha looked stricken at the thought of no wine. “So you didn’t bring any?”
Adam walked over and put a mock-comforting hand on her shoulder, then, electrically, on mine. “Don’t worry, my angels,” he said in a Prince Charming Voice, “I have a fake ID. I will run to a nearby liquor store and purchase wine for everyone. Just tell me of the entrée.”
Gabriel turned from a skillet. “Snapper!” he said shortly, and turned back.
“You certainly are,” Natasha said.
Kate stepped forward with a plate of chopped carrots, appeas- ing all with appetizers. “So, Adam, a couple bottles of white?”
“Sounds good. Can I kidnap one of you who knows about wine? If I go alone I’m bound to come back with lighter fluid.”
“Well,” Kate said, extending an arm out. I noticed she had done her nails for tonight. “Natasha needs to bake the brie, and Gabriel needs to cook, and the hostess certainly can’t leave, so would
pages, flipped pages, flipped pages. Finally she spoke. “Ahem. I quote directly from Ms. Julia Mann in her section on brie baking: ‘The addition of any oil to brie, or any other soft-ripening cheese, prior to baking, is redundant at best, disastrous at worst.’”
Gabriel tried not very hard to conceal a smug grin. Natasha glowered first at Gabriel, then Kate, then for no good reason, me. You could hear a pin drop.
And then a brie. It was wrapped in plastic, so there wasn’t a mess, but the fall to the floor left the cheese looking wounded and misshapen. It was such a pathetic sight that I couldn’t help but giggle, and in one of those magical tension-loosening moments that I believe float aimlessly around the planet, easing awkward situations worldwide, everyone broke out laughing. Gabriel put his arm around Natasha, and Natasha put her arm around Gab- riel, and there we were, all laughing in a circle around a fallen brie, when Adam walked in.
The first thing I saw were his shoes, which were black and thick–the direct opposite of Adam, come to think of it. My eyes just went up his jeans, up the row of buttons on his Oxford, un- even like a lazy fence out in the country somewhere, up his freshly shaven chin to his smile to his bright green eyes, and I felt myself fall right into his pupils.
“The door was open,” he said apologetically, peering over Natasha’s shoulder at the fallen cheese.
“That’s because we wanted you to come in,” Kate said charm- ingly, standing up on tiptoe and kissing him on each cheek. Gabriel snorted and went back to the cutting board.
Natasha picked up the cheese with one hand and extended her other one to Adam. “Hello, Adam,” she said demurely.
Kate returned the cookbook to the cupboard, clearing a path between Adam and Flannery. Their eyes met across the nearly empty room.
“Flannery,” he said, and smiled. “Flannery,” he said, and smiled. “FLANNERY,” HE SAID, AND SMILED. SMILED SMILED SMILED.
Ahem. Not only did he smile at me, he said my name, and there wasn’t a question mark after it, as in “Your name is Flannery, am I right?” nor was it a simple, cold acknowledgment, as in, “I re- cognize you but I’d much rather talk to Natasha, who has cleav- age.” He smiled; I think, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we can surmise he was glad to see me.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me too,” he said. Our eyes met, and locked, and I know it’s corny to say that but what the hell it’s late at night, I’m a little tipsy and besides it’s my own journal so who cares.
Kate coughed slightly and we came to. Adam blushed slightly, even; but his shirt was pure white, so it just made him glow even more. Don’t think I don’t realize the drippiness of this prose.
“Folks,” he said–what a charming thing to say! “Folks!” “I know you asked me to bring wine, but I forgot to ask what we’re having, so I didn’t know whether to bring white or red.”
Natasha looked stricken at the thought of no wine. “So you didn’t bring any?”
Adam walked over and put a mock-comforting hand on her shoulder, then, electrically, on mine. “Don’t worry, my angels,” he said in a Prince Charming Voice, “I have a fake ID. I will run to a nearby liquor store and purchase wine for everyone. Just tell me of the entrée.”
Gabriel turned from a skillet. “Snapper!” he said shortly, and turned back.
“You certainly are,” Natasha said.
Kate stepped forward with a plate of chopped carrots, appeas- ing all with appetizers. “So, Adam, a couple bottles of white?”
“Sounds good. Can I kidnap one of you who knows about wine? If I go alone I’m bound to come back with lighter fluid.”
“Well,” Kate said, extending an arm out. I noticed she had done her nails for tonight. “Natasha needs to bake the brie, and Gabriel needs to cook, and the hostess certainly can’t leave, so would
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