No, it's not hunger. I'm in love. I think I'm in love. I have no bearing for that but this feels like love.
I wrap my arms around her, nestling my face in the softness of her hair. "I can cook something. What do you have to eat?"
"Mustard."
I laugh when I realize she's not going to say another thing. "You only have mustard?"
"It's the fancy one." She kicks her feet to move the blankets. "You probably eat it by the truckload. You know what I'm talking about."
I pull her closer. "Yellow mustard, Isla?"
"Ha," she says loudly. "You know that's not it. It's the fancy one."
"Grey Poupon?"
"I have that," she says with a horrible English accent. "You're welcome to eat it by the spoon if you like."
I cringe. "You don't eat it by the spoonful, do you?"
"I hate mustard." She rolls over, pulling her hand along her face to move her hair. "It was Cassia's, my roommate's. It's not even mine."
"What would you like to eat? I can order something in."
"Pizza." She taps my chest with both her hands. "Let's have pizza."
***
"Why haven't you told anyone?" She chews the last bite of her slice. "Have you considered talking to your mom about it?"
I've never thought about talking to anyone about it, especially my mother. It's a subject that I've kept hidden inside of me for most of my life. At the very least, since I was a teenager when I sensed what was happening.
"My mother's affairs are her own." I wince at my own choice of words. "I don't know what good would come of it if I confront her."
"You just told me that you know, for a fact, that she cheated on your dad with at least two men."
"I also know, for a fact that my father cheated on my mother with as many, if not more women."
She swipes a paper napkin across her lips. "It's really fucked up. They made vows. They promised one another."
"There was always a lot of discontent in their marriage," I say softly. "They were always arguing. There was so much back and forth that it was actually a relief when they decided to divorce."
She leans back against the headboard of her bed. "Do you ever think they regret it? Do you think they still care about each other at all?"
I love this part of her. It's hopeful and naïve. She may have lived through many difficult things within her own family but she's never been touched by the volatility of a relationship like the one my parents have.
"I think my mother still loves Roman, my father, in a sense," I say coolly. "There's still something there. She was very upset when he got engaged."
"I read that his fiancé called it off." She pushes the pizza box towards me. "You should eat more."
"I'm full." I slam the box shut.
"If I ever get married, I want it to be forever." She looks across the room at the candles which I'd blown out hours ago when she first fell asleep. "I know that's silly to say, but it's my dream. It's one of my dreams."
I lean forward to graze my lips across her bare knee. "It's not silly if that's your dream, Isla."
She pinches the bridge of her nose, her eyes shuttering for a mo
ment. "I wanted the crop to be for just you and me. The collar I was wearing too."