Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,17
it last night.”
I closed the dishwasher and turned around.
“I still can’t believe it.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Landon wrapped his hands around my neck. “You’ll be awesome.”
“Thank you.”
He kissed me, and I kissed him. He giggled when I nuzzled into his neck, and sighed when I stroked under his chin with the back of my hand.
“My boyfriend,” he whispered, and I smiled against his mouth.
Landon stepped toward me, which pushed me up against the dishwasher. It beeped shut, but we ignored it and kept kissing. I angled my hips so I wasn’t pressing against Landon, because I didn’t want him to feel how excited I was. Not after I just told him I wanted us to take things slowly.
The lights in the store turned off, and Mr. Edwards hollered at us that it was time to go.
I kissed Landon one more time, and he gave my butt a quick squeeze before we straightened out our clothes and followed Mr. Edwards out the back door.
* * *
It was an uncomfortable ride home, with my messenger bag slung in front of my lap as I rode the bus.
Dad had some dinner heated up for me, and the tea ready to go. We had a two-parter to watch—“Improbable Cause” and “The Die is Cast”—and it was already late.
But I couldn’t sit still. I kept replaying the night in my head.
“Darius?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you mad at me about something?”
“What? No. Why?”
“You’re so quiet. And your leg is jiggling.”
I stilled my knee and paused the episode. “Sorry. Just, a lot happened at work. Mr. Edwards kind of offered me a job.”
“That’s terrific!” Dad pulled me in to kiss my forehead. “I’m so proud of you. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I don’t know. It still feels weird. And, well. This other thing happened too.”
“What’s that?”
I almost jiggled my leg again, but stopped myself. “Landon and I are officially boyfriends now.”
Dad leaned back to look me in the eyes.
“How does that make you feel?”
“Happy,” I said. “Really happy.”
“That’s wonderful. You deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I hit play, and we finished the episodes, and I kept my hands folded across my lap, because I kept thinking about Landon.
I really needed to go number three.
I usually did it before bed, and sometimes in the mornings, too, after my run. Well, most mornings, if I’m being honest.
Ever since Dr. Howell had changed my prescription, it was like my sex drive had gone from impulse to warp.
I wondered if other guys felt this way.
I wondered if Landon did.
I wondered what it was that made me imagine Landon touching me when I masturbated, but cringe when he reached below my waist in real life.
That’s normal.
Right?
THE TAXONOMY OF BREAKFAST FOODS
Saturday morning, instead of sleeping in, I woke up to the smell of something amazing: cinnamon rolls.
In the taxonomy of breakfast foods, cinnamon rolls are the only food more exalted than bacon.
I grabbed my hoodie off the floor, pulled on yesterday’s joggers, and followed my watering mouth to the kitchen. Cinnamon rolls could only mean one thing: Grandma and Oma were here.
Sure enough, Oma was at the sink, scrubbing out a pan Dad had left soaking overnight, and Grandma was filling the kettle.
I cleared my throat. “Morning.”
Grandma turned around. “Morning, Darius.” Melanie Kellner was tall—nearly six feet—with gray hair cut in a pixie style and sky-blue eyes. She had a pair of clear-framed glasses pushed up onto her forehead, and she pulled them down to study me. “You’ve gotten taller.”
“Maybe.”
Oma peered over her shoulder at me. “And you finally got a haircut.”
I rubbed at the back of my head. “Yeah.”
She turned back to the dishes while I gave her a kiss on the cheek. Oma was taller than Grandma, but only just. She had longer hair, down to her shoulders, and it was a sort of light brown, though there were streaks of gray in it. She had blue eyes too, but they were darker, more like Dad’s. And she had Dad’s Teutonic jaw too.
I kissed Grandma hello and gave her one of those awkward side hugs.
My grandmothers only ever did side hugs.
“You’ve got quite a collection,” Grandma said, inventorying my tea cabinet. It was crammed full of tins and pouches and mason jars. Not to mention the jar of Persian tea we kept on the counter because it was too big to fit in the cabinet.
“What’s new?”
“Here.” I pulled down a mason jar filled with a single-estate Assam. “This is nice and brisk.”
She unscrewed the lid and sniffed. “Mmm. The cinnamon rolls are almost done.”