Finally, a semi-response. He picked up the deer, opened the backdoor and flung it on the back porch where it landed with a sickening thud.
I winced.
Eek!
He closed the door.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
He walked toward me, I braced then he walked by me, grabbed the handle of the kettle then prowled out of the room.
I relaxed.
Then I set about wiping down the table (doing this mostly with my eyes closed then, still with my eyes closed and finding it with arms in front of me walking like a mummy, I threw the cloth out the backdoor) after which I put the slices of bacon I’d already cut into the warming skillet.
He came back while I was fiddling with the pancakes in one skillet and moving the bacon around in another one. He stalked right up to me, slammed the kettle down on the stove, grabbed the percolator, poured himself a hot mug o’ joe and then stalked to the table where he sat down, one knee bent, one leg sprawled, king of his rustic-chic cabin, eyes on me.
Dear Lord.
In silence and with a one man audience, I finished the food, served it up, slapped slabs of butter on the warm pancakes and it started melting. Then I turned toward the table. I put a plate in front of him, one in front of my seat then I went to the cupboards to get honey and silverware. I gave him his, set mine at my place and put the honey on the table. Then I moved across the kitchen to warm up my coffee and I sat down, poured honey all over my pancakes, put it on the table and pushed it in his direction.
Then I tucked in.
I saw him reach for the honey then I heard the jug hit the table then I heard him start to eat.
I looked at him. Then I tried again.
“Frey, I think we need to talk.”
His brown-green eyes came to me. Then his eyebrows rose. Then he shoved a gigantic bite of pancake in his mouth.
I took the eyebrow raise as a, “Yes, Seoafin? What would you like to discuss?”
“I’m not a lesbian,” I blurted for some completely unhinged reason and those raised brows shot together in a scary way.
He chewed, swallowed and growled his first word to me of the day, “What?”
“I’m not a lesbian.”
Words two and three came in quick succession. “A what?”
Oh. Maybe they didn’t have the term lesbian here.
“I… uh,” Damn you, Sjofn! “I don’t prefer um… my own sex.”
He froze. Completely. His face. His body. His hand with pancake on fork suspended in mid-air. All of him. Frozen. Even the air around him seemed to glitter with frost.
Okay, maybe I should have left that for later, say, after I learned his birth date, favorite color and preferred way to down a deer.
I hurried on. “See, I was, well, I don’t remember it actually and when you told me about it the other… well… after we got married, I was surprised. I mean, I didn’t even remember I said that to you. That’s kind of uh… a crazy thing to say and a crazier thing to, um… share. I’ve tried to figure out why on earth I would say something like that and I think maybe I was drunk and nervous. I mean, uh…” I faltered. Shit. Think Finnie! “You’re a big guy and all and I’m… well, I’m not that big and you kind of, um, flip me out…” His eyes narrowed at a term he clearly didn’t understand. “I mean, scare me a bit. Actually, uh… you’re doing it, well… right now.”
He dropped his fork on his plate, sat back, crossed his arms on his chest and scowled at me in that way it made me think he wanted to break me in two.
I kept blathering. “And… well, now. Actually more now. The scaring me part. Since I’m, you know, sharing.”
He didn’t speak.
Shit! I wished he would talk and not when he said stuff that freaked me out or pissed me off but when I wanted him to.