chapter 2 --- within a week you had texted me

* * *

Within a week you had texted me. I wasn't sure that night had been real, but I was sitting at home, reading, when I heard the soft chime of my phone. One picture of a row of donuts and below, "favorite?" I always had a weakness for jelly-glazed, and I laughed when you bought one for me--you swore you'd hold it hostage until we met again. You pretended to be insulted, an outrage, that I might let your prisoner grow stale. You invited me to a cafe for the exchange and I had to accept. I spent the rest of the week remembering the way you'd look at me when we were sitting over the city: the appetite that you had barely contained.

* * *

A cafe is neutral ground, I kept reminding myself; either of us could leave whenever we wanted. What if there was a mistake? What works for one drunk night doesn't necessarily last. I was late and nervous--my heart thumped as I scanned the tables. You looked up from the menu, saw me, and gave a cute half-wave. I gulped as I saw the plates already set out for us--they served food here? "I hope I didn't presume," you said, hesitating. "What do you think of breaded mac & cheese?" "I've never met one I couldn't finish," I joked to gloss over the awkward moment. I made a show of wolfing down some of the cheese and noodles and I melted at the beaming smile you gave in response.

We finished our first plates, but the hours flew as we found and filled the gaps every new relationship has. A story here, a bad pun there. I wanted so badly to stay, to keep you there, to keep you looking at me like that, that when you or the waiter made some recommendation for a new course, I found it hard to refuse. I barely noticed then, but somehow you always chose the smallest item on the menu, and I the largest.

By the end of the night, I was woozy from all the drinks and the multi-course meal. As I heaved myself up and out of my chair, you watched me struggle. You took my hand as we took the long zig-zag path back to the subway. On the subway, you pulled a paper bag out of your tote and placed it in my lap. I opened it to see a small stack of jelly donuts, squished and oozing. "You didn't think I'd forget this, did you? I thought you deserved a present for coming out to meet me again." I held the slightly greasy bag in one hand and rested the other on your leg.

Aided by the late night and the alcohol, the savory smell of fried dough was heavenly and you caught me staring at your gift. "Go on, don't be shy. They are for you." I told myself I was averting a hangover, and they didn't last more than a moment. Sometime after the second doughnut and before the fourth, you moved your hand again from my hip to my waist and curled your finger under my waistband. Even as I crammed another jelly donut into my mouth, you started to pull on my waistband, easing the pressure of my dessert feast. When I stopped, winded, you took the opportunity to quickly undo the top button of my pants. I ached as you ran your fingers over my skin. "I'm so glad you liked this. Let's do it again." You quickly squeezed my waist and kissed me, before stepping off at your subway stop. Alone in the empty car, I tried several times to button my clothes again, but for some reason there was now too much of me for them to fit. Eventually I stopped trying and for the rest of that long ride I just laid my hand on my newly stuffed belly, too afraid to look down.