Chapter 2 - What She Really Thinks

Celeste was a ball of contradictions, at least in the eyes of most people.

A successful lawyer with a "promising" career, yet she wants to put it aside for "a man." A deep love of cooking, yet an avid health enthusiast and meticulous weight tracker. And a "10/10 body," yet married to an unconventionally attractive man. But ultimately, Celeste didn't care what other people thought about her life. That's really how she'd gotten so far in life--just not giving a shit whether people said she could or couldn't. How she pressed through law school, passed the bar exam, earned a position at Crawford and Dooley, even met Isaac.

Oh, Isaac. Did he know how much she loved him? Her choice to support his career as a writer and become a stay-at-home wife had never been something Isaac asked her for, Celeste just wanted to give this to him. People asked her how she could put her life on hold for aspirations that may never amount to much, and she always had the same response:

"So being with my husband isn't a part of my life?" Now THAT shut people up good.

So going into Isaac's first day as a novelist, Celeste was determined to keep him fueled and happy. She had already made a good start with breakfast--omelets, toast and croissants--and was now considering what lunch might look like for Isaac. Leading up to Isaac's official retirement from TalkFloor Celeste had acquired a number of exciting new cookbooks that she'd put on her wish list a long time ago. She had been combing them for inspiration because she wanted to start this new phase of their life off on the right foot, and make today's meals demonstrate some of her hidden culinary prowess.

This started almost as soon as Isaac laid down for his nap. Celeste began to marinate several chicken breasts in preparation for dinner later, then began chopping up vegetables for a decadent roasted red pepper and garlic pasta alfredo for lunch. Of course, she had to make sure she put the rolls in at the right time for maximum warmth and freshness when paired with the pasta, so Celeste prepared the baking sheet with little homemade dough globs. Oh, and dessert! Celeste could NEVER forget dessert for her little sweet tooth hubby. The layered chocolate pudding was already setting up in the fridge from before Isaac woke up, and it remained a surprise since Isaac had no need to check the fridge himself with a presented breakfast at hand.

By the time she reached a natural break in her preparations, she thought about checking in on Isaac. She crept over to their bedroom door and saw that he had, in fact, gotten up and was no longer sleeping. Good! Maybe he even started writing or planning already. Celeste breezed past their bedroom and up to the modular "floating staircase" which led to the loft.

The loft was at one time as good as a storage unit for them both, but Isaac and Celeste had worked together to turn it into a real office for him. A beautiful standing desk was set up against the wall with a plush office chair in front, his top-of-the-line computer barely taking up any space on the wide surface. Across the room, some bookshelves and two squishy overstuffed chairs served as a reading nook for both of them to use--one shelf was for Isaac's writing books and inspiration, the other was any of Celeste's books she wanted. They had furnished the room with many vibrant green plants, giving a very mellow and relaxed atmosphere to the room. A large arched window cast golden midday sun across a massive rug.

Isaac could be found sitting at the desk chair, staring at his screen. He was slouched in his chair, which pulled up his tank top and revealed a sliver of belly he was absently scratching. When Celeste made it to the top of the stairs, he looked over at her with a smile.

"Oh hey honey, what's going on?"

"Oh, nothing," she laughed. "Just wanted to check on the next great American novelist up here." She crossed the room and leaned down to give Isaac a kiss, placing her hand on his chest as she did.

To her momentary surprise, the spot she placed her hand on was NOT his chest--it was the top of his belly. It rounded lightly under her fingertips, warm through the soft cotton; rising and falling with the pace of his breath. A splinter of heat seemed to run from her fingers all the way back to her brain, but she was good at keeping her poker face.

"What have you been doing up here, anyway?" Celeste asked, leaning her hand on one of the armrests now.

"Oh, just brainstorming, mostly," Isaac shrugged. "It's um... kind of slow."

Celeste raised an eyebrow. "I mean, nothing's slower than not writing at all. Don't you have that story you told me about on our second date that you've wanted to write, about a race of sci-fi mecha crows?"

He tapped his finger on the desk lightly, thinking. "Yeah, but I mean... everyone laughed at that idea except for you..."

She cradled his cheek, tilting his face up towards her. "Don't worry," she said. "If you write what YOU want, that's the only way to be a really happy writer." Celeste's soft smile cracked into a grin. "You know what I bet will make you feel better? Lunch! I actually just got done, so it's ready and waiting."

Isaac hesitated a moment, looking down at his belly. Truth be told, he wasn't REALLY that hungry after such a big breakfast and still felt pretty full. But one look at Celeste's eager, waiting face, and his hesitations melted away.

"Sure honey, that sounds wonderful. You want to eat in the kitchen again?"

"Nah," she giggled, "I want to have lunch up here! I mean we HAVE to break in those new chairs, right?" Celeste kissed his forehead and stood up straight. "You go get comfy, and I'll bring up food. Deal?"

"That's the easiest yes I've ever said in my life," laughed Isaac.

"Easier than when you said yes at the altar?"

Isaac snorted. "It was easy to say, but worrying you'd change your mind about me all the way up to the moment was NOT."

"Well it seems we're here for the long haul," Celeste said, her voice retreating his ears as she jogged downstairs.

Isaac pushed himself to sitting upright, then hefted himself to his feet. He then moved the few steps to drop into the overstuffed chair, a soft "ahh" leaving his mouth as he settled in. As soon as Celeste was gone, it seemed like she was back again--and he couldn't help but gasp when he saw her.

She was carrying a large stockpot full of a luscious, creamy red vegetable pasta and a mixing bowl filled with fresh rolls. She had two plates tucked under her arm, two forks balanced between her pinky and ring finger, and a very long spaghetti fork.

"May I present to you my 'pasta carica,' a veggie-packed alfredo pasta!" Celeste said proudly. She brought everything over and set it on the end table between the chairs. "I didn't know how much you'd want so I just thought, eh, why not bring it up here? Then you can serve however much you want!"

The sight of the food may have piqued his appetite, but no sooner did the smells hit his nose that Isaac's belly growled with greedy desire. He mumbled out some type of short "thanks babe" and began to serve pasta onto his plate. Every time he looked at his portion, he thought of stopping, but kept taking "just a little more" under his plate was practically piled with the pasta. Celeste waited for Isaac to finish piling up his plate before daintily serving two scoops onto her own plate.

"Wait, don't forget your rolls! I made the dough myself."

Celeste pushed the bowl of rolls in his direction and he instinctively grabbed for one, but ended up with two clutched in his fist.

"Wow Celeste, this is seriously amazing," Isaac breathed. "I mean that--you're doing so much for me, and cooking five star food like it's nothing!" He took a thick, swirled bite of pasta and immediately his tastebuds were in heaven. His stomach, too, was in heaven after the first few bites finally hit the bottom. He could hear Celeste talking to him faintly in the background, but it was like the food was hypnotic--there was no way to pull his attention for the heavy, creamy pasta and the buttery, flakey rolls that he shoveled into his mouth, bite after bite.

At some point he became aware that his plate was empty, but this was while he was already moving to refill it. Celeste said, "Ooh, you must really like it! Going back for seconds after all."

Isaac smiled sheepishly, pausing in serving to meet Celeste's eyes. "Well honey, you know I... I'll always support YOUR dreams, too. If you want to be a famous or well-known chef, I'll eat whatever you give me and I will love it--it's your food." He chuckled, setting the serving fork back in the pasta. "Not like it takes that much effort to love it. I thought I could only eat food this nice at an overpriced restaurant."

Celeste's expression was momentarily hard to read. and Isaac wondered if he had said something wrong. But finally, she smiled back at him.

"That means the world to me, Isaac. I love you, darling."

"I love you more."

Feeling heart-warmed by the touching conversation, Isaac's appetite was somehow renewed. He felt the pressure in his stomach, the signal of overindulging a second time that day, but didn't care. Isaac wanted to eat every... last... bite. His palate exploded with flavors and textures that kept him enthralled. He was stirred from the haze this time by his fingers touching the bottom of the empty mixing bowl.

At this, Isaac's gaze went downwards. His gut was just as big as it was after breakfast, if not bigger, feeling full and taut under his shirt. A sudden realization hit him.

"Hey uh, Celeste?"

"Hmm?" She looked up from the book she had started reading, having finished her modest portion long ago.

"Uh, how many rolls did you make? Do you remember?"

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, I think it was... 16 or 20? Something like that."

Isaac gulped. "How uh, how many did you have?"

"Like two or three. Hard not to, when you have good sauce to sop up. Why?"

Oh no. Had he really eaten at least THIRTEEN dinner rolls with his lunch? He shifted in his seat, but regretted it as the aching tightness of his belly flared painfully. Celeste looked up now, and he gaze went between Isaac and the serving bowls.

"Oh. My. Gosh." Celeste put a hand over her lips to conceal a smile. "Isaac, did you eat everything?"

Everything?

He allowed himself a moment to absorb the carnage. A stockpot full of food for easily six people now lay empty in the wake of Isaac's gluttony, practically already scraped down for sauce. Greasy fingerprints covered the inside of the shiny mixing bowl where the rolls USED to be, and he realized that those were his very own fingerprints dotting the inside. His hands must have been messy. After all, his plate sure wasn't--Isaac thought he may have licked it clean in his food high, or perhaps wiped it down. And of course, the piece de resistance, his massive arching belly.

The belly itself still allowed the tank top to confine it, but maybe not forever. It was pulled nearly skin-tight across the vast tank that was his tummy, a solid two or three inch sliver of skin sticking out below the hem of the top. He had splattered sauce on his tank top, across the chest and belly, and there were a few saucy fingerprints along the dome of his gut. Had he maybe scratched an itch and got it on himself? Either way, a flush of embarrassment rose up to his cheeks.

"Oh crap baby, I'm so sorry--"

"Sorry?" she cut in. "Why would you be sorry? I'm GLAD you liked it so much!" Celeste leaned over from her chair and placed a hand on his belly. "It doesn't matter to me if there was any left, anyway. I have a different meal planned for dinner."

Good Lord, a third meal? His logical brain recoiled from the idea, but his brain below the belt felt a jolt at the idea of more food. He rested his two hands on either side of his stomach and sighed, closing his eyes.

"You're gonna... make me huge, cooking like this all the time," Isaac managed to chuckle between breaths. "I'm lucky to have such a pro chef, at my beck and call."

"Oh, I'm hardly a pro." She reached up to touch his cheek. "You know, you had a pretty big meal. Why don't I take down the dishes, and you can recline in this chair for a bit of a rest?"

The sleepy, warm lethargy of gorging himself had already settled across his body. "Mmkay," he hummed. Isaac HAD forgotten these were reclining chairs, and felt a merciful release of pressure from inside his stomach as he decompressed. "Love you, babe."

"Love you too." Celeste stood up, kissed Isaac's sleepy forehead, and began to gather the dishes.

Once she was down the flight of stairs and he was in the loft alone, he decided to let his hands wander across the expanse of his stuffed belly. Like this morning, there was a slight layer of squish, but less of it this time before the rock-hard belly below could be felt. That must have meant he was even more full than after breakfast, he thought. His brain couldn't form many more coherent thoughts aside from formless pleasure as he rubbed his belly to fall asleep.

"I'll get to the writing thing when I wake up," he reasoned to himself. "It's easy now because I'm really just going to go for what I'm excited about. Not worry about judgement. So taking another nap's no big deal."

He was asleep within minutes.

Celeste crept back up the stairs to catch a glimpse of her sleeping husband. The orb of his belly made him look like one of those real fat guys someone would catch shotgunning beer in Florida--smooth, hard and round. She didn't know why, but this felt good to see. And she felt good that she was keeping Isaac well-fed. He needed his energy to start writing!

Silently, she crept back down the stairs and left Isaac to sleep off his carb coma.