Breach

My cheeks are still on fire after I’ve finished my shower. My heart is still beating wildly against my ribcage and I can’t seem to calm down. I try taking deep breaths but it doesn’t help. I know if I stay in here too long Antony will be concerned. Thankfully I have a little longer to calm down because once I exit the bathroom Antony goes in.

While he’s in the shower I work on making our dinner. I’m glad he told me to cook something; it helps me calm down. For a few moments I forget about what happened and focus on not burning myself or the apartment down.

By the time Antony is done with his shower and dinner is done my blush has simmered down. I scowl when I see Antony who has somehow managed to calm down easier than I did…or at least he looks like he has. Then again for all I know he could be having a mental panic attack. I scoff at the thought, yeah right.

“Sorry for earlier,” I grumble. I can’t believe I acted like that. I was overreacting. I sounded like such an idiot. I’m glad though that Antony is willing to listen to me and help me. I’d probably be pulling my hair out by now if he hadn’t said that to me.

Antony appears behind me. He rests his chin on my shoulder. My body shivers from the warmth of his breath against my neck. He places a quick kiss to my shoulder blade before swiftly moving away. Bastard! I finally got myself to stop blushing and he does that! Great, my cheeks are on fire again. Stop it cheeks!

“It’s fine,” he says and digs through the cupboards. He sets up the table while I bring the food over. I put food on both our plates and take a seat. Antony sits across from me with a grin. “Stop pouting about it.”

“I’m not pouting.” I stab at my food, quickly shoving a spoonful of my creation into my mouth. Yeah, because stabbing at my food proves how I am not pouting. Way to go Bishop.

Antony laughs, “Sure you aren’t.”

“Shouldn’t you be nicer to the one who makes your food? I could easily spit in it.”

Antony grimaces at the idea of me leaving a present of saliva in his food. I laugh at the way he is now staring quizzically at the food on his plate. He pushes it around with his fork, trying to check to see if I had already done it. My laughter only grows when he asks, “You didn’t, right?”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” My response makes Antony roll his eyes. Laughing, I reassure him that I did not spit in it, but I made sure to remind him that I could so he should be careful about what he says to me. It’s nice having the upper hand.

Antony begins to eat comfortably now. Suddenly Antony’s eyes go wide like he discovered something interesting. Before I could ask what kind of epiphany he had, he tells me, “Have you thought about culinary?”

“Huh?” My food drops from the fork, landing on the plate and sending juices at me. I groan at my shirt that is probably going to stain. Whatever, I’ve got a shit ton of shirts anyways. I’m too lazy to attempt to clean it…I’m not even sure if I know how to get stains out of a shirt to be honest…

“Culinary…” Antony’s voice brings me back from my thoughts of my stained shirt. “You’re always messing around with things in the kitchen even when you’re bored. You’re a good cook too. Have you ever considered it?”

“No…n-not really.” It is true that I’ve been cooking since I was little. I never really liked following recipes. I always had this urge to mix things and see what I could make. When I make us salads I always make the dressing myself. The same goes with pasta, I make the sauce myself. I don’t find it tiring; actually I enjoy messing around in the kitchen. It’s comforting and I know I’m pretty good, not to sound cocky or anything.

I had to learn to cook for myself. When I lived with…with those idiots known as my parents they were always so busy arguing that I needed to feed myself. I got tired of the same old grilled cheese sandwiches and ramen noodles. They’re great, don’t get me wrong, but I needed some real food. Without a mother to mess around in the kitchen with, or a father to show me how to barbeque I kind of had to do it all on my own. I’m guessing that’s why I don’t like recipes because I never followed them to begin with.

I never thought of making a career out of it though. I’m not that good. I doubt I could come up with some crazy recipe that would knock peoples socks off. I’d be considered mediocre at best.

“Just a suggestion,” Antony says with a shrug. “Think about it though. It’s better to have one idea that may not be the right one than none at all.”

“When you say stuff like that it reminds me of how old you are Annie,” I tease. Antony huffs and informs me that he is no longer offering his wisdom to me thanks to that comment. I chuckle but continue to flip over the idea throughout dinner. It is the only idea I have…and maybe it isn’t the right one but I won’t really know until I think more about it, right?

Sometimes you really don’t know what you want to do with your life. Sometimes you just gotta jump into something to discover if it’s what you love or not. Who knows? Maybe culinary is for me. Maybe, if I work hard enough, I’ll become some master chef with his own TV show! Or I could happily own a little restaurant downtown like those homey ones I see in movies.

Both don’t sound so bad.

“Did you know what you wanted to do…by the time you graduated, I mean?” I ask. Across the table Antony is in thought for a moment or two before shaking his head.

“No…to be honest I…I only knew by graduation that I wanted a job that could give Jean everything she wanted.” He lets out a sad chuckle, like he was laughing at himself and his decision. Antony rolls his eyes as he jabs at his food. “I went to college for my current job because of the money, not because I liked it. I didn’t bother looking into things that I was good at or enjoyed doing…not that I didn’t try, but when Jean would see the estimated income she would insist I do better. I, being the young idiot that I was, did exactly as she told me to.”

“You’re right.” I nod my head and smile. Antony sends me a glare that says he doesn’t like my teasing, but that doesn’t stop me from continuing. I love it when he’s annoyed with me. “You were an idiot. I would never get a job I didn’t like to take care of you. I’d make you get your own job, ya bum!”

“Oh…then should you be getting a job and helping pay rent?” It is now his turn to grin and mine to glare. Ok, so maybe I shouldn’t have teased him. He always manages to turn things back on me. This isn’t fair!

I flick a piece of corn at him. “Shut up.”

“I have ten years on ya kid.”

“And you’ll die ten years before me.”

“Like hell I will.”