"Oh, I see," J.J. said behind me. "Cool idea."
I didn't bother asking him how he wanted his marshmallow because he'd always burnt them to a crisp when he came over for weenie roasts at my parents' house. They didn't often let us have friends over because, with four sons close in age, that meant a house full of teenage boys who could clear out a full pantry in a matter of minutes. Weenie roasts in the fall and early spring were the exception. Hot dogs and buns were pretty cheap, as were graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate bars. At least once a month during the cooler seasons, my parents would let us invite our friends over.
Well, I would have if I'd had many friends growing up.
My brothers had such a reputation as hellions that most of the parents in town kept their daughters away from me for fear of what might happen.
It was probably a smart move on their part, but it meant that I didn't have a lot of friends when I graduated high school.
During college, I didn't have many friends because I had no clue how to make them or keep them after so many years of solitude.
As soon as the marshmallow was almost black on the outside, I placed it between the crackers and pulled the fork out of it. Smiling, I handed it to J.J.
"Thanks. I can't believe you remembered how I like them."
I shrugged and put another marshmallow on the fondue fork. "You always incinerated them when you came over for weenie roasts. Kinda hard not to miss when you were the only guy with a black marshmallow on your s'more."
J.J. grinned but didn't speak. He just grabbed the s'more and lifted it to his mouth for a big bite.
I giggled as he sucked in air and cursed when the molten marshmallow hit his tongue.
When mine was lightly toasted and just a shade darker than golden brown, I put it between two graham crackers and smooshed it flat.
In a few quick motions, I had the fondue fork in the sink of soapy water, the burner off, and the rack back in place.
"Cheers," I said to J.J., lifting my s'more up to him.
He laughed. "I see that hasn't changed either."
He tapped his graham cracker goodness against mine and we each took a bite.
"Mmmmhhhhmmmm, yum," I moaned.
In the dim light of my kitchen, J.J. and I ate our s'mores standing in front of the sink, holding little plates beneath our chins to catch the crumbs.
When we were done, I insisted on washing the last few dishes while he put the chicken and vegetables into containers. Five of them.
He'd made enough food for a full week of dinners. Just because he wanted to make sure I had a healthy meal to eat even when I was too tired to cook.
Once everything was clean, he put the containers in my fridge and said, "I don't know how well they'll freeze, but you could probably stick'em in there if you don't eat them all this week."
"Thanks," I said. I hesitated too long in saying anything else though because he headed toward his shoes.
"Are you leaving?" I asked.
He stopped in the process of sliding his feet into his sneakers. "I figured you'd be heading to bed soon."
I shrugged. "I usually watch a little TV before bed." I glanced at the clock. Nine-forty-five. "You're welcome to join me if you don't have to head home."
He didn't say anything, just used his foot to shove his shoes back toward the wall, which made me smile.
He followed me into the tiny living room off the kitchen and plopped down in the middle of my small couch while I turned on the lamp and looked for the remote.
"I don't have cable," I admitted. "Just a few streaming channels. There's no use paying the bill when I'm barely home to watch."
"Sounds like a smart move," he commented, propping his feet up on my coffee table.
If I'd had nice furniture, I probably would have told him not to do that, but it was a scratched, chipped garage sale find, so I really didn't mind if he put his sock-clad feet on it.
Once I found the remote, I had no choice but to sit right beside J.J., which meant I was practically glued to his side because the worn cushions were sunken in the middle.
I'd barely settled in when he took the remote from me and started clicking through the menu so rapidly that I was a little dizzy.
"What do you like to watch?" he asked.
"Anything but golf. It puts me to sleep."
J.J. chuckled and put his right arm around me, using his left to navigate my streaming channels. "How about something funny?"
"Sounds good," I answered, trying to hide my sudden yawn.
If he noticed, he didn't say anything, but I did rest my head on his shoulder because in this position I had to crane it to the side to avoid bumping into the joint anyway.
J.J. slouched deeper into the couch, which meant I could rest the back of my head against his shoulder and still see the screen.
Finally, he laughed and clicked on a series I hadn't watched before. "I think you'll like this one. And the episodes are an hour each, so you can get to bed before it's too late."
As I settled deeper into his body and watched the opening credits roll across the screen, I thought that I wouldn't mind doing this every night.
8
J.J. and I were both busy the rest of the week, so there were no more quiet dinners together, but he did call or text me every day.
Every. Single. Day.
I honestly didn't know how I felt about it because my moods were all over the place. I was beginning to understand why my oldest brother said he dreaded my mother's pregnancies once he was old enough to understand that the thing growing in Mommy's belly was what made her completely unhinged.
When he'd said it several years ago during his wife's first pregnancy, I'd blown him off.
But now I understood.
One minute, I thought J.J. was the sweetest man alive for making me dinners and calling or texting to check on me every day. I loved the thoughtful gifts he sent and I hated that I couldn't see him.
But an hour or so later, I'd be ready to rip his head off because I didn't need him checking in on me every day like I was helpless or stupid.
It was especially scary because I'd never been the head-ripping type. I'd always been more of the sneaky vengeance type. I'd set things up so that my brothers would tell on themselves, or so they would get caught doing things they weren't supposed to.
Like the time Robert snuck out to go to a party and get drunk. Normally, I would never have done anything to get him caught, but he'd stepped on the pretty tea party I'd set up for my Barbies and told me to buzz off when I got upset.
So, I took one of Scott's motion-sensor toys that blared a siren anytime you walked by it and put it right outside the door of Robert's room. He didn't notice it when he stumbled in, drunk and probably high, and set it off at three in the morning.
My parents were light sleepers after having five kids, so my dad came out to check on the noise and found Robert reeking of alcohol, weed, and wearing his shirt inside out.
Needless to say, he'd been grounded for the better part of that semester.
I still laughed any time I thought about it.
But I'd never been a violent person unless I was pushed too far. Pushing from the Prescott boys was completely different from J.J.'s perfectly acceptable messages and calls to ask me how I was doing that day and if the morning sickness was getting any better.