WR

Daymian got off the couch at six. He’d done a lot of thinking about Helena, but thoughts of Dahlia kept interrupting his, making a strange sensation and consistently causing that glow he felt before to pop up each time. Eventually he’d just turned on the TV, quiet enough so it wouldn’t wake Dahlia up.

But he still couldn’t focus on anything for more than five minutes without it coming back to her.

Finally he just gave up, and getting up from his blanket, he raided the fridge. He laughed at the bra inside that Dahlia had tried to hide so surreptitiously.

He looked behind him, was convinced Dahlia was still fast asleep, and, feeling slightly perverted, held up and inspected the piece of black lingerie.

Nice, he thought, his eyebrows rising. He tossed it in the sink. Ok…milk, eggs….

He found a pantry. Flour…

20 minutes later he had a workable batter and a pan heating on her stovetop.

“The least I can do is make her breakfast,” he said to himself. He looked over at her, and choked a laugh. No wonder she told me to close my eyes…

Her duvet had half fallen off the bed, and her underdressed body was almost completely visible. He spotted a housecoat and set it on a chair near her bed. Then he set back to work making her breakfast again.

“6:44…fifteen more minutes or so….” He said, looking at the stove’s clock.

Dahlia reared her head like a lion being awoken from sleep; her tangled waves flew everywhere as she sucked in a deep breath and a clump of hair at the same time. She pulled it out of her mouth.

Daymian had to stifle another laugh as she flung her head around, her eyes wild and open wide. She looked at Daymian with first a look of pure confusedness, then recognition, and then amusement as she caught sight of her favourite hot-pink leopard printed apron tied around his waist and a splatter of batter on his face.

She laughed. “You look…like a sight to behold.”
Daymian let his laughter burst out. “Speak for yourself, sweetheart.” He poured batter onto the pan and then pointed. “You should always wake up like that, it’s quite attractive,” he teased, grinning.

Dahlia followed where the flipper in his hand was directed and saw her red velvet housecoat thrown on her chair.

“Oh shit,” she said, realizing she was almost naked, her blanket had eluded her, and, on top of that, she looked like a cyclone had just run through her hair. Daymian laughed again good-naturedly and turned his attention back to the kitchen. Dahlia quickly tied her housecoat on and stuck a head band in her hair. She walked over to the kitchen.

“Crêpes?” she said. “They look really good; mine always flop.”

“Well, these are all for you. I don’t exactly eat.” He handed her a plate loaded with thin, crisp crêpes topped with icing sugar and syrup. They reminded her of edible doilies; if there was such a thing, this is what they would look like.

“These look delicious. I didn’t know you were so talented.”

Daymian shrugged. “I avoided my parents a lot, and the kitchen was always a good place to go. Our chef was always willing to teach me and get my mind off things.”

Dahlia took a huge bite and smiled. “Well you were a good learner. These are superbe.”

Daymian smiled. “And you have icing sugar on your nose.”

Dahlia smiled back. “You, sir, have batter on your forehead and a neon apron on.” She tilted her head and laughed.

Her laugh hit Daymian like a tidal wave. The glow inside him that he felt went from merely a glow to a bright starburst. Dahlia had stopped laughing and she now was looking at him. She looked concerned.

“I’m fine,” Daymian said. “I just thought of something about…Helena.” A lie, but, he didn’t know what else to say. Dahlia went from looking concerned to disapproving.

“Oh. Ah, well, I have to start getting ready for school; my class is in an hour.”

“What do you do in school?”

“Journalism and language arts at the University. I have classes ‘til Thursday and then exams start next week,” Dahlia said, standing up and rinsing the syrup off her plate.

“Nice, nice,” Daymian said.

“Yeah. And after such a weekend I’ll probably need to use my entire arsenal of makeup, so I have to start now—”

“You look fine the way you are.”

“Thanks Daymian,” Dahlia said, half-smile on her face, “you don’t have to feel obligated to say anything, I’m sure you’re a perfect gentleman already.” She shrugged. “I know I’m not anything special, all the good looks in my family got spent on my sisters,” she smiled and then raised her eyebrows, “even my mom says so.”

Daymian just stared at her, not quite believing what she’d just said. What, was she four years old and still thought what her mother thought? Although, she said it with such conviction. Her eyes looked like she really believed what she was saying. He thought of all the other little side comments Dahlia had said about her mother. Her mother probably abused her then.

“That’s bullshit,” he said to her aloud. “Your mother’s a bitch then.”

Dahlia looked a little defensive. “My mother’s not a bitch,” she said.

Daymian sighed. “Sorry. But if she were anyone else you probably wouldn’t think that way. I can at least guarantee you she’s probably got issues.”

Dahlia looked at him. “Everyone has “issues”,” she said. “We have issues, for fuck’s sake.”

“You got that right.” Daymian laughed in spite of himself. “We got enough issues to make a feature length film; me being a ghost who likes to make French food, you with your “I’m-not-beautiful” complex.”

“It’s not a complex…just, true.”

“Right, about as true as if Pam Anderson said she had real tits. Listen to me Dahlia, in my parent’s social circles they throw girls at the boys like tennis volleys. They almost pray we impregnate them for a shotgun wedding. If even one of those aristocratic “beauties” had even half your looks, they wouldn’t have to fuck the judges to win all the superficial pageants they enter.”
His look softened; he felt he was being a bit harsh. In a lower voice he said, “Having no one tell you you’re beautiful can wear you down though, I guess.”

Dahlia didn’t know what to say, but her cheeks had started blushing since he’d first said she looked fine, and now she had to turn her head to hide her burning face. She faced the bathroom and spoke slowly, embarrassed under Daymian’s intense eyes and quietly angry voice, and her own muddled feelings.

“I’m going to go get changed.”

She ran to the bathroom, grabbing jeans and a shirt on the way. The door shut quietly after her.

“I guess I’ll tidy up.” Daymian said to himself, looking at the messy kitchen. He started filling the sink with water, tossing the bra in it on top of the fruit basket, and muttered to himself. “I can’t believe her. Or her mother. That girl is gorgeous; hell, she’s prettier than Helena.”

He thought back to when she had been sleeping, right before she woke up with such violent force. Her penny coloured hair was a beautiful wavy mess framing her creamy freckle sprinkled skin. Her eyes were shut in a peaceful way that made her angelic looking, and her full lips were almost closed and flushed a sultry red from sleep. Her bare shoulders were relaxed; clothed only in her bra. Her bare chest heaved up and down slightly in her sleep.

Daymian swallowed and blinked.

“Damn, girls can be so stupid some times. And now she thinks I’m a jerk.” He rinsed a plate.

“Not that it matters what she thinks of me but…” He stood up straight, confused with a wet plate in his hand. He put it into the dish rack and dried his hands angrily.

“God, I’ve just got to find Helena!” he said, rubbing his face in his hands.