Page 26 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

Peter and I selected steaks and other meats that I thought we might need for the length of my trip. Then produce and canned goods. We did our best in the bakery, though I was not impressed with the selections. Breads and pastries, being two of my favorite things, had made me particular about the products I chose. Fortunately, I found that American grocery stores carried a wide variety of spices and herbs, though not many that were fresh. Peter selected beer and then put a case of sodas into the shopping cart for me, which made me chuckle.

A variety of cereals were selected—all with too much sugar and startingly colorful—and we visited the cheese and dairy section, which also did not impress me. However, when we finally paid for the groceries and were loading them into the back of Peter’s car, I felt we had done sufficiently to feed ourselves for the rest of my stay. If Peter and I ran out of food, we would also have gained plenty of weight in the process.

As we drove back to his house, Peter took one hand off the steering wheel, guiding us through ghostly empty streets, and grabbed my hand. He turned his head long enough from the road to smile at me, then he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it gently. When he let go of my hand, his free hand didn’t go back to the steering wheel. He laid it upon my left thigh, gently squeezing my flesh here and there, as though laying claim. Or, maybe, protecting a claim he’d already laid and I hadn’t realized until that moment.

Oh. I had thought. There’s that song again.

Peter set the bowls on the table in front of me, then placed the carton of milk next to them. Next, two spoons clattered into the bowls, and Peter slid into the seat across from me at the kitchen table. I had been so engrossed in reading the back of the cereal box that I had barely noticed him. When he cleared his throat and chuckled with amusement, I pried my eyes from the colorful box and its outrageous ingredients list to look at him.

“Two nights in a row where I have sugar before bed,” he shook his head reproachfully at me. “You’re trying to make sure I gain ten pounds while you’re here, aren’t you?”

“What is the big deal?” I asked, my hands moving to the top of the box to open it. “When we go upstairs, we will get exercise.”

Peter grinned happily at me.

“I guess if I turned you into a pervert, you can turn me into a chubby guy,” Peter said.

“You would be just as sexy,” I said, dismissing his thought.

Peter continued to beam at me.

“I promise that you will not gain any weight while I am here, though.” I winked at him.

Flirting with Peter—though not as salaciously as I wanted—was becoming second nature to me. There had been a time that looking into another guy’s eyes—one I found attractive—would render me a stuttering mess, incapable of coherent speech, let alone charm and humor. Peter put me at ease. He made me feel safe. Though I’d often thought it over the previous two years, after two days in Peter’s home, I knew there was nothing he couldn’t ask of me.

If he had told me to get up on the table and have sex with him right there, I would have done it. Enthusiastically.

“I’ll trust that you aren’t lying,” Peter said. “I’ll be incredibly sad if you are.”

The cardboard box popped open and my fingers ripped at the plastic bag inside.

“You will be tired of me in two weeks,” I said, grinning over the top of the box at him. “You may ask me to leave early.”

Peter looked shocked. “Yeah. Not going to happen.”

Laughing, mostly to hide how Peter’s words affected me deeply, I finally managed to rip open the cereal bag. Peter held the bowls for me as I tipped the box over each, pouring us both a healthy serving of the colorful nuggets. As I was closing the bag and box, Peter poured milk into each bowl, then passed me mine with my spoon sticking out of the sugary heap.

Neither of us spoke as we dug into the cereal and brought heaping spoonfuls to our mouths. Peter groaned appreciatively as he chewed his bite. When the sugary cereal hit my tongue, my mouth filled with saccharine sweetness, and the crunchy bits of cereal jabbed at my tongue and the roof of my mouth, I was shocked. However, I chewed and thought about the textures and flavors…and sugar.

“This is disgusting,” I said, finally. “I love it.”

Peter laughed; his mouth half full of cereal.

“It’s truly vile,” he agreed before taking another bite. “It was my favorite when I was growing up. Every Saturday, I’d eat a huge bowl of this—usually out of an old Country Crock tub my mom had saved to store leftovers. That’s, uh, a butter-like substance they sell in these big tubs with a plastic lid? Anyway, I’d watch cartoons and get high as a kite on sugar. I was obnoxious all morning long.”

I grinned over the table at him, a warm feeling settling over me at hearing about Peter’s youth.

“I’m surprised you made it to adulthood,” I said. “This is so much sugar.”

Peter nodded. “You and me both.”

A few minutes ticked by as the two of us ate our bowls of cereal, savoring the extravagance. When our bowls were empty, Peter indicated that he was done, and though I wanted to eat more, I knew that I shouldn’t. So, the two of us were left at the table, staring at each other, our bellies full and our eyes wild from the sugar.

“How have you been?” Peter asked suddenly, though softly. “Really? We’ve kept in touch, but we don’t really talk about the important stuff.”

I shrugged. “We don’t.”

“So?” he asked again.