Page 80 of Please Open Me
Part of me wondered if I was her first official girlfriend, not that it mattered.
“You said you wanted grits, so I just ordered them how my mom would make’em.” She thickened the slight drawl she normally held.
Her accent wasn’t as thick as Cameron’s and usually easy to ignore or forget, so I knewthiswas for emphasis.
My shoulders tried to jolt forward in a suppressed gag as I wrestled with the urge to tell Mattie her dead mother was wrong.
“Did I do it wrong?” Mattie’s face fell like a golden retriever who’d been kicked out of bed.
“What? No!” I fought the sick wobble in my voice. “I just–I’ve never seen them like this.”
My lover's expression softened, and she reached forward for another cup.
“I think you’ll like them,” she explained before popping off the lid.
She tipped the cup to the side, causing cut-up strawberries and blueberries to tumble into the slop. For a beat, she mixed the toppings in before taking a bite usingmyspoon. The now gross-purple goo coated her lower lip, and she swiped her tongue along the surface to clean herself up.
“They’re really good,” she promised, urging me to take a bite.
My lips pulled into a tight-lipped smile, and I took the spoon, more out of love than appetite. The saccharine smell was enough to make my throat close in protest, but the hopeful look in Mattie’s eyes spurred me on.
The white plastic spoon swirled around the cup as I tried to hide my apprehension behind finding the perfect bite. Eventually, I had enough mixing and pulled out a bite full of strawberry chunks.
My saliva thickened as I looked down at the spoon. Right now, it reminded me of frothy milk throw-up with chunks. You know. Exactly something I’d want to have in my mouth.
My eyes darted up to check if Mattie was still watching, and unfortunately, she was. That meant the half-baked plan of throwing them on the ground and pretending the cup fell was out.
Shit.
Okay, it’s just food, Mason. She likes it. She has good taste. It’ll be good.
Those words echoed on loop in my brain as I shoved the spoon in my mouth.
I sucked the spoon clean, but my body refused to swallow. The grits sat on my tongue like a lump of wallpaper paste. The grits were too sweet, and the berry chunks were sour, and it was all too much.
“It’s good, right?” Mattie asked hopefully.
I tried, and I meanreallytried, to nod, but the lump on my tongue turned acrid, and my stomach clenched like a fist. My eyes watered as I slapped a hand over my mouth, bolted to the sink, and gagged.
The grits came up before I could stop them, splatting into the basin like the world’s most disgusting paint. The sight alone made me retch harder, yellow bile joining the mauve mess.
Mattie was behind me in an instant, one hand weaving into my hair, the other rubbing circles between my shoulders.
“You’re okay,” she whispered, voice cracking as she patted my back again. “I’ve got you.”
Another gag wracked me. I gripped the sink so hard my fingers went numb, tears blurring my vision. When it finally ended, my shoulders sagged. My throat burned raw, leaving me whimpering as I tried to swallow.
“Mason, I’m so sorry,” Mattie blurted, her words tumbling fast, frantic. “I just wanted to do something nice, like how you made breakfast for me. I thought you’d like this! I should’ve gotten them plain, or asked, or—God, why didn’t I ask? I’m so fucking stupid, I just—”
“Mattie—” I croaked, but she kept going.
“I’ll fix this. You lie down, I’ll go back, I’ll get you whatever you want—” She cut herself off, panic flooding her voice. “Wait—no, you’re sick. That won’t help. Fuck.”
I turned on the faucet, cool water rushing between my fingers. I cupped some into my palms, rinsed my mouth, spat, then washed the sink clean. My breath came uneven, shallow.
“It’s not your fault,” I whispered.
The rambling stopped dead. Silence pressed in behind me.
