NANOWRIMO Day 2

If you haven't read day 1 do so! Start reading from here.


Spencer didn’t have to wake me up. Our apartment was small, livable, but small. About five minutes before the timer on the oven would go off I caught a huge sniff of the air and the smell of lasagna brought me to consciousness. I yawned in blearily looked to the clock to see what time it was, allowing my contacts to adjust to being used after sleeping. Slowly the digits on the clock made sense, 5:30. I’d slept for about two hours. “That figures.” I said out loud to myself. I was still exhausted, but guided by the smell of lasagna I was also realizing how hungry I was.

I rolled off the bed and padded my very massaged and relaxed feet to the nightstand where I kept my pajamas. I grabbed a long sleeved night shirt that was a size too big, and the matching pajama pants which were also bought a size too big. Nothing is more annoying than sleeping in skin-tight pajamas, unless it’s supposed to be like lingerie or something.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, and wanting to crawl back into bed, I continued into the other room to the kitchen where the smell of lasagna was overwhelming.

“Evening dear. Rest well?”

“I suppose. I’m still tired.”

“Why don’t you go lay back down? I’ll bring the food in for you.”

I yawned. “Too hungry. I’ll just wait here. I’ll go back to sleep after eating.”

“Ok. Need a drink?” He asked, already at the refrigerator.

“Do we have tea?”

“Yes.”

“Pour me some of that please.” He did, and I drank half the cup in a single gulp. “Weren’t you supposed to go over to my parents’ house?”

“I called them. I told your dad you weren’t feeling well and he just wanted to make sure that you were OK. I said you were very tired and I wanted to make sure you didn’t over exert yourself. He said that was fine and to give him a call when I can go over. If you work tomorrow, I’ll probably do it then.”

“I work tomorrow evening.” I said, taking a small sip from the tea.

“That will work for me.” He said, just as the oven buzzer went off. “You still have to wait five minutes for this.” He said as he pulled the lasagna out of the oven.

I inhaled the lasagna-infused air into my lungs, breathing deeply. Spencer put the lasagna on top of the oven, and came over to the table side of the kitchen counter and sat on a barstool next to me. He reached his hand up to my face and gently pushed back the hair that had fallen stubbornly into my face.

“You are beautiful.” Spencer said, staring mesmerized into my eyes.

I still haven’t learned what to do when he says that. I’ve read books and everything saying that when a guy compliments you then you should accept it graciously and not put yourself down. This has always been hard for me, and although Spencer tells me I’m beautiful every chance he gets (when waiting for lasagna to settle, after I’ve finished a book, when I’m about to head out the door, or after a bath or shower) I still don’t react how I should. Instead I stutter and blush, and usually say that he’s just saying that. I decided to go with a different favorite reply of mine and said “You’re biased.”

He smiled a cocky grin, the one he always sported when I used that line as a reply. “At least I’m not bi.” He said predictably.

I grinned at him and lamely finished, “True.” I bit into the very cheesy lasagna and took a huge bite. The cheese literally oozed throughout my mouth and I sighed with pleasure. “Thanks Spence, it’s incredible.” I said after swallowing. “Totally satisfies my meat craving.”

“Well eat up, I don’t want that going to waste.”

“It won’t. I can have it for leftovers though so you don’t have to keep cooking for me. Cause I could seriously eat this everyday.”

“You’d get sick of it eventually.”

I shook my head in defiance. “Not unless you suddenly started making it with less meat and cheese. Otherwise, I’ll take it for breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday.”

Spencer laughed at that. “Well, I’m not cooking it that often. You’ll just have to learn to eat something else.”

“Nothing else sounds good.” I complained, scooping another helping onto my plate.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Maybe I can get some corn dogs for you.”

My face scrunched up at the suggestion. Which surprised even me, I mean I loved corn dogs. I liked to take the crust off of the hot dog on a stick and smother it in ranch dressing, or ketchup depending on my mood, then dip the hot dog in the same condiment after biting the crispy batter stuck to the stick at the bottom of the hot dog. Normally, I would eat them at least three times in a week. Just then, however, I felt slightly nauseous just from the thought of eating one hot dog.

Spencer read my expression and said, “Or not. I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’ve got lasagna for now. Maybe you’ll feel like something else later.”

“Maybe.” I said. Mentally scrolling through various foods I usually liked in my head. Pizza, corn dogs, chicken, fries, sandwiches, ravioli, pumpkin pie, cake, cookies… even my grandma’s snickerdoodles sounded nauseating to me. Lasagna… now that was a food I could live with, I thought as I shoved another forkful into my mouth.

“And if not, then I’ll make you lasagna once a day, and it can last however long you allow it to.”

“Really?”

“Really. If nothing else sounds good, then I can force myself to make it once a day. But there’s no way that I can make it more than that. Sorry Marti.”

I laughed at the rhyme. When we had gotten into our first fight while dating, it had totally been his fault. I had told him that I was going to go to an acupuncturist to help me get over a cold I had that was going on it’s second month of making my life a living hell. He said that it was a waste of money and I’d be better off going to a “real” doctor and getting a prescription for it. I said that my regular doctor had suggested the acupuncturist and had not been able to figure out what was making me sick. He insisted that my sickness was my own doing, possibly my body’s way of getting me a few days off from work. I replied that I hadn’t skipped a single day of work. I just popped a Tylenol cold and flu tablet and went in anyways, making sure to wash my hands even more times than the job already demanded. It was actually because of my job as a waitress that I wanted to get better so badly. I really enjoyed waitressing, but even if someone tipped me an extra 100 dollars and I had the easiest customers in the world that didn’t make any modifications to the menu items, it was miserable working when I just wanted to be laying down in bed. Preferably asleep.

In the end, I did go to the acupuncturist, and I didn’t get any better. I did, however, have my semi-annual dentist appointment shortly after that, at which time I was told that I didn’t have a choice anymore, if I didn’t get my wisdom teeth pulled then the doctor wouldn’t work on any of my other teeth. I had been putting the task off for a while, saying that if I have wisdom teeth, God put them there for a reason. Far be it from me to remover something that God intended to be there. They were not hurting me, so I wouldn’t hurt them. Sure, they made my mouth experience some pressure when growing in, but now they were just teeth in the very back of my mouth. I was fine leaving them like that.

My dentist seemed to think otherwise though. He came back from looking over my x-rays and told me that one wisdom tooth was at an angle and would cause great pain when it collided with my other teeth, and two of the other teeth had deep cavities in them. Deep enough that my dentist said there was no use saving them, and to quote him- “It’s a miracle I’m not complaining for pain from my tooth.”

So, I got them pulled. I had to, I had six other cavities that needed filling and he had said he wasn’t touching a single one of them until I had my wisdom teeth out of my head. The monday after my teeth were pulled, I felt significantly better. My mouth felt totally weird and foreign, but other than that I felt great. Later, when roaming around on the internet, I found out that your wisdom teeth can apparently cause you to become sick if they are not removed, even without causing you pain. Sounds to me like those wisdom teeth need renamed.

Anyways, the joke part comes in because Spencer, who was at the time only my boyfriend, had been with me for most of the week after I had my teeth pulled noticed a huge change in me. He said I was the girl he met again. Healthy. And he apologized for saying I was just trying to get out of my job. “Sorry Marti.” He said. After a few seconds of silence we both started laughing our heads off at the way ‘sorry’ rhymed with ‘Marti’.

I suppose I’d head people say it before, but it was when Spencer said it that I noticed it. And since then, I laughed anytime he said it. And he never said “I’m sorry Marti.” Or “Sorry, love.” Or even just “sorry.” Every time he said he was sorry it’s always been “Sorry Marti.” Then, after my short laugh, if it was needed he’d explain to me exactly what he was sorry for. Usually we just fell into a hug and laughed.

Read on! Day Three here