“Why are you laughing? What’s funny about me being a vegan?”
I’m not a vegan, but I do usually stick to goat cheese and milk from Lyric’s brother’s farm. I know Phoenix and trust him not to abuse the environment.
“Because I’ve seen you inhale cheese.”
My brow furrows. “Inhale cheese? You can’t inhale cheese. Well, I guess you could if you ground it up into powder, but then you’d miss the enjoyment of the flavor on your tongue. Not to mention texture is an important aspect of flavor as well.”
“I wasn’t being literal.”
Oh. I’m not oblivious to figurative interpretations of phrases and words, but I do sometimes forget about them in the heat of the moment. There is a reason my sisters refer to me as Literal Lilac after all. They think I don’t know, but I do. I try not to let their joking upset me. I know they love me and would never intentionally hurt my feelings.
I bite into the lasagna and moan as the flavor of spicy marinara sauce and ricotta cheese combined with grilled eggplant hits my tongue. I savor it as I chew.
“This is fabulous,” I tell Gabrielle. “It’s better than my mom’s but don’t tell her. She can be prickly when you don’t enjoy her food.”
Gabrielle beams at me. “You really think it tastes good?”
“Of course. I don’t lie.”
Beckett clears his throat. When I glance his way, he mouths thank you to me. I don’t know why he’s thanking me. The man is confusing. He’s angry with me ninety-one percent of the time at work – and, yes, I did the math – but he wanted me to stay when I arrived at his sister’s house this evening.
I don’t enjoy mixed messages and I abhor the games men and women play. I don’t know what game Beckett thinks he’s playing with me, but I refuse to be a participant. He confuses me and I do not enjoy being confused.