7 - Sam #2
Looks were exchanged, and the camera angle readjusted. Now the frame was just his dad and mom, and a white-and-red lighthouse in the distance.
A baby penguin waddled by. His mom was right, they were adorable.
“What’s up?” his mom asked. “It’s not Saturday, everything okay?”
Sam wanted to ask, If the world was about to end, would you be happy with the choices you made? But the thirteenth floor was spying on him, so he couldn’t be that honest.
Instead, what came out was “Are you going to get a divorce?”
Sam’s dad got flustered. “Why would you think that?”
Sam thought it was obvious. “You’re… cheating?”
“It’s not cheating,” Sam’s mom said. “We’re all consenting adults, everyone knows and agrees. There’s actually a term for it: ethical nonmonogamy .”
“And compersion ,” his dad added. “Being happy seeing your partner happy with someone else.”
Sam wondered, Could you really love someone that much, that you wanted them to be happier with someone who wasn’t you?
His confusion must have shown on his face, because his dad tried to explain. “There are lots of flavors of love, like ice cream. You can enjoy a different flavor than someone else, but we can all agree ice cream is great.”
“So you’re happy?” Sam asked, even though he could see the answer. He’d known the answer. And he couldn’t figure out why it bothered him so much.
His parents looked at each other, contentment on both their faces. “Yeah,” his mom answered for them both. “We’re happy.”
1814
“I don’t get the ice cream metaphor.” Sam had caught Ari up on the conversation with his parents as they unpacked the chocolate supplies.
The tiny chef’s toque on Ari’s shaved and polished head had one hundred perfect pleats, which they’d explained was the classic French way to represent the hundred ways to cook an egg.
Sam thought that was random and not super helpful for making chocolates, but he had to admit Sensei handcrafting a hundred pleats in the tiny hat was pretty impressive.
Sam laid out the three silicon mold trays he’d bought: circles, cubes, and hearts—was that last shape too on the nose, or just right?
“Not the flavor of love you want?” Ari asked as they pulled a heating pad out of the bag. “This is for the chocolate?”
“No, not my flavor,” Sam agreed. “And yeah, the heating pad will keep the chocolate in temper , whatever that means.”
“That’s everything.” Ari folded the third empty canvas bag.
They both took a moment to survey the island: it was completely covered with the best of all possible ingredients and supplies.
Sam figured the loophole in Nico not wanting something stupid-expensive was that the real gift here was Sam spending the time to hand-make these for him.
But he’d have to remember to shred the receipt before Nico stumbled on it.
Spending over $1,400 on chocolate supplies might spin his husband out.
He wasn’t going to make it a secret, but if he could avoid it coming up… well, that would probably be better.
Ari whistled. “If he eats all this he’s not going to keep those abs you like so much.”
“I went overboard, huh?” Sam asked.
Ari waved it away, then asked. “What flavor do you want, with Nico?”
Sam considered. “Maybe I’m just old fashioned about love.” It was weird to think of himself as old fashioned. He unwrapped the first of the bean-to-bar chocolate bars. The aroma was amazing.
Sam held the bar out for Ari, whose hands were busy filling a saucepan halfway with water. “Smell.”
Ari inhaled. “Wow.” Sam’s hand was less than an inch from their lips. Ari’s voice got a little breathy. “I guess the real question is: Is what you want the same thing Nico wants?”
Ari turned the water off and moved the pan to the range, turning on the gas flame.
“Huh.” Sam considered as he broke the chocolate bar into chunks in the glass bowl they were going to use as a double boiler.
He and Nico hadn’t really had the “exclusive” conversation.
Sam had just assumed that since they were married, neither of them was going to be with anyone else…
Or wanted to be with anyone else. Did he need to have that conversation?
A sinking feeling started in Sam’s gut. Oh shit.
“You just got really quiet,” Ari pointed out.
“I… don’t know,” Sam admitted, then said the other thing that was really bugging him. “He hasn’t been saying I love you back. When we talk on the phone.”
Ari kept their eyes on the water. “Do you think that means something?”
Sam gave a weak laugh. “Maybe that I’m needy? That I’m such a loser I need to hear him say it?” Sam carried over the bowl with the broken chocolate pieces, ready to go once the water boiled.
“Your savta says if you don’t make your needs known you have very little chance of getting them met,” Ari said.
“Yeah, she does say that,” Sam agreed.
“I don’t think you’re a loser, and it’s not that hard to say.” Ari paused, then blurted, “I love you.”
“I love you and Frida too,” Sam said, pivoting back to the island to get the digital laser thermometer. “Maybe it’s harder for Nico to say it because he’s not used to getting a lot of love, and I guess… I am.”
Ari bent down to tinker with the dial, staring at the gas flame as they adjusted the heat level.
Sam was determined. “These handmade chocolates will show him how much I love him.” He got an idea. “Hey! Why don’t we make this practice round something to help Frida’s candidacy? She can give out chocolates tomorrow before the vote. Build goodwill.”
The water had started to boil, and Ari turned off the burner. “I like it. Then she can’t say we didn’t help enough.”
Sam snorted as he placed the glass bowl on the steaming pot. “She’s going to win, even without chocolates.”
“Don’t forget to vote,” Ari said lightly. “Want to get something to stir this?”
One Good Thing
Ari just left, and it’s past midnight. Already voted for Frida, as soon as the online poll opened at 12:01 AM. I hope she wins.
Tempering chocolate is not for sissies. Wow, that stuff is temperamental. We got it on the 4th try though—shiny, dark, just the right snap when it cooled. Practice is all done, chocolates packed for Frida tomorrow (well, today), and then after school I’ll make the chocolates for Nico.
Put all my love into them, make him something really special, really memorable, with my own two hands.
Turned out the internet recipes sucked, but we found some “classic” chocolate tempering instructions in one of Dad’s old cookbooks.
Is “classic” the same as “old fashioned”?
Sometimes old fashioned works.
Am I old fashioned?
Was Bond? Sleeping around with so many Bond Girls in practically every movie? That was classic Bond.
If Tracy had survived in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service , would Lazenby-Bond have cheated on her twenty years in? When their kid was a teenager, would they have been into “ethical nonmonogamy”? Compersion? Geez, Dad, I had to look that one up.
Something tells me Bond—even Lazenby’s—would be a jealous ass. He might want to sleep around, but there was no way he’d be cool with sharing the one he loved.
Like the steely motivation in Daniel Craig as Bond’s eyes, when he’s determined to kill Lyutsifer Safin—part of that is the possessiveness Bond has over Madeleine.
Craig-Bond loves her and wants to save her from the villain, who also sort of loves her, or is obsessed with her, and how Bond loves her. Those men are not sharing.
I don’t want to share either.
I want Nico.
And I don’t want him to want anyone else either. Just me.
Which sounds totally old fashioned.
Oh, God. I’m going to have to talk to Nico about this. But not on the phone. He’s terrible on the phone. I mean, it’s so hard to talk to him on the phone.
We’re way better in person.
When is he coming back?
It’s late, I shouldn’t text him to ask. And anyway, I should have some self-control. Not always be the one reaching out. The one making all the effort. I should let him come to me…
Literally.
Don’t text him, Sam.
Let him miss you.
It’s like 3AM now. I couldn’t sleep, so I stayed up and watched Diamonds Are Forever . I don’t remember when I saw it last, but Nico calling the plot “weird” doesn’t even begin to cover it. Hard to admit, but I kind of hated it. The worst of old-school misogyny, homophobia, transphobia…
The women are all busty, beautiful, and kind ofstupid. Bambi? Thumper? Plenty O’Toole? That name!
The henchmen Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd hold hands after committing two murders, and Wint is endlessly vain, constantly spraying himself with cologne that ends up being how Bond knows the sommelier on the cruise ship is the same guy who tried to kill him earlier.
(Maybe the one good acting moment is Connery-Bond trapped in the tunnel talking to a rat, and saying, very deadpan, “One of us smells like a tart’s handkerchief.
” Then smelling his jacket and admitting, “Afraid it’s me. Sorry about that, old boy.”)
On the plane to Los Angeles, Kidd says to Wint that Tiffany Case “seems quite attractive.” Wint—who is of course spraying himself with cologne at just that moment—looks upset, and Kidd quickly adds, “for a lady.” And then gives a weak, weird laugh.
And then in the coda scene, the way Wint squeals with sort of pleasure (?) when Bond yanks back his hands between his legs before attaching the bomb and tossing him overboard to explode? What the hell? The gay guys are portrayed as pure evil—laughable gay stereotypes.
And then how Blofeld escapes through the Circus Circus casino is that he’s in drag—lipstick, blonde wig, cigarette holder clenched between his teeth as he carries and strokes his white cat, all puffy sleeves and bracelets and rings…
and you can tell it’s supposed to be hysterical.
Menacing and hysterical. And maybe it was for straight audiences in 1971, but today it’s hard to watch.
Actually, the whole movie was hard to watch.
Cheesy special effects.
What was the deal with the fake moon set at the W Tectronics desert complex, with the astronauts moving super slow, like they were in low gravity, even when they were ordered to stop Bond? Just an excuse to have Bond escape in the moon buggy?
And the heroic solution at the very end was for Bond to slam Blofeld’s one-person submarine bathosub—as it dangles from the crane—into the control room. Again and again, until everything inside blows up. Never mind the logic fail of why satellite computers would explode like that.
I need to make sure Nico knows that’s not the kind of Bond movie I like. Not the reason I love Bond movies.
I still do, right?
I feel like I need to watch one of the Daniel Craig Bond movies, just to wash my brain and fall in love with it all again. Maybe Craig’s Casino Royale , for the 100+ time?
Why not? I’m still not sleepy.
Maybe I’ll make popcorn and turn this into a Bond marathon all-nighter!
One Good Thing
Got home right after school and then spent five hours(!!
!!!) making Nico’s Valentine’s Day chocolates.
Then another 90 minutes of cleanup, anxious the whole time that he was going to walk in the front door and ruin the surprise—but he didn’t.
Kitchen’s back to normal. Chocolates are all set on the red Baccarat tray, and I hid them in Dad and Mom’s bedroom. Nico never goes in there.
So I’m all ready with his Valentine’s Day gift, but I still haven’t heard from him.
I didn’t text him either.
Kept telling myself all day that I have to have self-control. Self-respect. Self… I don’t even know. Am I winning by not reaching out? Not reminding him that I can’t wait to see him?
It’s after 9:30PM and now I’m all freaked out that I’m being weird. Maybe he’s picking up that I’m being weird, which is making him weird?
I just caved.
Texted Nico on the burner phone. Used our secret code.
Wrote “come home soon”
And then “working on a surprise for you”
And I included a selfie of just my face, with what is supposed to be a sexy smirk…
No answer yet.
Did it come off
Sexy?
Loving?
Or just needy?
Oh shit. Am I being too needy and driving him away?
I should text him again.
No.
Dammit, why is this so hard?