"Do you need to shower and change before we go?" Ronald asks as I open the door to my apartment.
"Umm, go where?" I ask.
"To celebrate!" He says excitedly. "You survived your first day!"
I lead the way in and place my jacket on the couch. "This isn't an excuse to go drinking, is it?" I ask.
"Nah, I've been over that for years. I was thinking more along the lines of KFC," he says, plopping himself on what we have come to call 'his' couch over the course of the week.
I bend over to pat his belly, expecting even the slightest bit of bulge from all the food he's consumed, but instead I hit something like solid rock. "What planet are you from?" I ask, undeterred. "There's no way you're human,"
"Okay, fine. How about dessert? The Ice Cream Inn?" He offers.
I smile, the idea seeming appealing.
"Yes!" Ronald whispers, pumping his fist.
"What's with the declaration of victory? I haven't said yes. I'm not even sure I can handle anymore food in me," I point out.
He scoffs, waving me off. "There is always room for dessert,"
"How can you eat that much and not even be fat?" I ask, letting my hair down. I let loose a sigh of sweet relaxation. My braids are still new so ponytails can be quite uncomfortable.
"I work out. Maybe you should try it," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Are you calling me fat?" I ask, half teasing.
"Don't put words in my mouth. Working out is very healthy," he says, raising his hands defensively.
I hum as I make my way to the kitchen.
"So is that a yes?" He asks.
"To ice cream or working out?" I retort. I'm glancing around the kitchen, wondering what brought me here in the first place.
"Both," he says. "There is a gym in the next building,"
I imagine myself lifting dumbbells, my face red from effort. That would be pretty embarrassing. Then I imagine Ronald in a singlet and running shorts and sweat dripping of from his finely tuned body. I shake my head in an attempt to expel the thought.
"Yes to the ice cream. Let's go now," I say. Silently, I add 'Before being alone with you gives me more unholy thoughts.'
I switch out my tote for a clutch and follow Ronald to the basement where his car is parked.
"So, how did you and Lucy get together?" I ask, knowing well how lame my attempt at conversation is.
Ronald was clearly not expecting the question because he regards me for a moment before he clears his throat to speak.
"She was the one who asked me out, actually," he says, backing up the car. "I had just been promoted and she must have been running the reception for about a month. We flirted but I wasn't serious about it until she made the move," he adds.
I am glad I don't feel jealous when he talks about his ex. If anything, it means I'm salvageable.
"We went out for a couple of months, but it wasn't really working out," he continues.
"That doesn't explain why she's so hostile towards me," I point out.
Ronald shrugs. "Maybe she just doesn't like you,"
I wince. "Ouch. What did I do to her?"
"Who knows?" He responds, shrugging again.
"I still think you're the reason she hates my guts," I tell him. "Maybe she wants you back,"
I don't like the feeling I got after saying the words aloud. That burning sensation in my chest.
I think it's heartburn. Maybe thinking about Lucy gives me heartburn.
"Then why hasn't she talked to me?" Ronald asks, turning left and joining the Thika Road traffic.
The heartburn is back. Or it never left. It's more logical to think that than thinking that it's triggered by considering Ronald is thinking of Lucy.
Absolutely preposterous.
I twiddle my thumbs and check my phone for updates—anything to not bring up Ronald's ex again.
Indrek has not responded to my last text to him.
Kayla
9:47 pm: Ponytail? Really?
In his defense, he hasn't been online since before their match with Crystal Palace.
I have an internal debate over how desperate it would seem to double text before I type up a follow up.
Kayla
3:43 pm: Hey. You alive?
I put my phone back in my clutch and fiddle with Ronald's radio before I settle on a cheesy pop song by Ariana Grande.
Ronald arches an eyebrow but does not comment while I sing my heart out song after song.
When he finally parks the car just outside the Ice Cream Inn, he turns to me and asks if I'd like to join the drama club.
I blush right down to my toes.
"You're really good," Ronald adds.
"I'm a teacher, not a student. My time to shine has passed," I point out.
"They direct a musical every year," Ronald says.
"Oh yeah, because I want to fret over a teenager choosing me over their friends," I snort. "Besides, I had my stage fun in Uni,"
I exit the car and take a breath. The outside world smells like exhaust fumes and asphalt, no longer like Ronald's woodsy cologne. I want to be back in close proximity to him, if only because of how addictive his scent is.
The Ice Cream Inn isn't too packed since it's only Monday and it's easy to find a good table with great lighting.
I order a Strawberry-Vanilla ice cream cup and Ronald glances at me questioningly. I shrug, mouthing 'room for dessert'. Ronald orders a chocolate swirl and I take a moment to consider how utterly Ronald his choice is.
"Can I have a bite of yours?" I ask, wondering why as soon as the words left my mouth.
"If the same applies to yours," he replies.
I nod and scoop a spoonful of his ice cream when it arrives.
He reciprocates the action, accidentally brushing against my hand in the process.
"Why pink?" He asks.
I cock my head to the side. "It's pretty," I answer simply. "It makes me feel confident. But I own things in other colors too,"
"I know, it's just, you are extra when you wear pink," he says.
I gasp and place my hand on my chest, slightly offended. "I do hope that's your idea of a compliment,"
"It is; I promise. I meant that pink makes you feel more beautiful and confident and it just radiates off you," he says, fixating his gaze on his ice cream.
I blink. "That's, umm…dead accurate, I think. Thanks," I say, suddenly feeling shy that someone had put my love for the color pink to words that made the tiniest hint of sense.
A cloud of uncomfortable silence falls over us for what feels like forever before—in a bid to change the subject—I scoop his ice cream again.
"Hey!" He exclaims.
I hug my cup to my chest and feign innocence, even batting my lashes for the full effect.
"Don't act cute! I saw what you did!" He says, pointing his index finger at me.
I suppress a smile and ask, "Little old me?"
"Yes, you," he says, accusingly.
"What did I do? And I hope you have proof instead of throwing around false accusations," I tell him pointedly, then shove a spoonful of vanilla in my mouth.
"I've got your proof," he says. He gets up and leans across the table towards me, then swipes his hand at my bottom lip.
He showcases his victory; a drop of chocolate on his finger before licking it off.
"Hmmm," he hums as he sits. "Chocolate and strawberry lip gloss. Quite the combo, don't you think?" He teases.
I blink—repeatedly.
Did he just…
Suddenly, an image of a smiling Indrek flashes in my mind. His shirt is lifted, the name 'Ponytail' written on his abs in messy writing. I can hear his voice in my head, saying "Is that okay, Ponytail?" in his deep breathy voice. I remember him at the pub in Manchester, listening to me intently as I rambled. I remember him insisting on dropping me off at my room the next day. I remember him making me promise to text me once I made it to my room.
I remember him saying that he wished I was born in Europe, because he would have met me earlier. I don't know why I forgot that until now.
I glance back at Ronald, teasingly smiling at me, a single dimple exposed in his left cheek. How did I never notice that?
"Well, well," a male voice says. "If it isn't my so-called girlfriend,"
I purse my lips, secretly glad for a confrontation—anything, really, to distract me from overthinking whatever the hell just happened.
I put on the cheesiest smile I can muster and turn it on Frank, prepared to take him on.