Cravings Of A Different Sort

The sticky, humid air in their bedroom suddenly made her want to kick the covers to the bottom of the bed. She could hear the crickets outside, and could see the multi-colored light of the television flashing bright with images of a late night talk show on mute, long forgotten. With a few swift motions, their comforter hit the floor, settling in a pile on the hardwood, and she breathed a sigh of contentment. Fresh air. She felt as if she had spent the last few months in a convection oven, always battling her clothes during the hot summer days, and their blankets at night. Flipping her pillow over onto the cool side, she had a sudden pang of, well, something. Was it watermelon? No, not really. Not this time.

She nudged him gently with her elbow, hoping he wasn’t in too deep a sleep yet. He moaned softly, unmoving. “M’asleep.”

Smiling through the few drips of sweat that were creating paths from her forehead all the way down to her neck, she gently leaned over and wrapped an arm around his torso. Or, as much of his torso that she could reach. She whispered his name softly, twice more until his eyes fluttered open. At first, he could see nothing but black. As his eyes focused, he noticed the time on the alarm clock in bright red numbers and letters.

1:08AM.

The crickets chirped louder outside their window, and he squeezed the hand that was resting lovingly on his abdomen. Calleigh squeezed back, and pulled back so he could roll over to face her.

Yawning, he waited for what he knew was sure to come. “Lucy, you’ve got some splainin’ to do,” he muttered tiredly, but with a hint of amusement.

“I’m sorry. But it’s not watermelon this time.” As if to assuage his fears of the all-night grocery store all the way across town, she added, “I promise.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and slowly made his way out of bed. As he put on his shoes and grabbed a few things from his bedside table, he noted dimly that their comforter was on the floor again. But it was okay. Her body heat kept him warm.

Shoes, keys, wallet. Check.

Standing in the doorway, he laughed quietly as she spread out across their bed. “Anything for you Cal, you know that.”

Calleigh, with a wide grin, felt a warmth spread over her. “Even a giant pickle and a pint of vanilla ice cream?”

Laughing again, he nodded. “Even... pickles and ice cream.”

-x-

When he arrived home from the 7-11, he kicked off his shoes and dropped his keys and wallet onto his table. He sat down on their bed, using his feet to push his back up against the headboard, and dumped the contents of his orange and green plastic bag onto the bed.

Calleigh sat up against their headboard, leaning against him as she planted a quick kiss to his cheek. “What would I do without you?”

Shrugging, with a soft chuckle, Eric handed her the ice cream and the giant (garlic flavored) pickle he had bought from the man at the 7-11, who was, frankly, quite inquisitive regarding his purchases.

He picked up a candy bar he had bought for himself, and unwrapped it, watching her open the lid to her vanilla ice cream. As he took a bite of the now-melting chocolate, he vaguely noticed Conan gesturing wildly on the television, making small-talk with some celebrity he didn’t recognize.

“Don’t you need a spoon?”

Looking up at him with a mischievous grin, she dipped the pickle into the ice cream and took a giant, unladylike bite. Through the vanilla-pickle combination, she managed a few words. “Not rly... ‘s good ths way.”

As he ate his candy bar, and she ate her oddly paired midnight snacks, the silence settled over them.

She didn’t really contemplate their relationship, or her previous ones, or how their first kiss had been, or what they might call their daughter. It was too late, and she was too tired. She was a simple girl, with a simple request.

Pickles and cold diary products. And, of course, the perfect feeling of sleeping soundly and closely next to the man who had taught her that not everything had to be complicated.