in which Holly is served an omelet

“How about an omelet?” Maybe the way to her heart was through her stomach. He hopped to the fridge and got out the eggs, cracked them into a bowl and whisked them a bit as he waited for the griddle to heat.

There was an awkward silence. Rob dug into his brain to find a way to redeem himself.

“I used to have a cat named Nazgul,” Holly said.

“Oh?” Rob poured the egg mixture. It sizzled. The warm smell filled the kitchen and eased the tension. “Um. Was it an evil cat?”

Holly contemplated the Eowyn sketches as she spoke. “He was the sweetest cat ever. But he looked evil. He was bizarre looking.”

Rob tilted the pan, gently lifting the cooked eggs with a spatula to let the uncooked eggs run beneath to the hot surface. “How do you mean?” he prompted.

She sighed and dropped the sketchbook on the table with a loud smack. “I don’t know, Rob; he was weird looking; what do you want from me?”

Surprised, Rob stopped in the middle of sprinkling fillings into the omelet. “Just – nothing. I….” He finished sprinkling, folded the omelet, and banged the lid on the pan to aid the melting of the cheese. “I want you to enjoy this omelet.” He removed the lid and flipped the omelet neatly onto a plate. He sprinkled more cheese on top for good measure and hopped to the table, presenting it with a flourish. “Voici, mademoiselle, omelette a la Robert.”

Holly looked at the omelet before her, and her lips trembled. “Nazgul loved omelets.” She laid her head down on her arms and cried.

Dismayed, Rob set the plate down and sat beside her. “Holly,” he said softly, “What’s wrong?” He tentatively reached out and patted her back, relishing the smooth feel of her unwashed hair. Did he dare to put his arms around her, to hold her, to let her cry on his shoulder? What if Mason walked in? It was all too soap opera. “I’m sorry. You must have really loved Nazgul.” He floundered for something to say.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice muffled. “Sometimes I think he’s the only person who ever loved me….” The last word dissolved in a little squeak as she broke into sobs.

Yike. The implications sent Rob’s brain reeling. Mason could go to hell. And probably would. He moved closer and put his arms around her. She drooped against him. He patted her, rocking a bit. “Shh-shh. It’s okay,” he said inanely.

“I’m so stupid,” she moaned. “I’m so, so stupid. Why am I like this?”

“No, you’re not.” What was she talking about? “You’re smart. And talented, and beautiful. And you speak French.”

“I speak Latin, too. And Elvish. And a little German.” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

“There you go. Why do you say you’re stupid?”

“I’m stupid about people. About love!” She hurled the word away from her as if it were a disgusting, squashed bug.

“Everyone is stupid about love,” Rob murmured into her hair. He breathed in the scent of her. Sunflowers.

She took two sobbing breaths. “What?”

“What?” Rob repeated.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Nothing. I just said, ‘You’re not stupid about love.’” He looked desperately around the kitchen, hoping for inspiration. He could think of nothing intelligent to say. Belatedly, he noticed Lisa standing in the doorway. He stiffened. Lisa’s arms were folded and her lips were pursed and smiling, as if to stifle laughter. She gave him the thumbs up sign, then backed quietly out.

Holly was beginning to calm, taking the great shuddering breaths that come at the end of a hard cry. “Why am I like this?” she said again.

“Like what? Smart, and sensitive? Not to mention graceful.”

She sat up straight, and Rob reluctantly let her go. She grabbed a napkin and wiped her eyes and nose before reaching out to slide the plate towards her. “This looks good,” she said. She toyed with the fork but did not take a bite.

“Did your cat really eat omelets?” Rob said. Holly nodded, shoulders hunched and head bowed. She put a bite of omelet in her mouth and sat, not chewing.

“That bad, huh? The omelet, I mean.” Rob reached out and patted her back again. She winced. Rob took a deep breath and plunged in where he knew he shouldn’t. Leaning forward, he spoke in a low voice so that no one who might be in the other room would hear. “Did something happen between you and Mason?”

Holly’s eyes filled again and overflowed. She cried quietly, tears falling on the omelet. She swallowed hard, noticeably forcing the morsel past a lump in her throat. “Nothing’s ever happened between us.”