bowls piled high in the sink. O.E. was running a full
production here. The exotic smells that were hinted at in
the living room were stronger than ever, intoxicating her
with a spicy thrill. "You really cooked dinner!"
"Of course. I didn't have to slave in an office building all
day, like you. So I figured I'd slave in the kitchen instead."
He opened the lid on a small pot. "Check out the rice. It's
flavored with fermented tea leaves, Burmese style." He
emptied the pots into serving bowls and handed one to her.
She held the bowl in her hands and her head swam.
I cannot believe this. Standing in the kitchen with a
steaming dish of beautifully aromatic food, Rebecca inhaled
deeply and felt her hunger grow. What a meal. What a man.
What a world, what a world. Another of her favorite
quotes. When the dying Wicked Witch of the West said,
"What a world," she was wondering at its sadness. But when
Rebecca replayed the words now, they were very different, a
joyous shout-out to the many amazing facets of her world.
She looked up at O.E. and smiled. "By the way, thank
you for that graphic illustration of your jaw's capabilities."
"I wasn't sure if I could still do it. It's been a long time,
you know. I may need more practice after dinner."
Rebecca smiled at him and touched her lower lip. It was
still warm. "Practice makes perfect."
They brought the food to the table, sat down, and filled
their plates. After a few bites, she leaned back in her chair.
"Another superlative, O.E. You cook like a chef. Where did
you learn that?"
"Same place as I got my color sense: two older sisters.
And the whole family cooked. My parents ran a restaurant."
Lucky man. Rebecca wished she had a sister who cared
enough to teach her anything. "They must have loved you."
"Perhaps they did, in their own strange way. I think they
mostly saw me as a willing student for their lectures. Being
the youngest had its disadvantages." O.E. lowered his head
and looked up at her. "I guess I don't have to tell you about
older sisters, do I?"
Rebecca grumbled. "Don't remind me. She's the worst."
"All because she called you ugly? Come on now, you've
got to get over that."
"Our older sisters needed someone to make them feel
superior. Yours may have rammed a lot of recipes and
fashion sense down your throat, but at least they left you
with some useful skills, especially for a man. My sister never