An hour later, her brow damp with perspiration,
Elizabeth grabbed the skillet, burned her hand, and yelped
as she snatched a cloth to use on the handle. She arranged
the bacon on a platter and then debated what to do with
the ten-inch biscuit that had actually been four small
biscuits when she’d placed the pan in the oven. Deciding
not to break it into irregular chunks, she placed the
entire biscuit neatly in the center of the bacon and
carried the platter over to the table, where Ian had just
seated himself. Returning to the stove, she tried to dig
the eggs out of the skillet, but they wouldn’t come loose
so she brought the skillet and spatula to the table. ‘I –
I thought you might like to server,’ she offered formally,
to hide her growing trepidation over the things she had
prepared.
‘Certainly,’ Ian replied, accepting the honor with the
same grave formality with which she’d offered it; then he
looked expectantly at the skillet. ‘What have we here?’ he
inquired sociably.
Scrupulously keeping her gaze lowered, Elizabeth sat
down across from him. ‘Eggs,’ she answered making an
elaborate production of opening her napkin and placing it
on her lap. ‘I’m afraid the yolks broke.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
When he picked up the spatula Elizabeth pinned a
bright, optimistic smile on her face and watched as he
first tried to life, and then began trying to pry the
stuck eggs from the skillet. ‘They’re stuck,’ she
explained needlessly.
‘No, they’re bonded,’ he corrected, but at least he
didn’t sound angry. After another few moments he finally
managed to pry a strip loosed, and he placed it on her
plate. A few moments more and he was able to gouge another
piece loosed, which he placed on his own plate.
In keeping with the agreed-upon truce they both began
observing all the polite table rituals with scrupulous
care. First Ian offered the platter of bacon with the
biscuit centerpiece to Elizabteh, ‘Thank you,’ she said,
choosing two black strips of bacon.
Ian took three strips of bacon and studied the flat
brown object reposing on the center of the platter. ‘I
recognize the bacon,’ he said with grave courtesy, ‘but
what is that?’ he asked, eyeing the brown object. ‘It
looks quite exotic.’
‘It’s a biscuit,’ Elizabeth informed him.
‘Really?’ he said, straight-faced. ‘Without any shape?’
‘I call it a – a pan biscuit,’ Elizabeth fabricated
hastily.
‘Yes, I can see why you might,’ he agreed. ‘It rather
resembles the shape of a pan.’
Separately they surveyed their individual plates,
trying to decide which item was most likely to be edible.
They arrived at the same conclusion at the same moment;
both of them picked up a strip of bacon and bit into it.
Noisy crunching and cracking sounds ensued – like those of
a large tree breaking in half and falling. Carefully
avoiding each other’s eyes, they continued crunching away
until they’d both eaten all the bacon on their plates.
That finished, Elizabeth summoned her courage and took a
dainty bite of egg.
The egg tasted like tough, salted wrapping paper, but
Elizabeth chewed manfully on it, her stomach churning with
humiliation and a lump of tears starting to swell in her
throat. She expected some scathing comment at any moment
from her companione, and the more politely he continued
eating, the more she’d at least have the defense of anger.
Lately everything that happened to her was humiliating,
and her pride and confidence were in tatters. Leaving the
egg unfinished, she put her fork and tied the biscuit.
After several seconds of attempting to break a piece off
with her fingers, she picked up her knife and sawed away
at it. A brown piece finally broke loose; she lifted it to
her mouth and bit – but it was so tough her teeth only
made grooves in the surface. Across the table she felt
Ian’s eyes on her, and the urge to weep doubled. Would you
like some coffee? She asked in a suffocated little voice.
‘Yes, thank you.’
Relieved to have a moment to compose herself, Elizabeth
arose and went to the stove, but her eyes blurred with
tears as she blindly filled a mug with freshly brewed
coffee. She brought it over to him, then sad down again.
Sliding a glance at the defeated girl sitting with her
head bent and her hands folded in her lap, Ian felt a
compulsive urge to either laugh or comfort her, but since
chewing was requiring such an effort, he couldn’t do
either. Swallowing the last piece of egg, her finally
managed to say, ‘That was …er….quite filling.’
Thinking perhaps he hadn’t found it so bad as she had,
Elizabeth hesitantly raised her eyes to his. ‘I haven’t
had a great deal of experience with cooking,’ she admitted
in a small voice. She watched him take a mouthful of
coffee, saw his eyes widen in shock – and he began to chew
the coffee.
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