𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 - 𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚒 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚔

too good for me.

We're sitting on the couch. Rami's plate is already empty, dirty with the cream cheese. His legs are intertwined, where he supports the dish and in one of his hands, a glass of half-empty wine. I'm still finishing my meal, although Rami was the one who talked the most during - all about the shootings, the interviews and a photoshoot for the September issue of GQ.

The sun has set an hour ago and now the room is illuminated by yellowish incandescent light bulbs.

"This pasta was delicious," he says, giving a short sip of red wine.

"I have to say, I'm impressed with myself," I say to him, covering my mouth with bologna.

"I'm as impressed as you are," he replies, debauched, which makes me look down on him.

"It was one of the first recipes my mother taught me how to make, I was 13 years old," I remember, giving one last bite on the plate.

"Always liked to cook?" he asks, leaning the glass on the glass center table gently.

"I always did, but I never liked to do the dishes after the mess I made," he said, still chewing. I swallow dry and pick up my glass from the table. "I started helping her with family lunches and dinners, leaving my father to set the table alone.

"I don't remember very well, but at Thanksgiving dinner, we always tried to make kusharis and ful medames in the middle of the turkey and pies. My father loved it." A tone of melancholy becomes clear in Rami's voice. He never talks about his father's death, but I know he's messed with it a lot. I allow him to talk about it as if I already know the situation and save him from opening up in detail.

"My father insisted on celebrating Thanksgiving even after we moved here, but my mother saw no reason for all the work, for something that was not in her culture." I take a sip of the wine, savoring the notes of grapes that go down my throat

I feel satisfied and put my glass between my legs, giving a sigh. The glass is now empty and Rami faces my bare feet on the carpet. I get up and grab my plate, heading towards the kitchen. "Bring your plate and glass." I tell him, turning to him for a few seconds.

I support the whitish glass plate in the dark marble sink and the glass next door. Rami's barefoot feet make a funny noise on the floor and he stands beside me.

"I wash and you dry," I talk, pointing with my chin at the cloth right next to it.

I turn on the tap and the water comes out warm. The socket is full of detergent and I soak it under running water. Rami's eyes follow all the movements I make on the plates, alternating the look at my face. He dries the plates and puts them on the counter, and does the same with the glasses. I turn off the tap and the atmosphere is silent, without the noise of running water. I open the closet right under the sink and store the dishes and glasses.

"Have you made a hotel reservation?" I ask, leaning on my back at the counter.

"No, I hope there's still a spare room at The Ritz," he says, playing with a lock of my hair.

"You could stay here," I say, offering it up. I know something in my voice was very suggestive, but I can't let him sleep in a hotel room, if I can spare him that. I look at the floor.

"You want me to stay here?" he asks, hopefully, as if he expected me to want him to stay.

I nod my head subtly. My gaze turns to him and his green eyes meet mine. His body leans toward mine, and if I concentrate, I can feel his heat under the layers of clothing. His body touches mine and we continue to look at each other, tenderly. My lips tingle when I think that I can kiss Rami every day, that I can have him by my side. I stare at his mouth, one lip thinner than the other, our faces inches away. His breath is long and I feel his body shudder. I could stand like this for a whole day, just looking at him. His hands lean on the counter, each next to my body. His hair is still a little messed up from the long flight, but I didn't insist on straightening the rebellious strands.

"I brought you something," he says, breaking the silence.

His body moves away from mine and I feel my body surrounded by a cold air, as if it keeps me warm. He walks down to the room where his bags are. He holds a black backpack, with buckles around it, so full that the material stretches and deforms. He opens a few zippers and goes through his pockets looking for something. In one of the pockets, a white box with pearl ribbon is removed. He comes to me with a proud smile on his face, taking a look at the whole box before turning me in.

"I know it's not your birthday, but I wanted to give you something like that," he says, leaning the box gently on the counter.

"Actually, my birthday was two days ago," I say, trying to sound real.

His facial expression changes for half a second, but his eyes are still on mine: "You're kidding, aren't you?" he asks, hesitantly.

"It was very insensitive of you," I answer, lowering my head, trying not to burst out in laughter.

He remains silent for 3 seconds, hesitant and ashamed, before realizing that my mouth is twitching, avoiding laughter. He squints his eyes. "You're kidding me," he concludes, showing a nervous smile.

My laughter comes out thin, out of control. With my hands, I hit my thigh, and lean forward, still dying of laughter. "You should have seen your face," I commented, covering my eyes with my hands, wiping a few tears that dared to accumulate in the corner of my eyes. He ended up laughing with me. He pushes the box and it slides down the counter until it reaches me. It's written Goop in the corner, in olive green.

"Honey, you can't keep giving me presents all the time," I tell him, breaking the noose.

"Are you forbidding me? All that is forbidden is better." He blinks at me, showing a dirty smile.

I roll my eyes, but I can't contain the smile. I finger the ribbon, hesitating to accept another random gift from him. His eyes are anxious, fixed on my hands. I begin to break the noose slowly and suddenly, a thousand things go through my head. How did he get into my life? Why did he decide to stay, knowing all the mess in my mind? Why did he decide to stay with me when many more attractive women than me had already hinted at him? What's in me that he loves so much? These are questions that make me appreciate Rami every day.

I throw the ribbon aside and open the box. White papers are rolling up some smaller boxes, and I'm taking them out one by one. Some creams and Schmidt's Jasmine Tea deodorant, mists and another smaller box, the one covered in translucent glass.

"Goop. It's related to Gwyneth Paltrow?" I ask.

"I asked the same question. Yes" he answers, supporting his weight on the counter.

I hold the glass box with both hands and remove it from the larger box. I can smell the products without having to open them. I give a strong sniff, feeling the notes of flowers, which makes us both smile. He waits for me anxiously.

"You have to stop spending your money on me like that," I scold him.

"I'll always spoil you," he says.

My eyes go from him to the smaller box next to me. There seems to be something expensive in it. I open the box and the glow reveals a bracelet with crescent-shaped pendants. My mouth opens, surprised, that he'd noticed.

"Crescent moon! Did you notice?" I ask, excited.

"As we were doing Facetime, I noticed your wall with moon stickers and thought it meant something to you." He comments, happy that I realized the effort he put into the present.

"You're too good for me" I comment and my voice gets lower as if deep down I feel bad for him doing so much for me and I never know how to repay him.

We remained silent.

He goes around the counter, while I gather the papers that filled the box. He comes close to me and hugs me from behind. He rests his chin on my shoulder and his hands wrap around my waist, leaning his hands on my belly. "Never say that. You deserve the best man in the world if he exists. I try to be him. For you."

"Rami, you're the best thing that ever happened to me. Really," I keep holding his hands, still pressed into my belly.

"And you're the best thing in my life. I'm happy to remember that I have someone to come home to."

We hugged each other for a long time. I could stay like this all night.

"Thank you, my love."