Ari and I made our way back to my house to continue our "date" which consisted of making dinner and then a movie on my couch. Weirdly enough, I was actually a little excited to hang out with him. Just to catch up and really see inside his head to try and figure out how to help him.
Not gonna lie, I had an exciting time at the grocery store. Ari convinced me to climb my old ass into that dingy bacteria riddled basket like a five-year-old child. I was so concerned with how random strangers were going to perceive me that I almost missed creating another crazy memory with him.
I still couldn't fathom the fact that he really told the security that he impregnated me just so I could stay my grown ass in that basket.
Gotta be the sweetest thing anyone has done for me in a while.
Ari was currently in the kitchen gathering extra items we didn't obtain from the grocery store for dinner. He moved about the kitchen like it belonged to him. Like he was Gordan Ramsey and owned the whole fuckin' area.
I'm not sure why, but the smallest of tingles bounced wildly inside of my stomach as I sat myself down at the island and observed him opening and closing the refrigerator door, pull food items from grocery bags, gathering pots and pans, cleaning and thoroughly seasoning the chicken, and uncorking a bottle of red wine to pour for the both of us.
It was something attractive about watching a man cook.
But I shook off that weird feeling. This was Arizona I was talking about. My gay best friend.
"I didn't know you knew how to cook," I finally spoke after shaking myself from my trance.
"Have you forgotten who my mother is?" He says jokingly, "She's one of the best chefs I know other than my grandmother. My mom made sure that every one of her children knew how to cook so we wouldn't come back home trying to rummage through her house looking for food. She taught us that one of the most sensual things you could do for your significant other is to cook and clean for them."
I hate to admit it, but I blushed a little at his statement. I know I'm just pretending to be his girlfriend, but I could get used to having someone cook for me.
"But don't get used to me cooking for you. This is just because I know how upset you are with me and my dad always told us that the way to get through to a woman's heart is through her stomach."
"I don't think that's how that saying goes, but whatever. You can cook for me anytime you like, boo," I laugh.
Ari laughs back and carefully slides over a glass of the wine he bought from the wine and spirits store we stopped by after our Walmart adventure.
"You don't ever cook?" He asked me as he turned back around to continue browning the pink chicken breast sitting in the pan on the stove-top.
"I do on occasion but not very often. I like cooking things in bulk so I can have leftovers. I'm not really a fan of leftovers but I am lazy at home and am usually too busy with work to have enough energy to cook dinner. So, Maya and I usually take turns cooking so neither of us is cooking every day. Besides, I like baking more than cooking."
"Understandable. Speaking of Maya, did you ever find out who her secret boyfriend was?"
The both of us laugh heartily causing me to lay my head down from all the heaving I was doing, and he to throw his head back to gather more oxygen into his lungs so he could continue laughing.
That was one of the best and most genuine laughs that I believe either of us had experienced in a long time. I'm glad I got to share that with him.
The heavy laugh was backed by a story from the day so long ago that we met up and Maya refused to let us know who she had been dating. So, Ari and I took it upon ourselves to become the true investigators we knew we could be.
Without Maya being aware, Det. Matthews and I took to Facebook and Instagram to become the Fb and IG social media FBI. Scouring through her statuses and pictures to see if she gave up any kind of inkling to who she was involved with.
We even took it as far as "interviewing" suspected suspects by asking them certain questions. Ari and I were determined to figure out who this mystery person was.
The thing is, is that Maya is never secretive about who she likes or is dating. She always got so excited about that stuff and loved to let her friends know what cute guy she was currently romantically interested in. She's been that way even before she had the unrequited crush on Ari. It was no secret to the school who she fancied because everyone knew.
However, when she refused to let two of her closest friends know who she liked, it was foreign to us. Selfishly, we didn't want to allow her to have the privacy she deserved because we thought that as her friends, we were obligated to know who she was involved with.
The whole ordeal was so funny for us because after a couple weeks of our fruitless investigating, we relented. We realized how ridiculous we were being. The both of us confessed and profusely apologized to Maya for what we had been doing behind her back and commended her on her amazing job on keeping things tight lipped. She was annoyed with us for a couple days but forgave us and scolded us not to do it again.
We agreed.
She makes fun of us often and makes jokes about us doing the things we did. We're both just glad she forgave us. We were pretty stupid. To this day we still have no clue who she was talking to.
"I have no idea who that guy was. She never let me know. I would think about it from time to time still trying to figure out who it was, but I respected her wanting to keep it to herself.
She actually is talking to a different guy currently and won't tell me who it is. Probably a result of what happened the last time, but whoever it is, his voice sounds familiar. She seems pretty happy about this guy and she hasn't voiced any concerns about him. I assume he is making and keeping her happy and it better stay that way or there will be hell to pay."
"Ok, bars. Wrap that shit up, girl! See what I did there; puns."
I roll my eyes at him but chuckle.
"And you're sure you're not currently talking to someone? Not even hooking up?" He questioned.
By now Ari had finished browning the chicken and had moved on to concocting some kind of cream sauce that had a pinkish, red, and white tint to it. This was most definitely not the spaghetti I had originally asked for.
He wasn't using any kind of recipe or looking at anything from Google. I suspect this must've been one of the first recipes his mother taught him to make, resulting in it being firmly ingrained in his brain.
He had measured out and poured heavy cream into the saucepan and added in some seasonings and continued to stir till the sauce had thickened a little and start a low bubble.
His back was turned to me, but I think he could sense that I was watching him quizzically.
"Dinner will be a surprise. I'm not going to tell you what it is, but you can answer my question," he said never even turning around.
"No, I'm not hooking up or talking to anyone right now. We've already gone over this. I wasn't lying the first time and I think I would know if I was talking to someone, so yes, I am sure Ari."
"Hey, I'm just making sure that no guy is going to be trying to come after me thinking that I stole his girl."
I roll my eyes at him and continue to sip my wine while scrolling on my Instagram homepage. I was just about to double-tap a series of pictures of some hot tattooed guy when a wooden spoon with a little bit of sauce pooled in its depths blocked my view. I look up at Ari and raise my right eyebrow in annoyance.
"Stop drooling over hot guys for a second to tell me if this sauce needs anything."
I dip my finger in the cream sauce and lick it clean to contemplate the complex taste on my buds.
"It's pretty good! Add a little more salt and maybe some chili pepper flakes and then it should be good."
Ari nods his head and turns his attention back to the sauce to make the needed adjustments.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" I ask after getting bored with my phone and feeling useless. We had bought a cornucopia of vegetables from the store that were still waiting to be put into use.
Ari sees me eyeing the untouched légumes and tells me to wash and slice them so they can be sauteed with some savory spices.
I have no clue where Ari is going with this meal, but I shrug my shoulders and get to work, occasionally intentionally hip bumping into him.
At one point, a few years ago, during a rash decision, my dad installed surround speakers into the bottoms of a few places around our large kitchen so he could blast music while he and my mom cooked, cleaned, or held parties. My mother hated them, but my siblings and I loved them. They served perfectly for moments such as this.
Ari synced his phone to the speakers aptly dubbed "Kitchen Jams" and started playing "Stir Fry" by the Migos, the perfect "kitchen jam".
Surprisingly, he turned to me and started rapping the lyrics, leaving me to stand there and look stunned. After my initial shock, I started dancing around and rapping the lyrics as well.
We looked like a middle-aged married couple cooking and singing together in the kitchen because we finally got a date night to ourselves without the kids being around.
And I unsurprisingly enjoyed every second of it.