On an Edge of Glass

television.  The chords are simple, drifting up slowly and sliding around my head, mixing with my thoughts.  It’s almost like I’m still asleep.  I glance up and Ben is standing in the kitchen staring into our pathetic excuse for a spice cabinet.  I very nearly turn away and sneak back into my bedroom like the coward I suspect that I am, but something about the napping, and the music, and the pot boiling on the stovetop has me feeling bold.    
                  “Looking longer won’t make anything good appear,” I say, placing my hands across my chest.
                  Ben turns.  His hair falls across his forehead into his eyes, which are more unusual than I first thought.  I see flecks of amber and gold dance across his chocolate irises.
    “Right,” he says.  The crooked smile that I remember from the coffee shop appears.  He tucks the offending hair behind his ear and peers back into the cabinet.  “I’m guessing that you wouldn’t know where the coriander is.”
                  This makes me tip my head and laugh out loud. 
    Ben’s smile gets wider and that one adorable dimple deepens.  “Is something funny?” 
    “I don’t even know what coriander is, so I don’t think you’re going to find it in this kitchen.”  I shrug and take a step closer.  Now, Ben and I are at a dangerous proximity.  The hairs on the back of my neck come to attention.  My skin tingles. “I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but Payton, Ainsley and I all have the culinary skills of a group of orangutans.  We’re more of the toasting-bagel and ordering-pizza variety.”
                  Ben laughs and there is an answering flutter in my chest.  I notice for the first time that his teeth are a bit uneven.  One canine juts slightly forward at the wrong angle. 
    “Well then, coriander-less kabobs it is.”  He mock sighs, bowing his head.  With his back to me, he slips a broiling pan into the oven and fiddles with the control knobs.  “How will we manage?”
    “I think we’ll survive,” I hedge.
    Ben looks at me over his shoulder.  “I wanted to grill these but I saw that the propane tank on the grill is empty.”
                  I scrunch my nose.  “Yeah….  I’m not even sure how that thing works, and my instincts tell me that I should stay away from devices that combine gas and fire.”
                  “Always trust your instincts,” Ben nods in agreement.  His left hip is resting against the counter and his feet are crossed at the ankles.
    Standing here in the kitchen, I’m struck again by the whole of him—the unevenness, the shaggy dark brown hair, the long, lean arms, the scruff along his jaw, and those warm caramel-infused eyes.  I find myself wishing that I could still this moment and keep it in my mind like a picture. 
    I lif t my gaze and catch him looking back at me.  My breath hitches and a warm pink heat rushes to my cheeks.  Before I can embarrass myself anymore, I turn away and busy my hands, rearranging the folded dish towels stacked near the sink. 
    “So what can I do to help?”   I ask hastily.
    If Ben notices that my voice is strange, he’s gracious about it.  He shows me how to chop the parsley we need to add to the rice that’s boiling on the stovetop.  Then, we work on slicing red and green peppers diagonally.  The spaces between his culinary instructions are littered with questions about my life and my plans for the future.
    “ So, why do you want to be a lawyer?”  He asks, sliding the slices of pepper into a large bowl with the blunt edge of the knife he’s been using.  He wipes his hand on a kitchen towel and turns to me.  His face is expectant.
    It’s a simple question .
    It’s a question that I should be able to answer quickly—succinctly.  But, the thing is that no one has ever asked me that before.  There’s no why involved in the formula that is my life plan.  It just is. 
    So I stammer and say s omething that sounds worthwhile.  But, I end up feeling like it’s lacking—like I’m playing a kind of game with myself.  And by the look on Ben’s face as he watches me, he knows it.  That bothers me more than it should.
    Because I like Ben.
    He’s funny.
    He’ s smart.
    He’ s proficient on three instruments and is going to be auditioning for several orchestra placements in the spring.  He’s also the bass guitarist for an indie band