Five. “How do you feel about eloping?” C. asked, seemingly out of the blue.
He sat across from me at the small kitchen table peeling a clementine, waiting for the pasta water to boil. I was pretending to read the newspaper.
“I feel… pretty good about eloping,” I responded slowly.
C. separated the orange round in two and handed me half.
“Though, I do think I’d like to have a party.” I continued, casually, biting into the cold fruit. “I think there’s something pretty special about being surrounded by the people we love.”
“Oh we’d still have a party and do the whole thing,” he noted. “We’d just elope for us, no one else.”
“Cool.” I responded.
“Cool.” He said, his toothy grin full of orange. He popped the rest of the round into his mouth and got up to take the lid off the rumbling pot.
I went back to pretending to read the words in front of me. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the smell of citrus.
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