Cynnie’s moved to the other bench while I’ve been in the kitchen and rearranged the table, so the bee plate is in front of her and my plate’s on the other side of the table, with my back to the flowers. It gives her the nicer view, so I don’t object.
She seizes the sippy cup as soon as I put it in front of her and takes a big sip. “Ooo, this is sooo good! Can I?” She pulls her phone out of her duster.
“Sure.”
She takes a series of pictures that look, even to my untrained eye, staged. The cup. Her face in an O of wonder as she opens the cup and shows the pink drink inside. A big grin and peace sign as she holds the cup to her mouth.
She fiddles with her phone for a moment before tucking it away. “Sorry. It just seemed like a perfect thing to share.”
“No problem. Were you sharing it with the other littles in playgroup?”
That gorgeous rose rises to her cheeks again. “Um, no. Maybe a few of them follow me, but I don’t really know.”
“You don’t know?”
She stares down into her cup. “I have over two million followers. I don’t really know all of them.”
I choke on my sip of beer. “Two million?”
She nods without meeting my eyes.
“That’s, uh, quite a lot.”
“It’s a whole thing. Fairy kei culture. I don’t know if you know anything about it.”
“Zero, but I’m happy to learn.”
Those depthless eyes lift to mine. “You are?”
“Absolutely. Tell me about it.”
She does, while I serve us sesame chicken, rice noodles, and green beans. It’s a Japanese youth sub-culture that revolves around fashion and art in a way I don’t quite understand, but as she talks, I piece together her outfit with other things like the wholeHello Kittycraze and get a feel for the aesthetic.
While she’s still talking, I hold up my knife and fork and poise them over her food. At her enthusiastic nod, I cut everything into bite sized pieces for her.
When she looks down at the plate, her face freezes and she quickly pushes the chicken and noodles to one side and the green beans to the other side, before continuing to explain what appeals to her about being a pastel princess. A definite part of it is a Lolita-ish sex appeal; but the bigger part of it seems to just be the freedom she finds in the colors and cute accessories. I’m reminded, as she speaks of what Logan had to say, about the joy Emily finds in being little. I see the same effervescent energy as Cynnie speaks about being fairy kei; whatever in me that responds to Emily’s littleness rises and overspills as I listen to Cynnie. I feel buzzed, even though I’ve only had a few sips of my beer. The food’s forgotten. I barely hear the street sounds or feelthe evening breeze that ruffles my hair. I’m completely focused on Cynnie.
I don’t even realize I’m making noise until she stutters to a stop and stares at me, her pupils expanding until there’s just a thin ring of deep brown, her mouth dropping open. She squirms in her seat and reaches out to put her fingers against my vibrating throat.
I sit back and the deep rumble cuts off.
“You’z growling?” she whispers.
“Uh. No, not on purpose. I’m not mad at you.”
“You dizn’t sound mad. Sounded like you wanted to eat me.”
I did. I do. I absolutely want to devour this bundle of enthusiasm sitting across from me.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She shakes her head in a cloud of long, dark hair. “Don’t ‘pologize. That’z so hot.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Maybe we should talk about that. Or, uh, set limits or something.”
She finally breaks eye contact, focusing on the food that’s probably cold by now. She picks up her plastic fork and spoon and takes a bite of chicken and noodles. Evidently, it’s still good tepid because she gives me a big grin.
“Peanut butter.”
