Body Fat
Delphine notices it first on her ribs. As she slips her hands under Cosima's shirt and drags them up her rib cage, Delphine is suddenly struck by how smooth the planes of her torso are. Gone are the deep valleys between each protruding rib, mined out by disease over the past few months, when she couldn't keep any food down, when she was wasting away. Now there is only smooth skin with the faint shadow of bone beneath.
"I bought ingredients for spaghetti and meatballs," Delphine announces as she walks through the door, sliding grocery bags onto the table.
"Are we feeding an army?" Cosima asks, raising an eyebrow at the bags brimming with pasta and ground beef.
She begins to notice it everywhere. She finds it in the slight curve of Cosima's cheeks and in the fullness of her breasts. Sliding her hands across hip bones where her fingers can now find purchase, it makes her heart sing.
"You know what's really good in smoothies? Raw eggs!"
She's never been much of a biter, but suddenly she finds herself nipping at Cosima's thighs as her lips skim along the bare skin, just to feel the flesh deflect underneath her teeth. Suddenly she wants nothing more than to hug, squeeze, pinch, grasp just to feel the blissful solidity Cosima has become. She wants to dig her fingers in and hang on for dear life.
"Do you want some of this?" Delphine asks, sliding her half-finished omelet across the table towards Cosima, who is already buried in a tall stack of pancakes.
Other women might be distracted by the body parts themselves (those breasts, the eyes, the rear). Other women would note the toned muscles and tan skin. But Delphine is too caught up in the wondrous physicality of all of it to notice. She only sees smooth and strong, soft and solid.
"I stopped on my way home and got ice cream. It's Tuesday, so I bought two."
When Cosima knocks her flat on the bed and spreads out on top of her to pin her down, she loses herself in the heart-rending weight of the small woman. One hundred and twenty pounds has never been more magnificent. No one's weight has never felt so reassuring.
"Let's get burgers tonight! Fries, too!" Delphine suggests, already rummaging for her keys.
"Whoa there, Miss I'll-Just-Have-A-Salad. What is going on with you?" Cosima eyes her girlfriend suspiciously.
After one too many batches of cookies magically appears on her desk, Cosima finally catches on. She confronts Delphine, pushes her up against the kitchen counter and pins her wrists behind her, demanding an explanation for what is bordering on force-feeding. Delphine admits everything, sings like a lark, because she's too busy to put up any defenses, far too busy noticing how strong and warm Cosima's hands are again.
Delphine talks quickly, words spilling out of her, about the beauty of body fat on a once skeletal frame. She tries to explain the thrill of seeing Cosima and thinking when we are older instead of in the time we have left. Then Cosima is pressing against her and they're reduced to lips and teeth and tongue and smooth planes of skin.