She likes talking. She likes talking a lot. That much is obvious after listening to her cheerful babbling for the rest of the afternoon. I learn that she has a younger sister names Cynthia and that she had to move way too often for her liking because her stepfather was in the Military.
"Seattle is so big. I'm going to get lost. My sense of orientation is basically none existent."
"I can show you around a bit if you want me to. Kristoff wouldn't like it too much, if he returned and I had to confess that you haven't returned from a shopping trip.
"I love shopping. We have to go together some time."
I sigh deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb in an attempt to fight off a beginning migraine. The new estrogen pills my endocrinologist prescribed me are stronger than the ones I had before. I like the effect that is having on my skin but as for my headaches—they are so very exhausting.
"Don't you like shopping?"
"I order most of my stuff through the internet. It's much more comfortable."
And much less embarrassing, I add silently in my head.
"But where's the fun in that?"
"Shopping is not that fun for someone my size."
"You should be lucky that you are that tall. Like a freaking model. Are all the women in your family like you?"
Thewomenin my family are small and slender. I'm the one who has been forced through the horrors of male puberty with the result of being stuck at 5.9 for the rest of my life. I hate being tall. It makes me too visible while I want nothing more than to be invisible.
"Anna?"
"My mother was around 5.9 but my father's sister was pretty tall. I don't remember her very well though."
I remember how she almost fainted when she caught me playing in Mom's dresses when I was a child. How she yelled and called me a sick freak until my father told her to shut the fuck up. That this was just a phase and that all kids would go through stuff like that while growing up.
The problem with some phases is that they don't end, no matter how hard you keep wishing for it.
"Was?"
"Was what?"
"You said your mother was. Is she dead?"
I suck at lying although I'm forced to lie like twenty-four hours every goddamn day and so I simply nod my head instead of answering her verbally.
She places her tiny hand on mine and squeezes it gently, rubbing her thumb over the back of my hand.
"I'm so sorry for your loss. Have the two of you been close? My own mom and I, we don't get along that well. She has trouble accepting me the way I am."
When she says the last part a frown appears on her pretty face. It's only for a split second but it sends an unpleasant feeling straight into my heart. I don't like her feeling bad about anything.
"Are you hungry?" I ask her in an attempt to distract her and lead our conversation to safer topics, topics that aren't filled with hurtful memories.
She nods her head and I cringe a bit at the difference of height between the two of us as she follows me into my kitchen. Compared to me, Elsa seems so incredible fragile. It makes me want to protect her and that's something I don't like too much. Guys protect girls. You are not a guy for fucks sake.
"Is Mac Cheese okay?"
"I love it. Do you want me to make some salad to go with it?"
Not waiting for me to answer, she opens the fridge, instantly noticing the plastic box filled with the injection needles.
"What's that?" she asks, lifting one of them up to take a closer look.
"Insulin," I mumble, clearing my throat nervously. "Please don't touch that."
"You have Diabetes? Which type?"
Crap, there are several of them? Why are there several of them?
"Type one." I whisper, hoping that she won't continue asking me about that any further. I know shit about Diabetes.
"Oh I see. I'm sorry for touching your medicine. It won't happen again."
She pulls some tomatoes out of the fridge and rinses them under the faucet before cutting them into thin slices. Her lips form the melody of an old country song and I can feel my own mouth lifting up into a smile while I watch her. She is such a joyful person that it is impossible to not open up your heart to her at least a tiny bit.
When she tries to reach the bowl from the cupboards she has to stand up on her toes and I sigh deeply before handing it to her.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Do you want to have some wine with Dinner?"
"I don't drink. Alcohol doesn't lead to me making very considerate decisions."
"Probably. I have some diet coke here, if you like that better."
"I do. Look, aren't you too hot wearing that scarf while you're cooking?"
I shake my head and touch my silk covered throat with trembling fingers before her dainty fingers reach the thin material of my scarf.
"Don't touch me." I snarl at her, a bit harsher than it would have been necessary.
She drops her hands and steps back, her blue eyes widening fearfully in her beautiful elfin-like face.
"I'm sorry." I whisper. "I didn't mean to be so rude to you. It's just that I don't like it when someone touches me so unexpectedly."
"I'm sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. Let me know when Dinner is ready. I'm in my room, trying to squeeze the content of my suitcases into this tiny little nothing of a closet