Page 87 of The Wedding Confession
“I can see you’ve done this before,” she says.
I have to focus on the omelet, making sure it cooks evenly. Then there’s the magic moment. I lift the pan off the stove and shake it well, ensuring that the egg isn’t sticking anywhere.
And then with one quick flick of my wrist, the egg sails into the air, neatly flips over, and lands in the pan, uncooked side down.
Ensley claps. “That was amazing. Mine would’ve hit the ceiling.”
“I bungled a few tries in the early days.”
I add the ingredients to one half of the omelet before folding it closed. This part always happens fast.
The potatoes look done on the bottom, so I flip them with the spatula. The tops are golden brown.
“Do you like it hard or soft?” Ensley asks, and I whip my head around.
Her eyes are merry with mischief. “Got ya. I mean your hash browns.”
“Crispy,” I say.
“Same. Good to know we are hash browns compatible. I feel very sorry for the couples where one likes it hard, and the other likes it soft.”
“I could always take a little and pull out early,” I say, not realizing until I hear the words aloud that I’ve doubled down on the entendre.
Ensley erupts into giggles. “I’ll exchange sexual quips with you any day.”
“I believe that’s what got us started with those dirty emails.”
She nods. “And here we are.”
I place the omelet on a plate and cover it with a second upturned plate to keep the heat in.
As I pour the second set of whipped eggs into the pan, I say, “If all goes well, they’ll finish simultaneously.”
Ensley bursts out laughing, and I realize I’ve done it again.
“I’m going to do it intentionally from now on,” I say.
“I challenge you to an entendre duel,” she says, picking up the whisk like it’s a sword.
I shift the egg pan. “I think I might lose.”
“But you’re already two up on me.”
“Then catch up.”
She stares at the ingredient bowls.
“There’s no sausage or pickle. You’re making it hard.”
I cough out a laugh.
She gazes up at me in confusion, then realizes what she just said. “I’m a natural!”
“As long as you don’t say you want to park the beef bus in tuna town.”
Her mouth drops open. “Drew! Ugh! I call off the duel!” She tosses the whisk in the sink, but we’re both all smiles.
Soon, we’re seated at the table, looking out the bay window onto the dog park at the edge of the complex.