May 14, 2006 - 10:43 PM

Clay put two wet fingers in his mouth and licked them clean. In mere seconds, his face puckered into a hard wince.

“Now why in the world did I think that would be sweet?” He shrugged and continued licking off his other fingers despite the sour taste.

Mary threw the spent lemon halves into a plastic grocery bag. “Citrus limon. Family Rutaceae. Um, Clay?”

It worked before - try again!

“There's a pitcher down in that cupboard by the refrigerator. Could...you please get it for me?”

“Down there?” he pointed. “Sure.” He bent down low and leaned inside the large, cluttered cabinet.

Oh, my! she startled at the unexpected pleasure of seeing his...well-fitting jeans...revealing themselves from under his untucked shirt.

“Which one do you want?” came Clay's muffled voice. “There's a white plastic one and a green one, and...”

Her gaze was transfixed. “The green one, please. Earthenware keeps liquid colder longer. There's a lid in there, too.”

He poked his head out a bit. “There is? Okay.” He rattled about a few moments more. “Oh, I got it.” He pulled himself and the weighty pitcher up to the counter as she quickly went back to the grocery bag. “Where's the sugar, Mary?”

“Sugar? Oh. In the pantry.” She pointed toward the tall cupboard by the stove. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Glad to help.”

How nice of him to say that. I can't believe how well this is turning out! “I'll get the ice right after I throw out the lemons.”

“You're not gonna boil the water first?”

“What? Boil?”

“That's how we do it all the time in North Carolina,” Clay said as he set the sugar on the counter. “You boil the water and sugar together, let it cool, then make the lemonade. Same way with sweet tea.”

“Well...I never made it that way, but...boiling?” She tied up the grocery bag and headed for the back door, muttering to herself as she went. “Heating up the sugar and water together would allow the sugar to dissolve more completely.” She dumped the bag in the trash can and returned inside. “While at the same time...the evaporating water would create further concentration of the sugar.” She looked at Clay as her index finger pointed upward. “Thus, one would create a supersaturated solution!”

“Back home, we just call it sugar syrup,” he chuckled.

Her smile faded. “Oh.”

There I go again, being Queen of the Science Geeks. I don't want to act smarter than him, either, but the words just keep slipping out!

“But...but, you know what, Mary? It takes forever to make, and I'm thirsty now for it. Obviously so if I'm licking sour lemon juice off'a my fingers! The non-boiled way will be just fine.”

“Are you sure? I could try.”

“No, really. My mama makes it look easy, but I know there's a lot involved with it. She wouldn't even let me help her stir it until I was a teenager. I remember she always said, 'Don't let it boil or you'll ruin it!' Oh, wait. I guess you're not supposed to boil it, just heat it.”

Mary continued to ponder. “You're right. Boiling would cause the sucrose to crystallize. Unacceptable for a syrup. Goodness, this is taking me back.”

“To your mama's cookin' when you were little?”

She looked up at him. “No,” she smiled. “My first Organic Chemistry course. That was a lot of fun.”

His brow knitted. “I've...I've never heard 'Organic Chemistry' and 'fun' used in the same sentence before.”

Oh, no, I'm doing it again! Get back to the lemonade before he... No wait, I know. Ask him...

“Were...were there any classes in school that you thought were fun?”

“A few, actually.” Mary saw a smile wash over his face as he opened the sugar container. “The most fun, though – it wasn't quite a class, but I'll count it anyway. One semester I was a teacher's assistant for a classroom full of children with autism.”

“Autistic children? That had to be quite challenging. I don't think I could do something like that. Is that what you do? Do you teach?”

“I do. Special Needs children for the school district's Mainstreaming Program. Some say it's not the manliest profession in the world, but I love it.” He leaned against the counter. “What do you do, Mary?”

“Me? I...I'm in Research and Development.”

“Really? Doing what?”

“I...test things. Do people really say that teaching isn't manly?”

“Some, yes.”

“Those people must expect you to climb a mountain or throw javelins during class.”

“Maybe so!” Clay laughed.

“How absurd to hear of such things these days.”

“I can't agree more.”

Mary looked out the bright kitchen window. “'One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers...'”

“...'but with gratitude to those who touched our human feeling,'” Clay continued from behind. “So, what kind of stuff do you test?”

Just keep changing the subject back to him and maybe he'll stop asking. He'll run right out the door if I tell him. Mary rushed around him to the freezer door and retrieved the ice bucket. “Have you read much of Carl Jung's work?”

Clay took the pitcher to the sink. “Some, in one of my Psych courses. I guess the teaching one stuck.”

The kitchen turned loud with the whir of the open freezer and the rattle of ice cubes. Mary popped fresh cubes from their plastic trays and set the empties near the sink. The noise abated, save for the rush of the tap. Clay placed the filled pitcher on the counter, lowered the stream and reached for the first tray.

“You don't have to do that. I can do it later.”

“I got it,” Clay quietly replied. He set the first filled tray down and looked over his shoulder. “I'm sorry for prying, Mary. You're obviously a very private person and I pushed you about your job. It's really not my business, but...we've been having such a good time that I guess I sorta forgot we just met, and I was more...friendly...in asking than I should've been.”

She stood silent as he filled the rest of the trays. Good God, he thinks he did something wrong? Here I am, trying to not make him feel bad, and I end up making him feel bad! You better do something about this. Just tell him. Better him know and let the chips fall than to let him think you've put up a wall he can't climb.

“Clay – it's me who should apologize. I... Well... Men... You...you didn't do anything wrong. It's just...”

He shut off the water and turned around.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Men tend to find my line of work...intimidating...intellectually.”

The seconds of silence that followed terrified her. It took all her will, but she looked up at him...and found Clay smiling and nodding.

“What you mean to say – really, what you're too modest and way too nice to say out loud – is that you're really smart and men feel threatened by it.”

“Well...” she blushed. His astuteness only added to his charm, but Mary couldn't help but wonder how Clay felt about his correct assumption.

“There are still men out there who think like that?” he continued.

“Yes. Too many. Probably the same ones who think teaching isn't manly.”

“This is a pretty absurd world we live in, huh?”

“I agree.”

“Mary? I'm not one of those jerks. Would you give me a chance?”

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Much more, including quality Clay Aiken fan fiction (fanfics) and links to my concert pictures, can be found at Cella's Driveway.

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