I sat there, waiting for her to make the first move. Being truly bloated from all the sweets that we had to try, I could only sit. She pouts. She tastes another. I can only marvel at how her stomach seemed to have expanded two folds. Never underestimate a bride to be.

‘Taetae, I like the third one. What do you say?’ she speaks so casually. It was as if she had not eaten an entire bakery worth of icing. ‘I’m not one with a sweet tooth or a wedding.’ I replied. She pouts at my lack of enthusiasm as well as direction. ‘I need your input in this.’ Fany whines. That brings a little smile on my tired face.  ‘If the third one is that cake that is predominantly red velvet then I must admit that seemed to be the most memorable one. Plus I think having a cake that is so innocently coated with white icing but with such a fiery red sponge, really resemble you.’ I provided my opinion. My stomach is going to pay the price of this perfect evaluation of this cake shop. I think I can pivot on my stomach. Defying gravity with fats, I will be awarded a nobel price. 

In the midst of my admiration of my bulging little tummy, she taps my hand that was resting by the armrest. Slowly, I tilted my head. When our eyes met, she didn’t speak. She was not looking at me. Fany was analyzing. ‘Fany?’ I begin to fidget. ‘This prolonged silence is aggravatingly raising the discomfort level.’ I state. It finally evoked a reaction as a smirk appears. 'Aggravatingly?' she jabs at my strong choice. My eyes squinted in response.

‘I heard about your first session. Your student slash doctor have decided to formally arrange a meeting with me. On the account of her professionalism and respect towards you as an individual, I shall met her.’ She speaks with sparks of excitement.  ‘She has informed me through a very brief but specific email. Although she is tremendously taken aback with the current arrangement, you do have the evidence that suggest that you do not take love lightly.  She quotes John Bowlby’s Theory of Attachment as her primary journal moving forward. I am definitely certain in your amazement with her.’ Fany speaks with clarity, like the doctor that had graduated freaking 0.2 shy of a perfect gpa. ‘How is your power of association?’ she probs. This conversion is taking a turn towards something I’m deterring.

‘Association with human beings lures one into self-observation.’ I quote Franz Kafka. ‘I feel fine.’ I declared in defense. She simply smiles. ‘We will get the red velvet.’ She brightly tells the saleslady with brilliant legs. We thanked and. confirmed the arrangement of the cake.  Heading out, we spoke of nothing. We kept quiet as we walked down. The ride back was simple. It was pure silence.

‘Don’t kiss a girl’s forehead when speaking about love. It blurs the lines.’ She grins. ‘The power of association is strong.’ Next she towers over me and gave a quick peck on my forehead. 'I see only black and white.' I chided. She giggles a little then pat my head. 'I wish I was a little bit taller. I wish I was a baller.' I mumbled under my breathe. 'I wish you had a girl too.' she added on. 'Skee-Lo. Preach.' I said like the poor carbon copy of ghetto that resides in me. 'I wonder if God likes that the act of delivering a sermon is also used to describe blacks on the really lousy television scripts.' I asked in curiousity. 'The irony is how it is you who associates bad tv, Skee-Lo and religion all in one mix fruit bowl.' she says with a light tone. 

I shrud my shoulders. 'The power of unique association.' I concluded. She shakes her head in what I shall perceive as admiration. 'Goodnight Taetae.' I nod my head back in response to her warmth. Watching her go beyond the glass door, slowly becoming out of sight, I smiled and wonder why could stupid cupid have shot us instead. While walking back, I understood. Stupid cupid is stupid.