|
Mashed Potatoes Tristan had tried to warn Siegfried that he could only cook one dish, that his expertise lay with girls and sex, but Siegfried had done his usual routine of pretending to listen and then forgetting everything he had heard. Tristan was excercising huge amounts of control not to scream back at his brother when he dished up the potatoes and sausages again. James suffered in silence, giving Tristan a sympathetic look because he knew what Siegfried could be like, and Tristan felt warmth curling in the pit of his stomach, stretching through to his fingers and toes and making him light-headed. He gave James an extra portion, because James seemed to like it, and Tristan seemed to like doing things that made James like him. When the meal was over and the potatoes mostly gone, amidst grumbling from his brother and painfully awkward silence from James, Siegfried led James out into the study to have a smoke. Tristan watched the cutlery on the table and willed it to put itself away. When it didn’t work, he sighed to himself, and looked at the closed door, almost imagining he could hear the murmuring voices: Siegfried’s teasing comments and James’ defensive although laughing replies. Instead of cleaning up, he went to the bar, seeking company, seeking solace, and hoping against hope that female company could help. The girls at the bar might help him forget that the warmth in his stomach and limbs wasn’t mashed potatoes as he so fervently pretended, help him forget that James ate his cooking without complaining, that he always had a warm and understanding smile when Siegfried was on his high horse. Maybe the girls would help him remember that Siegfried wasn’t seeing many girls lately at all, that James and him were spending lots of off time together, and that James was spending the nights in his brother’s room. |