All the Things We Never Knew Read Online Free Page B

considered children until now. I made a mental note to myself to remember the details of that day, the heat in the kitchen, David’s purple jersey with “Trek” emblazoned on the back, the way the hair on the back of my neck stood up when he breathed on me.
    Jim’s voice became irritable. “Sounds like you’re busy.”
    David kissed my earlobe. My palms throbbed. My heartbeat interrupted my own thoughts, whoosh-whoosh .
    Jim cleared his throat.
    â€œHey, Jim,” I said, “I’m really sorry. But yes, I’m uh, um, I’ll call you later, okay?”
    Our bike ride ended at David’s house, a bungalow he’d remodeled on the east side of the river. He told me how he’d found it while out one day walking, a home that was in such dilapidated shape that the aluminum gutters had holes the size of golf balls and the deck was rotten. Now, the home gleamed with copper gutters, fresh paint, and carefully sealed hardwoods on the deck. The small yard was framed with healthy azaleas, maples, and rhododendrons. We’d left our bikes on the front porch as he took me on what he described as the “quick tour.”
    The living room was lovingly cared for, looking as if a woman might have placed the rugs, hung paintings, and lined the bookshelves with dozens of worn hardbacks. The reading chair in the corner looked like an antique, with long, dark cherry arms and a tattered cushion. I could hang out here , I thought to myself.
    In the dining room, a long table was the sole piece of furniture, one of the most stunning tables I’d ever seen, with room for ten. “Imade this table from Brazilian hardwood,” David said. The seams of the hardwood table fit together perfectly. It was shined and sealed, with a vase of large lilies placed in the center. We moved through the dining room into a bright kitchen with white tile and floor-to-ceiling deck doors that looked out on a hardwood deck and garden. David slipped through the door. “Come on out here, meet Sunny-Side Up and Tex-Mex.”
    David raised chickens! The red coop looked like it had been created precisely for the corner of his garden. This little fact about my new boyfriend thrilled me no end. “The city actually gives out permits for a certain number of coops in the city,” he said.
    Through the chicken coop wire I saw two chickens, one with orange feathers, the other with brown and white markings.
    David opened one of the pens and held up a beautiful brown egg. “Now, that’s organic.”
    He talked to the chickens through the wire as if they were his children, speaking sweetly to them. “Don’t get nervous, girls. Bad for the eggs.” I couldn’t help loving the contrast; this big, six-foot-four man gently stroking his chickens’ egos. “You ready for the best eggs in Portland?” he said after gathering several more eggs in his T-shirt.
    I was famished from the bike ride. “Absolutely!”
    I sat on the back deck sunning myself while David puttered in the kitchen. Beyond the chicken coop, David had planted a huge garden, with raised beds sprouting starter plants for tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and herbs. The back of his garden was lined with sunflowers. It was so peaceful here. I let the sun sink into my bones. Portland’s long rainy season could leave me feeling so sun deprived; it felt good to let the weekend heat sink deep. David’s cherry trees and rose bushes were thriving. The sound of Leonard Cohen played softly through the windows. I felt punch-drunk, cared for, and connected. I closed my eyes and dozed.
    When I woke up, David was coming through the door holding a tray filled with food.
    â€œYour eggs are ready, Madame.” David presented the tray of fresh eggs, toast, and a strong cup of coffee, just the way I like it, made in a French press.
    He served the meal with small Italian salt and pepper shakers and a white linen napkin. “I