Hallelujah 5

When he woke up, she wasn't lying next to him. All the lights downstairs were on. And the whole house smelled of burnt toast, burnt pancake batter, and burst God-knows-what-else. And his smoke detector was going off like no tomorrow. He got up with a jolt, dressed so hurriedly he almost put his pants on backward, and ran downstairs.

"It's fine, it's fine!" she shouted, waving him away with one hand and waving the smoke away with the other. "I have it totally under control!"

"Bullshit," he replied.

Out of the toaster popped the blackest toast he had ever laid eyes on. On the stove were eggs and would-be pancakes. He was sure both were about to explode.

She already had. She threw away the charred food remains as vigorously as humanly possible, all the while cussing up a blue streak in Spanish.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Baby, it's okay. Just breathe."

She jumped and widened her eyes as though she'd heard a loud noise. Then she burst into tears. "Dios mio, Dios mio!"

He ran over and took her in his arms, stroking her hair. (He loved her extra-poofy sex hair.) He gently rocked her back and forth and said, "It's okay, it's okay. It's just breakfast."

"No," she sobbed, "it's just… Why do I keep screwing up?"

"So you're not the world's greatest cook and you flubbed breakfast. You're my girlfriend, not my personal chef. I don't care if you can't cook."

"Fuck the breakfast!" she thundered. "I'm not talking about the motherfucking breakfast! I'm talking about this whole damn relationship! Everything will be just fine and then I fuck it up with my emotional crap! Why do you even put up with me?"

"Because I love you," he told her, matter-of-factly.

She looked up at him, shocked. "You do?"

"Hell, yeah," he told her. "What's not to love?"

He'd never really thought about it, but comforting her like that, he just knew. Sure, she was crazy and a bit unstable, but opposites attracted. And when it came to her, he just couldn't stay away.