Lunch at Julie's

It was almost one o'clock. Angela called from the kitchen:

"Lunch is ready! **Fresh vegetable pasta with pesto sauce**, and a local lettuce salad!"

Julie moved Smith onto her lap so that she was now sitting facing her, her legs wrapped around Julie's waist, like a **big shy koala**.

"Lunch time, Aunt Joni!"

Sarah brought a large plate full of pasta, Lucy a bowl of colorful salad, Angela a pitcher of fresh lemon juice. They all sat around the large wooden table in the living room, but Julie **didn't even put Smith down**.

Julie sat herself in a large, comfortable chair, holding Smith on her **right thigh**, his back to the table, his face facing Julie.

**The touch of lunch:**

• **The warmth of Julie's thigh** under Smith's butt, like a **living warm chair**, with every movement of Julie to pick up her fork, **her muscles tensed and released** and Smith felt that **tiny muscular tremor**.

• **The fabric of Julie's hoodie** under Smith's fingers, **soft and woolly**, slightly damp from Julie's body heat.

• **The smell of pesto**, **fresh basil, roasted garlic, grated Parmesan**, with **the steaming heat of the pasta** rising from the plate and hitting Smith's face.

**The sound of lunch:**

• **The sound of Julie's fork** rolling the pasta, **the ticking of metal on the china**.

• **Sarah's laughter** as Julie held a strand of pasta in front of Smith's mouth: "The plane is coming!"

• **Julie's breathing**, **warm and close**, every time she took a bite, **a short, warm exhale** would sit on Smith's cheek.

• **Julie's heartbeat**, **duh… duh…**, faster than before, as she talked to her friend and laughed.

Julie held Smith with one hand, with the other she brought the fork to his mouth:

"Open your mouth, little one. Angela's pesto is famous!"

Smith reluctantly opened his mouth, Julie put a large mouthful of pasta in his mouth, then wiped a drop of pesto sauce from the corner of Smith's lip with her thumb and **licked it herself**.

Sarah smiled: “Julie, you really are a **professional mother**!”

Lucy took another photo: “This one is for the **lunch next door** archive!”

Julie picked up a piece of lettuce with her fingers, handed it to Smith: “Eat, vegetables are good for **mental architecture**!”

Smith chewed, but his eyes were on Julie.

**The warmth of Julie’s thigh**, **the touch of her fingers**, **the sound of her laughter**, **the smell of pesto and Julie’s body**, **the beat of her heart**;

everything was mixed together.

And Smith, in **Julie’s arms**, with a mouthful of pasta in his mouth,

no longer knew **whether he hated or loved**;

only knew **that here, at Julie’s feet, in the middle of a hot Montana lunch**,

**was the safest place in the world**.