esprit - Academic Scranton - The University of Scranton

couldn’t tell her.
She shuffled over to the oven, our freshly kneaded dough in small
balls arrayed on the metal tray. “ We have twenty minutes,” she said, and
pulled me into the living room. I undid her red apron, slipped it over her
head, and pulled her down onto the couch.
We had sex as Molly’s buns rose inside; their warmth spread
throughout the house. The smell was relaxing. I felt every muscle tense and
release. She lay on my chest, running her index finger down my neck and
across my shoulder.
“I invited your brother to dinner,” she said.
“Tonight?” I asked. It didn’t really make much difference to me,
but I asked anyway.
“Well, he is lonely,” Molly explained. “I just figured it would be
nice for him, you know; you know how he likes my bread.”
“I do.” Everyone likes her bread, but she was right; my brother did
have a particular fondness for it.
“He came into the store the other day, bought three loaves,” she
said, seeming oddly proud of herself. I looked at her and she giggled. “Well
he did, so I invited him to dinner, and told him he would get it fresh if he
came.” The timer buzzed. We got up, not bothering with our clothes, to
check on the buns.
There they were. Hers were round and golden brown; they made
my mouth water just looking. Molly took my tray out. She looked down
at the flat buns in her hands; they refused to rise. She looked up at me and
said, “Pita?”
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