“No, not like the character from Golden Girls,” she laughed. “It’s a family name. Plus, my mom was always more of a Designing Women fan.”
Blanche used her arms to hoist herself up onto his tiny kitchen counter. She was lovely anytime of the day but Sasha was particularly taken with the way she looked in the mornings. So unkempt with her puffy eyes and slightly tangled bed head. She wore her shirt from last night, a pair of his gym shorts rolled up, and the thickest socks he owned. She’d insisted her feet were freezing and she wouldn’t be able to sleep without them as she rummaged through his drawer at 3:45 am last night.
He handed her his old Jones College Prep mug with coffee and a generous portion of her beloved whole milk. She’d made it crystal clear that the fat free, dairy free garbage the girls at Miami drank would be considered sacrilege in Georgia. She couldn’t go to hell over a cup of coffee, she’d teased. He’d gone out the very next day to get some “real milk” for his fridge.
After a few confusingly magnetic interactions at the bagel shop where he worked, he’d finally asked her if she wanted to hang out. Four hours, two Erdingers, and a plate of potato pancakes (she had insisted) shared in a booth at Steinkeller later… the rest was history. They’d been spending every moment they could spare together since.
Weekend trail runs, library study sessions, stumbling back to his place after he’d finished his late night shifts at work and she’d finished her late nights out with Jazz. Since she and her best friend shared a room, they almost always ended up back at his apartment. Hence the need for whole milk on hand.
“Well, just to prepare you,” Sasha said, as he took a sip of his own coffee, “if you ever meet my parents, they will definitely ask you if you’re named after Blanche from the Golden Girls. After they moved to Chicago, they watched Golden Girls constantly to try to help their English improve.”
He didn’t often share about his parents but her carefree energy, the way she always made herself right at home, was a bit disarming. Sometimes he completely forgot to be his usually reserved self.
“Should I be getting prepared to meet your parents?” she asked, her face widening into a smile.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” he worried he had spooked her. “They don’t really ever come to visit me here,” Sasha reasoned. “They stay pretty close to their Serbian community in Chicago.”
His nervousness was palpable, which she loved. Something about his cautious nature made her really want to throw caution to the wind. “I like Chicago,” she held his gaze. “Let me know if you ever want the world’s best CD burner and slightly obnoxious back-seat-driver to roadtrip with you home.”
Thankfully not spooked, he realized.
Her long legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him close and splashing his coffee onto the floor. “You probably want to set that cup down,” she smirked. “You’ll be needing both hands.” Shit.
The ceramic clanked down on the counter and he lifted her up, carrying her as quickly as he could to his twin bed. She laughed knowingly the whole way there.
Sasha was quickly learning that when Blanche wanted something she seemed to wish it into existence. By the time they were walking across campus to their first classes, buttered toaster waffles in hand, it was decided.
She was coming home to Chicago with him for Spring break.
Loving these drips of story, Simi!