She stays over for most weekends and for some week nights. I have never seen him like this, cuddling with a woman in front of any one. He is mostly aloof and distant. I gather this is what attracted all those other girls to him in the first place, the air of mystery and the intimation that his attentions are unattainable. And now this: openly loving, friendly, and touchy. It is not the whisky. I would know. I have lived with him before. He is happy. She is friendly, sweet and warm. The others, the ones I met, were just as aloof as he is. He jokes with her, touches her, stroking her back. I imagine he does what I sometimes do with another: gently pulls her bra strap and lets it snap back into place. She slaps his thigh back playfully, giggling like a little girl.  He rubs her tummy. She slaps his hand away, a fake mocking scorn on her smooth-skinned oval face. She is chubby, I imagine, from chocolates and biscuits and sugary snacks. She has a sweet tooth. I sometimes find coconut macaroons and cookies in the kitchen when she been over.  I hope she is the one that stays.



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