Content Warnings: THIS IS MY MEAL. I CALL IT GIRL DINNER ✨️GIRLLLL DINNNER✨️
Inspired by this post I saw by @thebearer (i hope you don't mind me adding to the concept)
"What the fuck is girl dinner?" Carmy sounds more than frustrated, and confused as he stares down at you, sat comfortably on the couch with your choice of meal. It's an apalling assortment of things from his point of view, though your wide smile shows you think the opposite.
"This is girl dinner." You wave down at your food before stabbing a fork into the meal, eyes drifting to the tv.
"No, no, no, I can't let you eat that." Carmy seems a little distraught as you make eye contact with him, putting more of the dish you prepared into your mouth, chewing slowly as though to make the point 'but I'm eating it anyway.'
"Fuck, please stop with the girl dinner." You love how he's adopted the phrase himself, reaching down to pull the plate away from you, though you dodge him well.
"You eat peanut butter and Jelly for dinner almost five nights a week, so don't you dare scold me for this!" You're defensive as you stand with your plate, still spooning the disaster into your mouth. It doesn't taste as good as anything Carmy would make for you, but you're stubborn.
"At least that has substance, just let me make you something—Jesus stop eating it! There's no way that's nutritious at all!"
"Fuck nutrition!" You shout back, sounding almost like a child in your defiance.
"Fuck girl dinner!" Carmy counters expertly, though there's a hint of a laugh within his words. In the phrase coming from both his lips and your own, he finds a sort of hilarity, though the point he's trying to make is a genuine one.
"But I love girl dinner." You raise your brows as if that's the perfect blow, the one that will win you the fight, despite the statements lack of foundation.
"Well, I love you, and I can't let you eat cheese string and oreos—is that a slice of fucking orange?"
"What could you make that's better than this?" It's a stupid question, and one you know that answer to as you gesture down at the plate with one hand.
"Anything, fucking anything!" Carmy runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. "What d'you want, I'll make you something, anything, just stop with girl dinner."
You take the slice of orange and bite into it, eyes locked on Carmen's. "The point of tonight's girl dinner is that I don't want to cook, and I also don't want you to cook."
"That's my fucking job."
"Exactly, you spend all day cooking, i don't want you to have to come home and cook for me too." Your voice is softer now, sweet and soothing, Carmy letting out a sigh at the sound of it.
He moves forward, taking the plate from you and placing it on the stool beside the couch. "Look, I don't mind. I don't mind making you something every once'n a while. You deal with all my shit all the fucking time, it's the least I can do." He takes your hands in his own, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just let me make you something."
"You're ruining the point of girl dinner." You mumble, pressing a short kiss to his lips as Carmy's hands run soothingly up and down your arms.
"Don't care." His mutters back, taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen, your other meal long abandoned on the stool to be disposed of later.
Days pass, Carmy is still thinking about it, and when he gets to work, he has to say something to the others. "Caught my girlfriend eating fucking orange slices and oreos for dinner the other night." He mutters whilst searing a steak in prep for a menu change. He glimpes Sydney nodding, and as Fak moves behind him, the man decides to speak.
"Girl dinner, good for her."
Carmy turns so fast to face the man that he almost sets his shirt alight on the element, thinking over the utter complexities of the term. "But what the fuck is girl dinner? How do you even know about–never mind."
"You know," Fak begins as Carmy runs a hand over his face in frustration, "this is my meal, I call this girl dinner" He's reciting something though Carmen has no clue where this is going, and when Fak starts singing it all seems to get worse.
He's repeating the phrase, and yet it still means nothing to Carmy as he moves away, leaving Fak to harmonize with Sydney as he picks up the phone.
Pressing call on your contact is like muscle memory, and the sound of the first few rings leaves him impatient, though you pick up eventually.
"Hey," he mutters into the phone, listening to your voice as you parrot the word back.
"Hey, what's up?" You sound preoccupied, and Carmy swears he can hear the closing of a cupboard door, the rustling of a packet of chips.
"Uh, nothing, I just... I wanted to call and ask if you're all good for dinner tonight." He's closed his eyes, leaning against the door of his office as the quiet settles over him. "D'you need anything?"
You answer almost too fast, suspicion creeping through the line with its grasp on your voice. "No, no, I'm good. Dinner's all good."
Carmy catches the tone, a small amused smile wriggling upon his lips. "Cool, so uh, what're you having?" He scared of the answer, if you decide to be honest—which you don't.
"I was thinking tacos, maybe, I haven't decided."
"Nice," Carmy chuckles, "so none of that girl dinner shit? No orange slices and string cheese?" Carmy can almost picture it as the words come to mind, the plate of horrors he'd witnessed not a week before. There's silence over the phone, and Carmy can hear you heave a sigh, loud and final, as you come to terms with your lie. You don't say anything, though, so Carmy fills the space.
"I'm coming home t'night," he whispers into the receiver, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he adjusts his apron. "Me, you and the tacos, okay?"
His voice is so gentle, the affection dripping from the words like honey, and he's truly never spoken to someone with as much care. It scares him sometimes, just how much he loves you.
"Carmy, I make the worst fucking tacos." Your smile is hidden within the sentence, and it reaches Carmy like a wave washing the sand, though you're so far from him right now.
"Yeah, I uh, I know. That's why I'm cooking." The kitchen is starting to get loud outside Carmy's office door, and he knows he has to get out there soon to save whatever is left of the peace.
"You don't have to do that, Carm," you exhale, and he can almost picture you, leaning against the kitchen bench, strands of hair loose that, if he was with you, he would be dying to push back into place.
"I want to." He means it, the words he says. "You're important to me, and I want you to know that. I do."
Carmy doesn't know it, but you're grinning on the other end of the line, blood rushing to your cheeks at the thought of his affection. His love.
"Okay." You whisper, "you're important to me too, Carm."
That means everything to Carmy, and he's so desperate to hold onto this, so desperate to not mess this all up. Not after Claire.
"I love you." It's unusual for him to say it first, but he does this time, and his voice soothes any stress you might have. He can hear you smile when you speak again and knows he'll be thinking about the sound of your words for the rest of the day.
"Love you too, bear, see you tonight."
CARMEN BERZATTO TAGLIST: @thrutheburnout @norriebunny @yeschefthankyouchef
I wake up, my debt is all paid off, my bank account is full, my relationships with my family are healthy, and I’m able to travel anywhere in the world.
gummygunk
baratheonpilled
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
stormborns
