The instant I stepped into her house, the fragrance of cedarwood hits me. And then the cucumber salad made of tomatoes, mint leaves and was that bacon? Somebody is having a fake vegetarian diet again.
I looked at Marilyn with endearing eyes and she knew what I meant immediately. “Oh quit staring, you know how hard it is to diet. And don’t you even think of calling me fat in your mind!” She fumes. I loved it when she does so, it was like looking at a school girl making noise again when I was in primary school. I quietly held her fingers to kiss them lightly, “You know I would never say that nor think that. Unless you start eating a bucket of chicken everyday meal or more. Yes, those crispy, tasty yummy hot and juicy fried chicken. Where each mouthful fills your taste buds with juicy meat infused with spices, crunch and warmness…like your emerald green eyes. Perfection on Earth.”
Her face turned red and she slapped my hands away. “Damn it you make me hungry, tempted and yet…making me horny at the same time! Bad influence. But I loved it.” She head butted me and stomp on my foot lightly. How is she able to do that? Stomping yet lightly?
I took the time to scan her house. The furniture are homely, sturdy and warm. I feel grounded just being here as opposed to my high tension home. Where every question hides deeper meaning and having parents trying to mock their children and scheming against them to feel good about themselves. This, this feels different, I feel safe, relaxed and cosy just entering here.
I hugged Marilyn just as she rant and rave cutely like a puppy with cuteness overload. Then I heard a loud ,”Ah hum! Get a room.” Her brother, my best friend, coughed. “Sure, in her room, later.” That comment made her face red like beetroot and his face ashen. “Hell no! I don’t want to be an uncle so soon!” We decided to ignore that and seriously considering whether we should do so. Our eyes locked at each other. Marilyn gave me the affirmative nod and I felt a large knock on both of our heads by her father, a retired military contractor whom I used to work for. Damn, perhaps I really should do so. But his father’s eyes scared the thought out of me. They were like the eyes of a grizzly bear.
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Earlier, I outlined my standards for offering in-depth feedback in a subtle and respectful way. Here is the essence:
1. Constructive critique is a form of literary dialogue — not acknowledging it breaks that dialogue.
2. Editing a post in place can unintentionally invalidate earlier feedback by erasing the context it addressed.
I reserve deep craft feedback for participants who demonstrate reciprocal learning and engagement.
Noted.
Thank you so much for being open and supportive in resolving this under another post.
This one is sweet — I truly enjoyed reading the scene. I love the atmosphere you create here, and I especially like the underlying tension in the end: your character knows he’s in trouble, and the grizzly-bear-eyed father is clearly not someone to mess with.
I have a few suggestions as well — offered purely as inspiration to strengthen what’s already here. This is your prose, and no recommendation should ever dilute a writer’s voice.
This passage, for example:
“You know I would never say that nor think that. Unless you start eating a bucket of chicken everyday meal or more. Yes, those crispy, tasty yummy hot and juicy fried chicken. Where each mouthful fills your taste buds with juicy meat infused with spices, crunch and warmness…like your emerald green eyes. Perfection on Earth.”
The association with emerald green eyes lands a bit oddly here. You might consider separating the metaphor from the description, for example:
“You know I would never say that — nor think it. Unless you started eating a bucket of chicken every day or more. Yes, that crispy, tasty, hot, juicy fried chicken — where each mouthful fills your taste buds with spiced meat, crunch, and warmth…” I said, staring into her emerald green eyes. Perfection on Earth.
That small shift lets the image breathe and land more naturally.
I’d also consider adding a brief beat of confusion before this moment — just a flicker — to expand the tension and reinforce Marilyn’s agency, if that aligns with her character:
She held my gaze for a few seconds.
“Are we still talking about food, or…?”
Her face turned red as she slapped my hands away. “Damn it — you make me hungry, tempted, and yet… horny at the same time! Bad influence.” Then she smiled. “But I loved it.”
Again, I really like this piece. The tenderness and subtle intimacy work beautifully — you foreshadow what’s coming instead of spelling it out, and that restraint gives the scene its strength.