UNFIT

People are almost halfway through their meal, but I have not touched mine, and the aroma is not doing any justice to this situation. I take a couple of sips of the juice first, hoping it can calm my nerves. I throw a glance at Jerol from the corner of my eyes. His food is barely touched too, perhaps because he has been watching me fight with this damn knife and fork. I put the glass of juice down, and I grab the stupid tools again. Just one more. They have to work! They need to.

I angrily try, but the result is the same. I put them together and toss them aside, mentally murmuring a thousand curses to them. I grab the chicken piece with my hand, and munch on it. I will do things the best way I know how to. I can't force myself to be what I am not. I chew the meat in my mouth and I tell you what? It tastes heavenly. It's so good and...

"Oh, my goodness! What the heck!"

I know that voice. I heard it earlier, and I don't need to look in her direction to know how she looks right now.

"This is so embarrassing!" She murmurs, between gritted teeth, I suppose.

I look around, and wow! Just wow! All the uncountable eyes are on me, except for the one person beside me who I don't want to look at right now. Ever been in a situation where you have food in your mouth but you can't swallow it because it's not chewed and for some reason, you can't continue chewing? That's where I am, and spitting it out is the most embarrassing thing I can't afford to do right now.

God! Why did you bring me here?

"Miss, the knife and the fork, are used for cutting the meat." Another damn voice of a lady echoes.

Yeah, right! As if I don't fucking know that.

"Maybe this is all new to her." That was a woman's voice again, and Jerold had to spare this specific one a glance, while I bow down with shame.

I am not ashamed of who I am, but embarrassing Jerol is what is eating me up. What do they think of him now, hub?

"Jerol?" Her mother calls, calm but furious.

"Yes, Mom?" He asks, his voice so flat. No anger in it. No nothing.

"Didn't you teach your wife some table manners? What sort of embarrassment is this?" The way she is saying it, the way she is pointing at me, she is really pissed off, and I wish the ground would just open up and swallow me alive right now.

"What's so wrong with what she is doing mother?" Like everybody at the table, my eyes travel to him. "Has it ever been a crime to use hands to eat?" He dared anybody to answer, and nobody dared to. They just stare at him with dismay, and I feel bad because I know deep inside he is not pleased with this behavior. He is just trying to defend me. To make me not look so odd and unfit in his world. But by doing this he is embarrassing himself more.

"Oh, please, son!" Her mother retorts back, his father trying to calm her down to no avail. I presume she is the only one who can dare his son."How can you stoop so low, son? No wonder she even doesn't have a surname!"

"No surname?" A couple of voices ask in unison.

"As early as now, Jerol, take this garbage where you picked it from because she is not fit for you, nor for this family. SHE CAN NOT BE YOUR WIFE, SON!" His mother states, stressing o every word of the last sentence.

"She already is, mother, and I am not here to ask for anybody's approval. My heart approved her, and I love her just the way she is." He leans to peck my cheek that's on his side to prove his point.

"But I am telling you...."

"THAT'S ENOUGH, MOTHER!" He slams the table, so hard that the sound echoes throughout the entire place, and his high-toned pitch adds more. "I didn't bring my wife here for interrogation or judgment. I simply invited everyone here today to introduce her to you, not to seek anybody's approval either. I don't want to hear any more questions directed to my wife whether directly or indirectly. Nobody has the right to question my wife like that." He turns to me, after taking his eyes around the table, confirming if his message has been made clear to everyone. "Babe? You are not doing anything wrong, okay." He says with a sweet charming voice, taking my cheeks in his palms, making me look at him.

If only this was real, I would be melting in his touch right now. But I have a very strong guard to always remind me that all this is just for show, and it will last for just five months. I wonder what he will tell people after we end the charade and part ways.

"You want to eat with your hands? That's fine. What's more," his thumbs are caressing my cheeks, his eyes boring into mine, "I will join you. I think it's more sweeter and enjoyable this way." He takes the piece of meat from my hand and gives me a bite, adding to the one that's rotting in my mouth. He then takes a bite, and I had to look at him as he confidently chews it, and I travel with it down his throat as he swallows it. Too bad I didn't see where it rested in his stomach because his Adam's apple got my eyes glued to it. I don't even know what I was thinking staring at it like that, but I am glad when he spoke again, snapping me back.

He hands me my meat back, pulling me for a forehead kiss. Turning to his plate, he takes his fork and the small knife and throws them on the table, munching on the chicken from his bare hands, shocking everyone.

From the look of everyone, I think they are thinking he has gone insane. Nobody seems to believe that he is doing this. Not even me. Nobody asks any more questions, except for her mother who can't stand to watch her son acting like a psycho. She pushes her plate of food aside, grabs the classy handbag, and stomps out. What shocks me the most is that her husband doesn't bother to stop her or follow her. He continues eating like his wife didn't just walk out in the middle of the dinner infuriated.

"I'm sorry." I say to Jerol as we stand on the sink washing our hands, him behind me like a romantic couple.

"For what?" He implores, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Are you serious? For embarrassing you in front of your guests like that. And not to mention I am the reason why you are at gross with your mother, and the reason why she walked out like that is still me. I feel awful."

He turns me around to face him after we dry our hands.

"There is nothing to apologize for. Don't ever feel bad for being just you. As for my mother, she will come around. Don't worry, alright?"

"What about you? Do you still think you can manage me for that long? Aren't you pissed off already?" I ask, keeping my voice as low as possible.

"Do you honestly want to know what I think?" He cups my face.

"Mmh?" I nod my head.

"We haven't been convincing enough to these people." He says, brushing my lower lip with his thumb. "Forgive me for this, okay?" He whispers with his eyes closed, leaning so dangerously close to my lips, closing the gap between us. Before I can answer his question, his lips crash on mine, for our very first kiss - my first kiss. As his hand moves to the back of my neck to hold me still and support me, mine moves freely to his chest, holding on to his shirt for support.

"Wow! Cheers to the lovebirds." I think our kissing took longer than we both intended until the people decided to remind us that we are not in the bedroom. As if anything will ever happen in that bedroom, dah! Nobody should know, though.

We pull away, and saunter back to the table, him smiling and I blushing, taking our glasses and clicking them together.

He even stole a peck!

"To a happy marriage, my son. Be happy." That is his father. I can tell he has a good heart.

"Thank you, Father. Cheers, everyone!"

We raise our glasses again, and then take a sip. As people sink down to their seats again to enjoy the cold drink on a cold night, Jerol pulls me for another slow kiss, and men, is he sweet? I don't know about that, but the kiss is generally sweet. The butterflies in my stomach are attesting to that.