I miss you. Why do you have to be such a nightmare?

The other day Heather issued the following challenge:

“Write a story using your [It’s in the Blood] theory around this line: `I miss you. Why do you have to be such a nightmare?'”

Herewith is my humble attempt to rise to the occasion.

“I miss you. Why do you have to be such a nightmare?”

“Maybe because I’m hungry. You’re the one munching on tasty treats.”

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, “were you talking? Because I’m eating here.”

“Look, I’m sorry about the work thing, but I’m scheduled to get there in a few days. It’s the best I could do. Until then, guess you’re having all the fun.”

OK lover,” Heather put her food down. “The Robinsons can wait. They were ok I suppose, but now they’re just meat.”

His eyes crinkled on the screen as he laughed, in that way that always made her heart melt. “The little ones,” he said, “they’re the crunchiest. You just can’t fake that.”

“I like when we talk about food,” she said, “when we’re apart. It helps — gets us in touch with our animal nature.”

“If we were in the same room,” he smiled, “think of how many more ways we’d have of getting in touch with our animal nature.”

“Yum,” she said, “Something to look forward to. Did you ever wonder,” she asked, licking her fingers, “whether there’s a connection? I mean, you and I have this thing together. You know I love you, but also, it’s, well, it’s hot — I know it’s hot for you too. Do you think that’s why we like the same sort of people?”

“Well,” he said, giving it some thought, “I don’t think we like exactly the same sort of people. Same families, yes, but you like the older ones. I’ve noticed you pick out the parents, and when you’re done there’s nothing left but bone and gristle. So we don’t really have the same tastes.”

Heather idly picked up a thigh bone and started pulling at it with her fingers. “OK, maybe I’m just a romantic. For me it’s about family. You know how important family is to me. I know some couples, they don’t have any tastes in common. Like, she’ll want to eat Italian, and after the hunt he’ll end up munching on some Brits. You and me, we’re not like that.”

“We’re only human,” he smiled.

“You say that like it’s true.” She looked at her hand closely, flexing the fingers. “The science is good, I’ll give you that. The natives can’t tell the difference, which I guess is good. If they figured out someone was picking off their young for snack food, this world wouldn’t be such a popular vacation spot.”

“That’s why we choose these primitive worlds,” he said. “Makes it easier to win their trust.”

“That’s the name of the game, baby,” she said, picking a piece of gristle delicately out of her teeth. “Gotta be nice to the food. I mean, that was the whole point of the Ethical Vacation Act, right? Only eat people who invite you over. Keeps the hunt fair.”

“I love when you talk ethics,” he smiled. “Gotta go though, this call’s costing us a fortune. See you in a few days.”

“Hurry, I miss you,” she said, “Remember, next Thursday we’re having the Goldfarbs for dinner.”