# Perfectly Puffy

# July Flash Challenge Post 4

"It's good," he said. I couldn't be sure, by the tone of his voice, whether it was me he was trying to convince, or himself.

I waited him out.

"It's just..." He tilted his head and I swear I could see him press rewind on what he'd just said.

"I mean, I guess, I just don't know, like..." He tilted his head the other way, and even though I wanted to believe it was so that he could come at it from another angle, it looked more like the reaction when you use a high-pitched voice with a puppy dog. His brow furrowed and he tried again.

"What are you planning to, uh... What is this... Uh, what is it for? Like!" His eyes widened and he barked that last word as though he could interrupt the very sentiment of it from hitting my ears.

"Like, if this is, uh, if it's for..." Another head tilt, a sigh, another furrowed brow.

"It's good," he said, and even though the resignation in his voice tried to smother his reservations, they burned on in his eyes. Eyes that wouldn't meet mine, that found some spot a hundred miles away to focus on.

"It's good," he said again, returning to the moment. His voice was more confident this time, and he didn't look like he had anything more to say.

"But..." I said.

He smiled for a second, looking like a fish that's just dodged a hook.

I waited.

His eyes lost their focus.

I waited.

"I get what you're going for," he said. He didn't sound conciliatory. That was a relief.

"You and I have history, and we can talk in short-hand, and, for me, this is a wonderful creation. I don't think..." He paused again and sighed.

"I don't think it would have as much meaning for anyone who didn't have our history."

He grabbed the abomination of a jacket off the hanger and put it on.

"It's perfect," he said.

"Perfect?"

"Well," he said, and the way that word stretched out was like it was meant to shelter me from genuine criticism.

"Perfectly puffy," he said.

Perfectly puffy. I could live with that.