“I didn’t feel anything, Emma,” he said. “It feels fine to me.”
Emma closed her eyes and sighed loudly, relieved.
The buzz of an alarm sounded on the oven. Emma jumped, and her breasts jiggled.
“That’s dinner!” she said. “I have to take it out.”
Emma reached to the floor, grabbed her white top, and pulled it back over her head, pushing the hem down until it sculpted and molded her torso again. She did not look quite the same as before, Aaron noted. She had not put her bra back on. The natural and no longer pushed-up contour of her breasts made that clear, as did the pokey nobs pushing up against the white cotton of the tank top where her nipples lay under it.
Emma slipped on oven mitts, opened the oven, and leaned over to retrieve the rectangular dish. Aaron was startled at the prominence of her nipples, now in profile under the tank top.
“Voila!” she said, setting the dish on an empty stove top burner.
Aaron was getting increasingly agitated at seeing his sister this way. His mind still reeled at having seen — and felt — Emma’s bare breasts just a minute earlier. He had turned off his doctor mode and was back to being a brother who was not accustomed to seeing his sister’s bare, full breasts. But Emma’s attention was fixed on the food. She leaned over the pot containing the bisque. Aaron noticed gentle bubbling on its surface. Emma closed her eyes and smelled the aroma coming up from its surface. She seemed pleased. With the mitts still on her hands she picked up a heavy spoon, dipped it into the bisque, and raised it to her mouth.
“It’s almost done,” she said. “I’ll let it simmer for a few minutes. The beef bourguignon should stay hot under the lid. The potatoes should be fine, too.”
The smells coming from the stove top were heavenly. They almost diverted Aaron from his feelings about his sister. It was all Aaron could do to keep his eyes on his sister’s face, and not her tits, pointing straight at him.
“Are you O.K.?” she asked. “You look pale.”
“Well,” he said. “It’s just . . ..”
“I know,” she said. “That was a little weird. I’m sorry if it bothered you. But it’s a big relief to me.”
She stirred the contents of the pot with a large wooden spoon.
“So, Aaron –” Emma began, and stopped.
“Yes?” Aaron asked, grateful she seemed to be about to change the subject.
“I noticed you looking at the photo of you in the living room. The one I took of you four years ago.”
Emma had Aaron’s attention.
“Yeah, I did,” he said. “What about it?”
“We never talked about what happened that day,” Emma said.
Aaron paused.
“What’s there to talk about?” he asked. “It happened. It shouldn’t have happened. But we can’t change it.”
Emma did not respond right away.
“You say it shouldn’t have happened,” she said. “But why not?”
Aaron was nonplussed. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean I’ve never regretted what happened on the mountain that day. Not for one moment. And you know what? I don’t think you regretted it either. If you say you do, I don’t believe you. You seemed pretty enthusiastic at the time.”