“What do I look like to them?” George was curious.
“To the mosquitoes you’re delicious, because your blood is so healthy. They like the scent. For the silverfish and spiders, you’re a calming presence, you move steadily, you don’t disturb the ground or shake the air, you exude calm. To the moths and ants and termites you’re this multilayered blob made of color and mass, something they can identify easily because you’re here so often, part of the world, not an intruder anymore, safe, comfort, you always lose crumbs and bits, feeding time, the car stinks, not you, you smell of something good, sandalwood and citrus with a hint of orange and cinnamon, warm, delicious, it clings to you, some kind of aftershave, I think, makes me feel cozy.” Andi stopped his ramblings to look at George. “Sorry,” he said with a lopsided smile. “Got carried away.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I asked.” George pushed the plate with the toast in Andi’s direction. “Eat up.”
Andi took the first slice, bit into it with a crunching sound. Little crumbs flew everywhere, making George think of tiny mouths—mandibles?—hungrily consuming them, little legs clicking toward the food, racing to be the first…. He shook his head. It wasn’t a good idea to go down that road. One of them had to remain firmly in the world of blobs. There were things to be done, obstacles to be overcome. George cleared his throat.
“Before we drive to the precinct, I thought we could do some grocery shopping at that nice little store we always pass on the way to your house.”
“You want to go grocery shopping with me?” The disbelief in Andi’s voice made George rethink his proposal immediately. Had he gone too far?
“Uh, yes?”
“Why?” The genuine interest Andi expressed reminded George how unpredictable his partner was.
“Because while I have no problem doing it for you, I’d like to know what brands and stuff you prefer.”
“Brands?” Andi looked puzzled.
“Uhm, you know, food brands? Take butter, for example. Do you prefer the real thing or margarine or the stuff that’s completely vegan? If you want the real thing, are you a salted butter kind of man? Which is the brand you grew up with? In my family, we’re all conditioned on Kerrygold. My mom and Griffin, my oldest brother, prefer it salted, while Dad, Daniel, and I like the unsalted version best. In a pinch, we’ll accept Anchor, while my cousins on my mother’s side swear on Organic Valley. You see, there’s lots of options for butter alone, and so far, I’ve made you eat all the brands I prefer. What kind of butter did you grow up with?”
Andi’s mouth stood open until he closed it with an audibleclack. Then he mulled George’s question over with an expression so serious, as if the fate of the nation hinged on his answer.
“I can’t say I have too many fond memories of my past, let alone regarding food.” He took a sip from his tea, avoiding George’s gaze. “Food was way down on my list of priorities, and I have to admit, I never paid close attention to it.”
Andi put the tea mug down. Before George could say anything or start crying at the sadness of it all, Andi continued. “I do remember my gran always had butter in a white-and-purple package. I think there was a piece of grilled fish or meat on it?”
“Ah, your gran had excellent taste. That’s Shurfine you’re talking about. We can definitely get that.”
“I thought you preferred Kerrygold?”
“Yeah. But you like Shurfine. It’s your fridge.”
Andi furrowed his brows. “Which you fill most of the time. Besides, I’m not sure I would even taste the difference.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” George winked like a conspirator in a bad movie.
Andi nodded.
“It’s not so much about how something tastes. I’m not saying I wouldn’t recognize my favorite butter, mind you, just that it’s not about the taste but the familiarity of the package, of having something of your childhood spilling over into your adult life. Kerrygold reminds me of the past.”
“Which makes you happy.”
“Yes, it makes me happy.” George smiled.
“Then we go for Kerrygold. I want you to be happy, and perhaps I can learn it from you? Associating taste with something familiar and cozy? Adopt your happy, so to speak?”
George had to get up abruptly and put his coffee mug in the sink, because now the tears were dripping like crazy out of the corners of his eyes.
“Don’t be sorry for me, George. You know I hate that.” Andi’s voice was softer than his words.
“I’m not feeling sorry for you.” George did his best to get a handle on his emotions. “I just can’t stand the thought of somebody being deprived the chance to be dependent on certain brands of food. I mean, how can you go through life not supporting one brand while abhorring the other?”
“Uh—easily?”
“We can’t have that. We’re going to get you fixed on a few brands right away.” George gathered the remaining dishes to put them into the dishwasher before he grabbed his keys. “Let’s go to the grocery store.”
An hour later they were unpacking all the good stuff, starting with Kerrygold butter (unsalted, of course), peanut butter from Smucker’s (the creamy kind, George hated crunchy and saw no reason to give Andi the chance to latch on to something he didn’t like), Nature Nate’s honey, and Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes. George had felt a bit bad about practically steamrolling Andi with his own preferences and had let him decide on milk and bread, only to realize his partner took whatever came first in the row. Such irresponsible shopping George couldn’t allow, so he took charge again without a bad conscience, guiding Andi none too subtly to what George thought were responsible and sensible food choices. He could already see that it would be a work in progress for the foreseeable future and found he didn’t mind. When everything was tucked away, they drove to work.
