Torin asked, “Whereishe goin’?”
“Into his litter box to um, poop.”
“The cat is goin’ tae shite in there?”
Torin crouched down and looked in. “Dude, ye are a time traveler and a brave lion, ye canna shite in the house. Tis nae seemly for a cat who lives with a princess, and who is goin’ tae clean it?” He looked up. “Och nae, the princess is goin’ tae clean up after the cat? Nae, Dude, ye must hae more honor than this.”
Dude flicked sand behind him, then stepped, daintily out of the box. “Meow.”
Torin said, “Aye, I am tellin’ ye, ye canna make the princess clean up after ye — hae ye nae shame?”
I said, “In his defense, he never uses it, he goes outside. I think he might be showing off for you. But also, it’s a top-of-the-line magical litterbox that cleans itself. Watch.” We waited for a moment and then it started to turn, sifting through the poop, shaking it into the drawer below.
Torin screwed up his face. “Dude, what will the horses think on ye? They will think ye soft.”
I knelt down and pulled out the drawer. “There, it’s finished, I will change the bag in a bit.”
“Ye must hae a chambermaid, Princess, and we will need a footman tae wipe the arse of the cat.”
He leaned on the washing machine and when the drum turned and started to slosh the clothes he startled. “Och nae! What is it!”
“I told you it was going to wash the clothes.” I opened the lid and we both looked down at the clothes as they swished around. “This is a pretty old machine, I’ve had it my whole life.”
He said, “Och, it daena seem old at all. Nae compared tae me. And where I come from tis hardy lasses who wash our clothes. They hae arms as strong as any man’s from the toil.”
“Sounds like it’s hard.”
“Tis, but they roll up their sleeves, kilt their skirts above their knees, and laugh as they beat the linen against the stones. Max and I were wary about goin’ near the burn when we were lads, because their tongues were so scandalous, but when we were grown lads twas a certainty that one of them would kiss ye if ye wanted.”
He grinned.
“This washing machine is not nearly as good a story. Want to go see the rest of the house?”
He followed me around the rest of the tour, fairly quiet, Dude shadowing us, weaving between our legs and occasionally rubbing against Torin’s calves. I showed Torin the book shelves in my hobby room, shelves crammed with paperbacks and hardcovers, some spines cracked from years of reading, others still pristine. He ran a careful finger along one row, pausing briefly at a battered copy of the Odyssey, tilting his head. “Tis yers?”
“My dad’s, have you read it?”
“I ken the story of Ulysses, aye. Max and I were told it at Glume. Tis one of m’favorites.”
Upstairs, I opened the doors to the guest rooms one by one: simple beds with white duvets, a few framed photos on the nightstands. I was showing him how nice the rooms were, but he stepped inside each one, looking around as if he were measuring angles, noting exits, testing the floorboards for strength.
He had already seen the basement earlier, so I skipped it this time. The whole tour had to have been overwhelming. There was too much to show someone who was seeing a digital clock for the first time, and there was at least one glowing in every room. Hestayed close, interested, one hand occasionally brushing mine as we moved from room to room.
And then I took him up to the attic, which was a rare visit for me. The narrow stairs creaked under our weight, the air growing cooler and dustier with every step. It was chock full of boxes and chests and so many memories that it was hard to visit without a pang of melancholy, but I thought it would be a more comfortable part of the tour for Torin than what we were doing so far, where everything was too modern, too bright, and too difficult to explain.
I pulled the light string, turning the single bare bulb on.
Torin winced at the sudden glare.
“There are so many old things up here,” I said as we stepped into the low-ceilinged space. “I could spend hours showing you all of it, but…” I exhaled. “It makes me a little melancholy.” I tapped a stack of boxes. “Christmas decorations.” I tapped another. “Hobby supplies.”
I tapped another stack. “This stuff belongs to my uncle. I need to send it to him.” I grinned at Torin. “You’ll get to meet my uncle, that’ll be fun to explain! Hey Uncle Dylan, I got married since last time I talked to you. That will be a fun conversation.”
Torin moved around the packed space slowly, his eyes roaming over the labeled cardboard and wooden trunks. Dust motes drifted in the slanted light from the small dormer window.
Dude leapt onto a low chest and sat, tail curled neatly around his paws, watching us both as Torin said, “This place holds yer past.”
I nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. It does.”
