“My face can’t be that great if the best you think I can do is an old wizard.”
“Yeah, when you put it like that it sounds really bad. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry about anything in this conversation. It’s probably the most amazing one I’ve ever had.”
She thought about telling him how ridiculous that was, but somehow pulled back at the last moment. If she didn’t say anything he might let her hold on to it for a little longer. She was a proper person, having a cool conversation. And she wasdoing well at it. She was climbing up that ladder with no problems.
Then in a little while, she could take him tea. She had no idea how to brew tea and didn’t have a kettle, but he never had to know that. He couldn’t see her filling a pan with water and putting it on the stove. And he had no idea she was about to use teabags she’d been given years ago in a gift basket from Atlantic Airlines.
She was sure tea tasted just as good, after so long under cellophane. Plus, the box was completely sealed. It made a littlepffffingsound when she broke it open—like the casket of a mummy, she thought—but that seemed like a good sign. And the teabags turned the boiled water a good brown color once she’d dipped them in.
That was the color tea was supposed to be, wasn’t it?
“Um...how dark do you like your...” She checked the box, quickly. “Earl Grey?”
“Howdarkdo I like it?”
Uh-oh.
“Yeah.”
“Is Earl Grey supposed to be dark at all?”
“I’m pretty sure it is.”
“Medium then, I guess.”
“Okay, this is medium.”
In truth she had no idea, but when she sipped it none of her limbs dropped off. She didn’t have the urge to immediately vomit, and he didn’t seem to either once he’d taken a drink. He did, however, say the following.
“You’ve never made tea in your life before, have you?”
“No, I have not.”
“It’s okay though, because I’ve never drunk it. So in all honesty this could be poisonous, and I wouldn’t know.”
“I’m hoping it’s not.”
“But there’s a chance it is?”
“I just found some old brown stuff in the fridge and stirred it around.”
“I thought it tasted meaty.”
“Actually it’d be really cool if it tasted meaty. This is disappointingly fragrant.”
“Like sipping a flower.”
“Right.”
“With a hint of old man in it.”
“Definitely.”
“So you were going to cut me out of my jacket.”
She’d been clutching the scissors ever since she’d brought them in from the kitchen, but didn’t register how tightly until now. The metal had made an imprint across her palm, though not for any reason she could think of. She wasn’t nervous about doing this. Who’d be nervous about doing this?
