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"Are you close?"
"No. But we were."
"What happened?"
I press my palms into my jeans. This is not a conversation I'm having. Not with her. Not with anyone.
The server spares me from finding a deflection. He drops off our lunch. Or maybe I should call it a feast.
Matching three-tiered plates are flush with finger sandwiches, cookies, scones, butter, jam, and lemon curd. The same shit my mom always ordered, only sans meat.
Another server drops off our tea.
Chloe stirs honey into her Earl Grey. "Was it that bad?"
"You could say that." I pour from my pot. Take a long sip. It's dark, rich, smoky. Perfect as is.
"Does she know how you feel?"
"Yeah."
"Does Ryan?"
I shake my head.
"Hmm." The gears in her mind turn. She pores over the possibilities. Tries to put it together.
But she won't. This is the kinda thing nobody thinks about their parents.
She brings her mug to her lips. Takes a long sip. Lets out a soft sigh. "How did your mom get you into tea?"
"She used to take us here. On Sundays. She'd dress us up in tiny little suits and meet her friends for afternoon tea."
She smiles at the mental image. "Were you already a troublemaker?"
"I was born a troublemaker."
"That's supposed to sound badass."
"Doesn't it?"
She shakes her head.
"You're killing me, Chloe."
"I'm sure." She plucks a cucumber sandwich from her plate. Takes a tiny bite. "This is weird."
"What about it?"
"You're being nice.
"I am not."
"You are so."
"Definitely not."
"Definitely so."
