Andrew & Liam
—
AfterThe Mystery of the Bones
POV: Sebastian Snow
—
Louis Armstrong’s trumpet began to play on the record player in the front room, followed by Ella Fitzgerald’s scatting, and then quite possibly the most beautiful and perfect duet in jazz history began to sing “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” I adjusted the volume a bit, then returned to the kitchen, where the polar opposite musicians could be heard just right. Calvin had been cooking all day in preparation of Thanksgiving, and the limited counter space had been cleared so he could work in relative ease. Despite the holiday being us and my father, who was due to arrive in an hour or so, you’d have thought Calvin was feeding an entire damn platoon. Roast duck, vegetarian-stuffed sweet potatoes, red curry squash soup, salad, fresh dinner rolls and cranberry sauce, andpies. He’d baked two pies before I’d even showered and dressed that morning, and they had since been taunting me from the shelf beside the fridge.
I’d have said something about all the food, but hell, it wasn’t like we wouldn’t eat it. And I’d send Pop home with some too. This was all a direct result of Calvin’s year and a half in therapy. He and his therapist had, pretty early on, discussed the need for a hobby. When I’d met Calvin, he didn’t have one, unless you considered occasional bouts on his PlayStation a hobby. He only worked and sometimes slept. She had suggested a process-oriented hobby—that it wasn’t so important the quality of the end result, but that the steps and methods of production were followed—to basically help Calvin turn off and give himself a chance to relax.
So when we’d moved in together and he finally had a real kitchen, it seemed only natural that Calvin try his hand at cooking. And then baking. Both of which I was thrilled over, because I was deemed the Official Taste-Tester in the house. I had offered to help today, though, but Calvin knew I hated cooking, so he’d suggested I clean the apartment. And when that was done, I cracked open the wine he’d bought, because it was five o’clock somewhere, and returned to his side at the counter.
I put a hand on Calvin’s back and rubbed absently. “How’s it coming in here, Martha?”
He smiled while chopping several cloves of garlic and slicing a lemon. “Not bad, Rachel.” He collected the pieces and stuffed them into the duck’s backside.
“Sure hope you took him out prior to plowing him,” I said before sipping the wine.
“Of course I did. We took a romantic walk through Union Square Greenmarket,” Calvin said. “Bought some goat cheese, the local wine my husband has already opened—”
“You said I could.”
“Which is why I bought three,” he continued, securing the back legs with twine. “I was going to pass on the flowers for said husband, but the duck thought it was a wise investment.”
Calvin had come home from the chaos of the farmer’s market yesterday with bags of food, but also a bouquet of carnations—peach-colored, he’d said—and they were now in a vase on the set table in the front room. He did that sometimes, just came home with flowers. Usually from a bodega, nothing special, but it always had a way of making me feel like a million bucks.
“Good thing you listened to the duck,” I answered.
“Hm-hm. I know you like flowers.” He leaned sideways and kissed me.
“Carnations,” I corrected.
“Only.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Calvin opened the oven and slid the duck in. He then turned his attention to scooping roasted squash from the rinds and dumping the flesh into a blender.
I looked at the glass in my hand and swirled the pinot grigio absently. Neither of us were big wine drinkers—beer was the alcohol of choice in our house—but ’tis the season and all. I did like how Calvin’s freckles popped on his face when he drank wine. He said it always gave him a flush. I thought it was cute.
“Can I get you some wine?” I asked. “It’s pretty good.”
“Sure, baby. Thanks.”
I grabbed a second glass from an overhead cupboard and poured a bit for Calvin. “Here you go.”
Calvin took the glass, then tapped it against my own. He took a sip while eying me, then asked, “What?”
“What, what?”
“You’ve got your thinking crease.”
I immediately rubbed between my eyebrows, saying, “I wish you guys wouldn’t call it that.”
Calvin added some liquid ingredients to the squash, blended it into a total pulp, then prompted with, “Well?”
