Miss Astoria stepped over the threshold and walked straight toward me.
Céline stared after her.
“Unbelievable.”
The cat looked up at me and screamed again.
I looked at Céline. “Is that her approval?”
“It’s extortion.”
I placed the bowl near the window inside her room. Miss Astoria went to it immediately and started eating with total focus. Céline watched me from the doorway.
“You can leave now.”
“I ordered Thai food.”
Her expression changed for a second before she caught it. “From where?”
I named the restaurant she always ordered from.
I saw the irritation cross her face, knowing I ordered from her favourite place and felt a sharp satisfaction settle in my chest. She was here. In my apartment. Eating food I had chosen for her. The small details added up in a way that pleased me more than they should have.
“That is not fair,” she said.
“I was not trying to be fair.”
“No. You never are.”
She folded her arms, but the movement lacked its usual force. She was tired. Hungry too, even if she would rather starve than admit it easily.
“The soup will get cold,” I said.
“Then reheat it.”
“I do not like reheated soup.”
“That sounds like a you-problem.”
“It becomes your problem if you refuse to eat.”
She finally stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her with a roll of her eyes.
At the table, she sat across from me like she was attending a difficult meeting. She curled one leg under herself on the chair, then caught herself and straightened. I pretended not to see it. She lifted the spoon, tasted the soup, and for one second her face softened before she pulled the expression back under control.
“Don’t say a thing,” she said.
“I did not say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was not.”
“You were thinking loudly,” she said sweetly, remembering our second conversation at the courtyard.
That made me laugh. Her mouth tightened, but not fast enough. Some part of her liked pulling that sound out of me. She took three more bites before she spoke again.
“You still called my father.”
