The kitchen.
The patio doors.
Like he is checking that memory and reality still match.
From the kitchen comes a rustle.
Then Heath appears at the front of the cage, nose twitching.
Philip sees him and some invisible guard drops.
“Hi,” he says quietly.
Heath stares.
Then, with all the emotional generosity of a grumpy hamster, turns around and disappears back into the beanie.
Philip lets out a breath that is nearly a laugh.
“Right. Fine. Good to see you too.”
I put a hand on the kitchen counter.
I have no idea where to stand.
No idea what shape this conversation is supposed to take.
Philip sets the suitcase by the wall but keeps hold of his jacket like he might still need to leave quickly.
I nod towards the kettle.
“Tea?”
He looks at me.
And I can see the same thought crossing his mind.
Tea is absurd.
Tea is painfully normal.
Tea might be the only thing from getting us through this.
“Yes,” he says.
My hands are steadier than expected as I refill the kettle.
Philip drifts further into the kitchen.
His footsteps slow near the sideboard.
I do not turn around.
I know what he is looking at.
For a few seconds all I hear is water filling, kettle clicking, Heath rustling.
Then silence.
