Page 146 of How to Fan the Flames

“You shout at television?”

“Only when necessary.”

“I would pay to see that.”

“No, youwouldn’t. I’m terrifying.”

“Oh I can believe that.”

He says it too easily.

Like terrifying is not a warning.

I cut into the egg, and the yolk spills over the avocado. “I also have plants.”

“Plants?”

“Yes.”

“Are they alive?”

“Some of them.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“The basil died dramatically.”

“Basil does that. It’s needy.”

“You speak from experience?”

“I killed three supermarket basil plants in one summer and considered it a character flaw.”

“It might be.”

“I feared that.”

I laugh.

Loudly this time.

It surprises me, not because I never laugh, but because this one comes from somewhere I have not used much lately. Somewhere lighter. Somewhere that does not have a clipboard or a radio in its hand.

AJ notices.

I know he notices because his face changes.

Only slightly.

Softening in a way that makes me want to kick him gently under the table and kiss him in equal measure.

The conversation moves after that. Not in a straight line. It wanders, sleep-deprived and strange, through favourite films, the worst sandwiches we have ever eaten on shift or deadline, his brief attempt at learning guitar, my briefattempt at pottery, which ended with a bowl so uneven Amanda still uses it to keep loose change in because she says it has “honest energy.”

“You made pottery?” he asks, delighted.

“Don’t sound so shocked.”

“I’m not shocked. I’m captivated.”