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“Sounds stressful.” I’m not sure if I sound sarcastic. It isn’t meant to be. I’m genuinely anxious about the thought of crumbs in the drawer unit and the suggestion of the general public bringing in their items from home. Kitchen City is immaculate. It glistens. It glows. It’s a beautiful place to work if you like things clean.
“It was, and it also made me late, so I apologise.” Alice closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “God, this sun is amazing. I hope it lasts until the wedding. I’d hate for Sydney and Drew to get married on a glum day.”
The sun settles on her skin, and for once, Alice looks peaceful, quiet, and serene. I marvel at what nature can do to a person, how it can still the most hectic of thoughts, how it can breathe calm into the mind and let it reset, even if for a fleeting moment.
My love of the outdoors has always been there, from being young and always wanting to play outside, but I haven’t relied on it for my mental health as much as I have in the past three years.
“This is why I always eat outside.” I take this opportunity to push the box of couscous over to her.
She snaps her eyes open and glances down at the box.
“Wow, this is so sweet,” she says, unclipping the lid and staring at the divided compartments, one for the couscous, one for the falafel, and a small section with tahini dipping sauce, which I made myself. “And cutlery on the inside of the lid—how ingenious. Where’d you get these boxes from?”
“Amazon.”
“Really? I bet you have Prime,” she guesses.
“I do.”
She rolls her eyes. “I hate internet shopping unless it’s for something really dull and boring that I’d rather order than have to waste time shopping for.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know… a bath plug.” Alice shrugs.
“A bath plug?”
“Yeah, mine broke last week, and I don’t even know where you’d go shopping for a bath plug. Do they sell them in supermarkets?” she asks.
“I doubt it. You’d have to go to a DIY place, like Wickes or B and Q.”
“Amazon saved the day, then.”
Alice digs into the falafel and scoops up the couscous, and I release a sigh when she places the lunchbox under her chin as she eats.
“Speaking of shopping,” she begins, but then waits until she’s swallowed her food before continuing. “We need to talk about outfits for the wedding.”
“Okay.” I relax a little. Clothing is a territory I feel comfortable in.
“Knowing you’re a man of style, I don’t think we can rock up to this thing with any old outfits on,” she says.
I nod, glad we’re on the same page about that.
“And I had a dress in mind, but there’s been a miscalculation on the size.” Her eyes narrow.
“Okay.” I have no idea what she means by this, but she moves on quickly.
“So, I’m going to have to buy a new dress, and I’d very much like us to coordinate with each other, as I think we’d be the kind of couple who would match.”
“I agree.”
She stares at me, eyes narrowing, and for a second, I worry about what she’s going to say next. But then she smiles and says, “I knew there was a reason your name came out of my mouth, and that, right there, is why.” She points her plastic fork at me and then continues to dig through the couscous as if she’s loosening soil ready for planting. “I’m not sure if you have a suit in mind. If you do, then let me know the colour and style, and I’ll shop accordingly.”
“And if I don’t?”
Her shoulders drop. “Please tell me you do, because I don’t want you having to buy a suit for a fake date and a wedding you don’t really want to go to.”
“Who says I don’t want to go?”
