“The subject in question is very pretty, but what wreckage lies beneath the shadowy depths?” Payton says, tapping his fingers on the cafe table, enveloped in the thick aroma of cakes and muffins, coffees and teas. A door opens, letting in a sprinkle of rain and a roaring breeze. A waitress leads me nearer as Payton looks up and speaks. “It seems the suspect in question is approaching. Time to find the true nature of this very pretty lady. I hope she didn’t hear that.”
I heard that.
“Um… Hi.” I reach out a shaking palm, blushing and blinking a mile a minute. “I’m Heather. Are you Payton?”
“Yeah, I’m Payton. Please, take a seat and order whatever you want, my treat,” he says with a soft grin. “Good to meetcha, Miss Heather Merrell Bennett.”
I don’t remember saying my last or middle name, but I take a hesitant seat across from him. Staring at the menu quickly turns into staring out the window as the silence grows.
“Already know what you want? Good, good. Is it coffee or tea?” His pupils waver then focus, reading my expression like a spooked dove contemplating flight.
“Coffee,” I say. “How about your choice?”
“Tea, all the way. Coffee’s too bitter for my liking. But I guess that’s the diabetic child in me talking.”
I give a nervous laugh at that, and he melts into a smile, playfully kiddish, although brief as it retreats with the light in his eyes. The moment ends, and we both stare at the “interesting” plain walls. I notice he’s repositioning the silverware in order of size until a mini spoon catches his questioning eye eyes. He puts it down and directs his attention to the golden cube object occupying his plate. There’s one on every plate.
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“So, um, how about that weather?” I cough as light rumbling and pattering fill the shadows outside. “Feels like it hasn’t rained in years.”
“Hm… yes,” he says flatly, playing with a fork and knife. His eyes widen as his crass tone dawns on him. “Ah, what I mean to say is I agree.”
A squint from me becomes a slight glare, and he tries to save himself.
“Um… did you know that water is wet?”
Okay, now I’m too thrown off to be mad.
“Oh, what am I saying?” he continues. “Of course, an intellectual like you would know that. I mean, what a preposterous idea to believe otherwise! The definition clearly states that something must only be covered in, surrounded by, OR filled with a liquid, and on a molecular level, each fragment of water is surrounded by other, disconnected fragments, thereby making it wet.”
“Okay, you lost me. Why does that matter?” At this point, I’m lost, weirded out, and just about ready to book it out of here.
Then it happens. He reaches a fork and knife over to the cube on the plate. In a crude balancing act, he lifts the cube to his face, takes a bite, and…
And he spits it out, all the while shouting, “Ew, it tastes like old house smell!”
The cube unfurls onto the table, and in a roar of laughter, I realize it’s a napkin. Payton just took a bite out of a napkin, and I’m crying in laughter.