My cheeks flush. I straighten my posture and bring my hand to my forehead in a salute. "Awaiting your instruction, sir."
He smirks you have no idea how accurate I can make that. "Get out the frozen broccoli."
I do.
He pulls a pot from the pantry, fills it with water, places it on the stove, and turns the burner to high. "The minced garlic."
I find it in the top shelf of the mostly empty fridge door. Not a lot of condiments here.
"Pureed basil."
That's nowhere to be seen.
"Freezer door."
Ah, there it is. I set it next to the frozen broccoli.
Once again, Mal motions to the stool. When I stay put, he shakes his head and fills the electric kettle with water. "We've got ten minutes until the water is boiling."
A good point. I slide around the counter and take a seat at the stool.
Mal looks at home here. Of course he does. This is where he's lived for twenty-seven years, save the months at a time he's on the road.
The electric kettle steams and Mal fixes another round of sencha. We're quiet as the tea steeps—it's only a few minutes—and as we take our first sips.
It's still good, but somehow it seems less impressive than it did last week. After fucking Mal, tea can't really compare.
"You said your parents left when you were eighteen," I say.
His shoulders tense, but he doesn't dodge the conversation. "Yeah."
"What was it like before they left?"
"A long time ago, we were like any other normal family. Mom made pancakes every Sunday, then we took a walk on the beach, all year, no matter the weather. Not that it was ever bad."
"That sounds nice."
"Yeah." His eye corners turn down. "One day, Mom just didn't make breakfast. Piper got really upset, so I made pancakes, but I had no fucking clue what I was doing. They were a charred mess."
"And the walk?"
"It was just the three of us. I don't know what changed. Maybe nothing. When I think back, Mom and Dad always seemed a little far away. But that's just what they're like. They're dreamers."
"You still take those walks?"
"No, that stopped a long time ago." He turns to the pot. "Mom and Dad used to be professors, but their heart was always in field work. They started getting antsy when I turned seventeen, talking about taking long research trips. Before that, it had only been a week or two at a time."
I nod.
"Then, a few weeks before my birthday, they told me they had a trip planned. They were going to Africa for two months, the day after I turned eighteen. They were going to miss my high school graduation. They were going to miss Piper's dance recital. They had never fucking cared about any of Ethan's bands."
"His bands? Not the two of yours?"
He shakes his head. "I was in some of them. But once Mom and Dad left, I didn't have time. I had too much shit to take care of. The house, the cars, Ethan, Piper."
"They just left, like that?"
He nods. "They came back two months later, but it was only for a few weeks. Then another two months on location. Then it was one week home and three months on location. The daily calls became weekly, then monthly. Ethan dropped out. Piper got angry and tried to cause trouble, but she was only twelve. Worst thing she ever did is toilet paper the neighbor's house."