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"I'm not, I swear. Well, it's not the price. It's the fussiness." Again, her eyes go to my watch. This time, they don't stay there. They move to my linen shirt. "You're wearing a white shirt and you ordered curry."
"I live dangerously."
She smiles wryly. "But you don't. That's the thing. I've never seen you spill. I've never seen a stain on your clothes. I've never seen you sweat."
"What was happening last night?"
"Metaphorically," she says. "You're always cool and collected. You're like Cassie that way. You two… you seem so effortless."
I lean into the bench seat. It's a strange feeling, this comparison to my sister. People see traits in common—we're both witty thinkers—but never this one. "You seem effortless."
"Sure, I'm casual." She motions to her blue tank top. "But I'm sweaty and hot and I've washed a dozen stains from this shirt. I'll stain it again today."
"I don't see any."
"They're there," she says.
"They're not as noticeable as you think." Is that true about both of us? We think our flaws are obvious, but they're not. We think we invite people into our hearts, but we don't. I know I haven't.
"Maybe." She takes another sip of tea. "I don't feel put together. You always look so put together. I bet you're a great cook."
"What's that have to do with anything?" I ask.
She nods with victory. "I knew it."
"Of course you knew it. I've cooked for you a dozen times."
The memory hits her all at once. It flashes over her face, a mix of epiphany and nostalgia. "Right. Of course. And I remember when you were still living at home, you'd cook for women you invited over, and Cassie would try to spy on you, and of course, Laurel and Zack would interrupt, and your dates always found it charming."
"Strange, right?" I ask.
She smiles. "Truly bizarre." The humor drops from her voice. "I was jealous sometimes."
She was? "You had a crush on me?"
"You didn't notice?"
No. I shake my head.
"You didn't see me that way?" she asks.
"Not when you were younger, no," I say. "When you got older, sometimes. But I never thought you'd be interested. You may not walk around, telling everyone you can how much Hole is better than Nirvana, but you're every bit as cool as Cassie. And I'm—"
"A lawyer who wears linen shirts," she says.
"Exactly."
"You look fucking hot in those linen shirts," she says. "I want to rip them off."
Back to sex. I can't say I have cause for complaint. But, still, I call her on it. "Were you timing that?"
"You're the one with the ten-thousand-dollar watch."
"Let me give you a chance this time," I say. "Tell me about the interrogation. Then I'll time you."
Her cheeks flush. "I don't know…"
"It's up to you, Daph. But if you don't tell me, I can't deliver. So… I'm here. Whenever you're ready to set the scene."
