Page 30 of Angel of Thursdays

“Your mom asked me to come for Christmas,” he said.

Cassiel’s finger sat across the beads of his ring, holding them still and silent.

“She said ‘when you come for Christmas,’ not ‘if.’” May opened one eye. “I think I’ve been conscripted.”

“That sounds like her,” Cassiel said.

“Is that—are you okay with that?” Both eyes were open now.

“Yes. Are you?” Cassiel asked back. What he meant was are you not spending Christmas with your family, who you talk about so fondly that it makes your eyes crinkle?

The platform hummed. The time on the board ticked to seven minutes. Somewhere along the tracks, the approaching train sent a vibration through the concrete that Cassiel could feel in the soles of his shoes.

“I’ve got no other plans,” May said, smiling.

8

CASSIEL

A 1940s Omega with a broken mainspring required sourcing a period-correct replacement, leading to three calls to a supplier in Switzerland and an email chain that was, by Wednesday, six ‘circling back’s deep and no closer to resolution.

Peter rapped the frame, said something about the front display, and retreated. For lunch, Cassiel had the chicken katsu sandwich. Ever stalwart, ever consistent.

The whole time the dishwasher question sat with him.

May at his mother’s counter, his hands in the mandu filling, his voice at the table, his attention moving between the people and the food and the room with a fluency that Cassiel associated with people who did things like this professionally—bartenders, event coordinators, the rare salesperson at a watch fair who actually understood what they were selling. Someone who could read a room in seconds and adjust to it.

Why was this person washing dishes and picking up gigs on a companion app on the side? He could just as easily be doing drink service somewhere, earning real tips. It was not a question of class, of whether that labor was worth doing. It was a question about May Huang.

The question had formed in his mind at the dinner. It was still here and he had not asked it.

Wednesday night, in bed, Cassiel was thinking about May, and upon recognizing that he was thinking about May, he had to find something else to think about.

He found a three-part series on the American Girl doll franchise. The first video covered the original lineup and the historical research behind each character. The second was about the company’s corporate acquisition, subsequent decline in quality, and the shifting trajectory of the modern dolls. The third centered the creator’s personal relationship with dolls and girlhood. Cassiel had not owned an American Girl doll and had no direct experience with girlhood, but he watched all three parts in full and came away with a favorite American Girl doll to name in case someone were ever to ask.

Knowing about Kit Kittredge did not dispel May. The dishwasher question was still there, the ceiling was dark, and the phone was warm against Cassiel’s chest when he finally set it down.

THE SEVENTH THURSDAY

The October light came through the front window at a lower angle now, catching the dust in the air and turning it visible. The plum storefront was taking its autumnal form, darker and richer, color deepening as the days shortened and All Hallows’ Eve grew closer. The marigolds in the window box were browning at the edges.

Cassiel settled at his bench seat, the mint chocolate latte hot and right.

May arrived at 10:08, which was early for May and therefore remarkable, but Cassiel had decided not to comment because any commentary seemed to function as reinforcement and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be responsible for May’s punctuality as an ongoing project.

He looked tired. Cassiel saw it in the circles under his eyes and in the slowed movement from door to table. He ordered at the counter, came over, and sat down.

“Fleet Week’s over,” May said. “You survived.”

“Barely.”

“Your neighborhood must’ve been brutal. I could hear them from my place and I live in the avenues.”

“The shop rattled.”

“Like, the building?”

“The display cases. Peter thought it was exciting. I considered filing a noise complaint with the Department of Defense.”