Chapter 43: Burnt-Top Basque Cheesecake (Part 1)

At the far side of the dining hall, Milo found the door Louise had pointed out and entered it.

She had told him to wait for five minutes, most of which he seemed to have spent keeping her husband’s flail quiet under his sweater.

Click!

The door pulled shut on its own.

A gray coat too big to be hers brushed his shoulder from its hook. On the desk was a framed picture of Aldous, with an open travel bag on the floor below, men’s fragrances visible inside. In the corner, a double bed—

Milo focused on the small, circular table opposite it, with its one chair.

His fingers trembled. His thoughts raced. Maybe the Gauge was getting to him. How many times had he thought off since he’d last checked?

"The G..."

The door opened, and Louise returned with two small plates, a fork balanced beside a slice of burnt-top Basque cheesecake on each.

"Why haven’t you sat down?"

"I wasn’t sure where."

She smiled from the threshold, gesturing for him to move.

"There’s no need to stand on ceremony, love. The bed, the chair. Whichever you prefer."

The bed could sink under him; on the chair, he could decide how far to hunch.

Milo lowered himself onto the wood, leaving room between his stomach and the table. Resting his right hand on the edge, he made an effort to look comfortable without moving his elbow away from the flail.

With this meeting, whatever it was about, he could feed Thwaite and Cald an acceptable excuse for why he’d vanished. They could argue with her about it.

But why drag him here, actually? Did she... know?

"Come and find me after your first lesson on Monday," she said. "We’ll walk to the consultation together."

"You don’t need to do that."

"Do indulge me. All you have to do is turn up."

"Thank you. I will turn up."

Louise gave him a doubtful smile and drew up a stool to face him.

"Didn’t know such rooms existed here." Milo swallowed. "In the dining hall."

"They’re guest quarters, and I’m staying here for the time being."

Under her gaze, Milo worked a fallen crumb around his plate with a fingertip.

"Yeah. Guests. Who else is coming?"

Louise stared at him. Each time he met her eyes, he snapped back to the plate with greater focus.

"...like, family?" he suggested.

The woman leaned forward.

"I can see it now. I’ve seen it before."

Milo kept his eyes on the crumb.

"See what, Miss?"

"You’re wary of touch."

His throat dried out.

"Really?"

At the next attempt to swallow, he nearly choked.

Following a sigh, Louise reached for the travel bag on the floor. Her hands quickly dug through the things in the way; she knew what she was going for.

What might emerge from the bag?

Sweat gathered at Milo’s temples as his eyes darted to the door.

Footage showing him leaving and entering the building?

A gun? A portable guillotine? A phone with the real Aldous speaking on it, revealing the previous one was just a decoy?

Glass clinked from below, and a larger bottle surfaced from among the belongings. One fragrance vial slid off it and dropped onto the others.

After placing the bottle on the table, Louise reached back inside the bag and brought out two shot glasses.

Milo squinted at its label.

──✧──

CORRAN & DAUGHTERS

Grain spirit - Clear

40%

Distilled at Wexley Parish

Bottled in the fruitful year of 619

Parish excise paid

──✧──

...Vodka?

The widow slid one of the glasses over to his plate and poured a drink for him and one for herself.

As Louise raised her glass, Milo lifted his own with his elbow pinned to his ribs. He could offer it across the table only by letting the flail slip, so he stopped short of hers.

"To us all," Miss Rolt said.

She leaned forward, swung the shot to strike his with a clink, and straightened to down it in one go.

He froze, his hand still out where she’d hit it.

"Miss, I..."

"Drink up."

"I’m not legally allowed to drink this..."

"You’ve joined the toast. It would be poor form to abandon it now." Louise slid a knuckle beneath her chin, watching him from behind her disheveled hair. "It’s called a salud."

"I’m, like, sixteen..."

When Milo only brought the glass closer to himself, hesitantly looking into the liquid, she continued.

"I have an autistic cousin. She reminds me of you, a little."

Autistic?

"She’s invited, but whether she’ll come is another matter. Crowds make her uncomfortable, so I generally let her off the hook, and a funeral is hardly the place to avoid them."

Is this what this is about? Autism?

Milo placed the glass on the table, one palm hovering over his stomach.

"And I’m uncomfortable with everything?"

"My cousin gets like that when people touch her." Louise nodded at the glass. "This takes the edge off for her. Drink up."

All in all, the woman didn’t seem as devastated as he thought she would. Crying herself out on the stage must’ve done some good after all.

She had thousands of empaths, if not more, to support her during this crisis.

Milo’s shoulders dropped.

She would be fine.

"It’s fine." He nudged the glass away. "I don’t drink. Really."

Since he spoke with more confidence, she reached over, snatched the glass and downed it herself.

"At least enjoy the cheesecake, then. Something this good deserves a little more attention than you’ve been giving it."

The rest of the conversation blew past in a shockingly bright mood.

Under the burnt top, the cake was soft enough to come apart on his tongue.

Milo was cutting another piece when Louise asked how he’d learned the corridors so well.

"Mostly by trying to leave," he said.

She laughed and began comparing the routes people had sent her along. His answer came out muffled by cake, so he swallowed and tried again while she watched him, amused.

There was no shortage of insights, either.

One could take a breather for something that involves rest, and nothing more. The reality couldn’t be further from that.

For one, he observed that state of mind did change the presumed effects of the Gauge. His hands steadied. Any intrusive thoughts of repeating off vanished under both their voices.

Second, he reflected on how much he’d disregarded his body, not only throughout this lockdown, but also in recent months.

If he strived to become a Field trainee, he would throw the old habits out the window.

Milo put the fork down and strolled on toward the door.

"Walk yourself in on Monday, love," Louise said, smiling. "You know the way by now."

He glanced back at her, smiled in return, and left.

═══════════════════

⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "Burnt-Top Basque Cheesecake (Part 2)" ... ⤵︎ [!]