The Chaos of Stars
Page 29
Anubis was the son of Osiris. Isis protected him the way Nephthys couldn’t, then sent him to the underworld to take a place by his father’s side. She found him an inheritance, a role, a domain to be a god in.
But she wanted more for Horus. Horus would have the crown of all Egypt.
Maybe she used up all of her maternal energy on him, because the rest of us just got dead cats in jars.
“THIS IS THE MOST STRAIGHTFORWARDLY named restaurant I have ever seen.” I stare up at the sign declaring we are about to eat at Extraordinary Desserts. There’s a funky, bright brushed-metal latticework glamming up the outside of the one-story building, and I already love the look of the place. It’s day two of my Official Friendship with Ry. I think these things should always be declared officially. It makes it much less complicated when he invites me to go get food. Friends do that, and I know we’re friends. No reason to overthink.
“It’s not false advertising,” Ry says. We walk in through a huge black door and are greeted by display cases of the desserts, which, floods, look extraordinary.
I lean over the glass. Even the names of the desserts taste like sugar in my mouth. Flower petals adorn the most beautiful plates of food I’ve ever seen. Some even have gold-flake accents. I will spend my entire daily allowance here. “I want everything.”
“Bread pudding,” Ry says.
I raise an eyebrow, dubious. “Bread pudding. We’re staring at rows of cheesecake and chocolate and fruit tarts and cake, and you want to eat bread . . . mixed with pudding.”
Ry nods. “Trust me. We’ll get a few other things, but once you’ve had the bread pudding, you won’t ever want anything else here.”
I don’t trust him on that at all. We sit down outside and order. I get a pot of tea, the afternoon chill from the clouds barely enough to justify it.
“How do you feel about Indian food?” Ry asks, toying with his napkin. He’s wearing a heather-gray tee today, and I like it but I prefer him in blue.
I mean, I have no preferences. I don’t care what he wears. Just the aesthetics, that’s all. “I’m game for anything. I grew up on about five different meals rotated on an eternal basis, so this is all good.”
“You’re lucky we’re friends.” His dimple is the exclamation mark to his cocky grin.
I shake my head, but I smile, too. “I could find restaurants by myself. I do know how to use the internet.”
“Ah, but you never would have ordered bread pudding. You need me.”
I drum my fingers on the table, then snap. “I almost forgot! Here.” I pull out my black messenger bag. “I needed to pick up a new notebook with graph paper, and I noticed your notebook was almost full, so I . . .” I trail off, holding out a deep-blue, leather-bound notebook. Well, journal, really. Nicer than the one I’d seen him using, but this was so beautiful and when I saw the color I thought instantly of Ry.
“Seriously?” His face lights up, so honestly delighted that I want to laugh. Something flutters in my stomach, and I hope it simply means I’m hungry.
“I’m enabling your antisocial tendencies.” In part it’s an I’m-sorry gift, though I’d never say so out loud. I realized yesterday that he didn’t laugh at me when I said my passion was interior design, but I had been kind of a jerk about his writing. I actually like it about him, like that he has such a bizarre focus and pastime.
He takes the book, flipping through the pages, fingering them gently. “I’m not feeling very antisocial today,” he says.
Neither am I. The waitress comes, and I drown my flutters in herbal tea. And then bread pudding, which is warm and soft, with just the right balance of rich dark chocolate and cool, sweet cream.
Ry laughs, because he doesn’t even have to ask me if I like it. I’ve already eaten the whole thing and am plotting the soonest moment I can come back for another.
“So,” Tyler says, leaning in conspiratorially while Michelle finishes a phone call next to us. “You and Ry have been spending a lot of time together the last couple days.”
“Mmm,” I answer.
“How’s that going?” She waggles her eyebrows in undisguised glee.
“I am more likely to end up romantically involved with his cat than him.”
The glee falls off her face. “You—what? Gosh, if I’d known you had a thing for long-haired Persians, I’d have set you up with my family’s landlord.”
I snort and shove her shoulder. “Seriously. Ry and I are friends. That’s it.”
“Ooookay. Sure. If you say so. Speaking of friends, what are you doing this weekend? I’m thinking a movie marathon. As long as snuggling up on a couch in a dim room next to Ry for hours on end won’t interfere with this whole friends thing you’re rocking . . .”
“Not an issue. But maybe invite your landlord, too, since he’s clearly more my type.”
Tyler jumps in surprise as Michelle lets out an explosive swearing tirade next to me. That much foulness coming out of her tiny body never ceases to amuse me, especially because it so rarely happens.
“The insurers won’t let us set up the pieces until the night before the exhibit opens. They want everything to stay in the high-security storage center until the last possible moment. How are we supposed to get everything ready when we can’t even place the artifacts?”
Huffing, she stomps up the stairs toward the wing we’re going to be using. I haven’t seen it yet.
But she wanted more for Horus. Horus would have the crown of all Egypt.
Maybe she used up all of her maternal energy on him, because the rest of us just got dead cats in jars.
“THIS IS THE MOST STRAIGHTFORWARDLY named restaurant I have ever seen.” I stare up at the sign declaring we are about to eat at Extraordinary Desserts. There’s a funky, bright brushed-metal latticework glamming up the outside of the one-story building, and I already love the look of the place. It’s day two of my Official Friendship with Ry. I think these things should always be declared officially. It makes it much less complicated when he invites me to go get food. Friends do that, and I know we’re friends. No reason to overthink.
“It’s not false advertising,” Ry says. We walk in through a huge black door and are greeted by display cases of the desserts, which, floods, look extraordinary.
I lean over the glass. Even the names of the desserts taste like sugar in my mouth. Flower petals adorn the most beautiful plates of food I’ve ever seen. Some even have gold-flake accents. I will spend my entire daily allowance here. “I want everything.”
“Bread pudding,” Ry says.
I raise an eyebrow, dubious. “Bread pudding. We’re staring at rows of cheesecake and chocolate and fruit tarts and cake, and you want to eat bread . . . mixed with pudding.”
Ry nods. “Trust me. We’ll get a few other things, but once you’ve had the bread pudding, you won’t ever want anything else here.”
I don’t trust him on that at all. We sit down outside and order. I get a pot of tea, the afternoon chill from the clouds barely enough to justify it.
“How do you feel about Indian food?” Ry asks, toying with his napkin. He’s wearing a heather-gray tee today, and I like it but I prefer him in blue.
I mean, I have no preferences. I don’t care what he wears. Just the aesthetics, that’s all. “I’m game for anything. I grew up on about five different meals rotated on an eternal basis, so this is all good.”
“You’re lucky we’re friends.” His dimple is the exclamation mark to his cocky grin.
I shake my head, but I smile, too. “I could find restaurants by myself. I do know how to use the internet.”
“Ah, but you never would have ordered bread pudding. You need me.”
I drum my fingers on the table, then snap. “I almost forgot! Here.” I pull out my black messenger bag. “I needed to pick up a new notebook with graph paper, and I noticed your notebook was almost full, so I . . .” I trail off, holding out a deep-blue, leather-bound notebook. Well, journal, really. Nicer than the one I’d seen him using, but this was so beautiful and when I saw the color I thought instantly of Ry.
“Seriously?” His face lights up, so honestly delighted that I want to laugh. Something flutters in my stomach, and I hope it simply means I’m hungry.
“I’m enabling your antisocial tendencies.” In part it’s an I’m-sorry gift, though I’d never say so out loud. I realized yesterday that he didn’t laugh at me when I said my passion was interior design, but I had been kind of a jerk about his writing. I actually like it about him, like that he has such a bizarre focus and pastime.
He takes the book, flipping through the pages, fingering them gently. “I’m not feeling very antisocial today,” he says.
Neither am I. The waitress comes, and I drown my flutters in herbal tea. And then bread pudding, which is warm and soft, with just the right balance of rich dark chocolate and cool, sweet cream.
Ry laughs, because he doesn’t even have to ask me if I like it. I’ve already eaten the whole thing and am plotting the soonest moment I can come back for another.
“So,” Tyler says, leaning in conspiratorially while Michelle finishes a phone call next to us. “You and Ry have been spending a lot of time together the last couple days.”
“Mmm,” I answer.
“How’s that going?” She waggles her eyebrows in undisguised glee.
“I am more likely to end up romantically involved with his cat than him.”
The glee falls off her face. “You—what? Gosh, if I’d known you had a thing for long-haired Persians, I’d have set you up with my family’s landlord.”
I snort and shove her shoulder. “Seriously. Ry and I are friends. That’s it.”
“Ooookay. Sure. If you say so. Speaking of friends, what are you doing this weekend? I’m thinking a movie marathon. As long as snuggling up on a couch in a dim room next to Ry for hours on end won’t interfere with this whole friends thing you’re rocking . . .”
“Not an issue. But maybe invite your landlord, too, since he’s clearly more my type.”
Tyler jumps in surprise as Michelle lets out an explosive swearing tirade next to me. That much foulness coming out of her tiny body never ceases to amuse me, especially because it so rarely happens.
“The insurers won’t let us set up the pieces until the night before the exhibit opens. They want everything to stay in the high-security storage center until the last possible moment. How are we supposed to get everything ready when we can’t even place the artifacts?”
Huffing, she stomps up the stairs toward the wing we’re going to be using. I haven’t seen it yet.
