Aurelie's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki
Aremu’s shoulders relaxed, a little; he took a sip of his kofi. It turned something in his stomach, clenching like a fist, and he realized rather abruptly that he was hungry, in fact, much hungrier than he’d thought. “I’d never had them hardboiled before Anaxas,” Aremu said, smiling at her. “We have eggs, of course, mostly scrambled, although not exactly the way Anaxi do them. I like them with vegetables – tomatoes, zucchini, onion – and with spices,” he grinned, sheepishly.
“I hope it won’t be… the bread and egg shouldn’t have much heat, anyway,” Aremu said, after a moment.
He set the cup up on the table and came easily to his feet; he uncovered the porridge, and sat down next to Aurelie with it, though he left more space between them than he had the night before. It seemed better, he thought, than hovering. “I don’t know if you’d have had this,” He said, showing her the bowl. “I think porridge is the best term for it in Estuan, but it might be thicker than you’re used to. It’s made of barley-flour; there’s, um, cinnamon, ginger, pepper, and a bit of turmeric and cardamom.” The bowl wobbled, slightly; it wasn’t thick enough to cut into slices, but one could nearly stand a spoon upright in it.
“The flatbread,” Aremu handed Aurelie the first bowl, and reached across for the other; his arm came out of his sleeve, the burn scar on the back of it gleaming in the light, and he shook it lightly to cover it once more. “is Hessean,” Aremu brought the bowl with the egg back. “They put, uh, a spice mixture on top,” he showed her the thick green paste, studded with sesame seeds, “with sesame, sumac, thyme, and – I’m not sure what else.”
That one he settled on the edge of his leg. Aremu glanced down at it, and then back at Aurelie. He grinned, a little sheepish once more. “The egg’s just an egg, I think.”
Aremu glanced down at the bowls, then back at the girl sitting next to him; her short soft hair was mussed, bits of it sticking up off her head in strange directions, and there was something still sleepy about her eyes. He smiled again, still something hopeful about it, for all something solemn lingered too. “Why don’t you take what you like and I’ll... eat the rest? I eat everything,” Aremu glanced down at the bowls once more. He knew he could probably have managed both bowls, although he doubted he could’ve done much more than that – at least, not in one sitting, and not without feeling uncomfortable. He didn’t quite want to tell Aurelie that; he didn’t like the idea of her limiting himself on his behalf. Even half would be enough to take the edge off his hunger.
We could bake together, he wanted to say, if you’d like to, on the islands; maybe it was only a diversion, writing to me. I could cook for you, he wanted to offer, and he didn’t know how to say it or what she might make of it. He couldn’t quite bring himself to suggest she cook for him, but he thought he might like it, if she ever wanted to. He thought it likely she was better at it than Niccolette, who always went by instructions, and never the smell or taste.
You’ll like the island, he wanted to say, but it seemed cruel, still. She had wanted as well as needed to leave, he told himself, but that didn’t make it easy. He thought of what she’d confessed the night before, about her sister, and felt himself better not approaching the subject at all.