“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you haven’t done.”
Dan made his way toward the kitchen, hands deep in pockets, contemplative eyes appraising the smooth white walls, the whippet-gray slate floors. “Man, this is so, so great!”
“Nice to see your house again, then?” I said. I wandered to the kitchen, filled up the kettle with water, and set it on the stove. It was one of those haute cuisine, state-of-the-art chef stoves, with shiny silver rivulets and polished chrome set into deep, grayish-blue enamel. It must have cost a fortune—far too sophisticated for my basic cooking skills. Wasted on the likes of me. I tended to buy ready-made food from swanky delicatessens in town. Or frozen meals I could heat up. My mother was a terrible cook (tins of Heinz, fish fingers with frozen peas and ketchup, M&S only when we could afford it), and I’d picked up some lazy habits. I was a grazer, a snacker. Family packets of crisps. Marmite on toast. A secret vice all British girls have, especially ones who grow up in cash-strapped families like mine.
“You haven’t screwed with the house. Haven’t spoiled its integrity,” Dan said. “We were kind of nervous the buyer would ruin everything.”
My plans for the retreat loomed in my mind. The extra bathrooms, the extension. All new architectural plans. I just smiled wanly, hoping the triplets couldn’t read my mind. Why did I care so much what these triplets thought? Perhaps because of their tactile presence? So three dimensional. Some people own a room when they walk into it, others are observers. The observer types, like me, are nourished by people like them. That’s what had made me fall in love with Juan. He was my sustenance. My food. He was a human being, not just a human.
I had fed off him.
For the first time in ages, I felt relaxed, less tense than usual. Was it their company? Ironic that I was feeling more at home than ever in my own house. And the triplets had been here less than ten minutes.
“God, I missed this view from the kitchen!” Kate raved. “Seriously, have you ever seen a better view in your life? The ocean always changes into different blues, and the sunsets from here are to die for.”
To die for. So true.
“Tea, anyone?” I offered.
“Sure.” Dan and Kate spoke simultaneously. I guessed that happened a lot with twins or triplets. I often wondered what it would have been like to have a sibling myself. Would we have been as united? As close as this lot seemed to be?
I thought of Rupert.
Kate took out her phone and snapped a few photos. “I swear I could just look at this sunset all day. I mean…” she paused and laughed “… that’s a dumb thing to say, because it doesn’t last all day.”
“Sunsets and sunrises never actually happen, Kate,” Dan said. “But you know that of course.”
She glared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The sun never rises or sets. While the earth moves, the sun never moves at all. It’s all a beautiful illusion.”
I observed this boy’s deep eyes set in such a thoughtful, intelligent face and remembered how much I missed clever conversation. Not small talk I could find anywhere, but bright, sharp conversation—things that made your brain tick a little. Stuff that made you contemplate. I fumbled around in the cupboard, wondering what sort of tea I should give them and which flavor I was in the mood for myself. After what Dan had just said, I decided they deserved a stylish tea. When Juan traveled for work he’d always bring me back fancy teas.
“When I was a little girl,” I told them, “my friends’ parents used to offer tea, you know, as they always do—no child in Britain is too young for a cup of tea. Coffee, that was for grown-ups, but tea? That’s a drink for everyone. Anyway, they always asked me if I wanted China tea or Indian tea, and I had no idea what they were talking about.” My little story thudded dull in my ears.
“So what did you tell them?” asked Dan, who was now sitting on my countertop, his black-sneakered foot bobbing up and down expectantly.
I shrugged. “I used to say—as all children do, I suppose—‘I don’t mind.’”
Dan laughed. A husky, throaty laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever said, ‘I don’t mind’ in my life! Because I do mind. I mind about a lot of things, all the time.”