Growing Up and Other Tall Tales

Chapter 15

"You made tea," Aiden says for the third time in a row. It's the first time he's ever set foot into my apartment after that night, but he's still standing in his coat by the doorway, frozen in place and unwilling to move.

It's a fucking milestone in our relationship (or lack thereof). And milestones should be celebrated with tea. And cookies.

"Yes," I nearly snarl, because I'm tired of repeating myself for the third time and I want to get past this topic already. The tea is deadass on the coffee table and right before our damn eyes. Come on, it's been ten minutes.

"Did you poison it?"

I should've.

"And I'll just tell you. While I'm at it, I'll let you in about my plans to take over the world," I say grim-faced

His eyebrows struggle to meet each other and his forehead folds up into creases of confusion. It's quite fascinating. The emotions flitting across his face like different keys on a piano.

"What for?" he finally asks

I groan and am mere seconds away from slamming the door on him and any possibility of me not failing math. His questions are a whole lot invasive and my privacy feels a whole lot threatened. Although, in retrospect, it is more than just a little weird that I made his favorite tea and cookies from the last cookie dough mixture we had especially when we are not friends.

The poison makes more sense now.

But at the very least, I now know Aiden Romanov's favorite type of tea and that he is not into coffee. That's a thing only friends would know, right? Or at the very least, it has to be the tiny seeds of friendship that would soon bloom and blossom into something beautiful. Something beautiful like, let's say, a perpetual ten-foot ice wall between the two of us and a mutual agreement to never speak of this again.

"Leave it, if you don't want any." I say finally and turning away from the door, giving up

"No, I'll take it," he mutters, and hooks his fingers around the mug

I stare at him until he brings the mug close to his mouth.

"Put that in your mouth," I announce, "and you can't hate me anymore."

Aiden doesn't even bother indulging me. He looks over the mug, unimpressed, "What are we, four?"

"We are a pair of feuding young adults trying to settle our petty-ass problems in a sensible manner." I deadpan, "So, either hate me forever, or drink the fucking tea and tolerate me."

He smiles into the mug and takes a sip.

"Truce?" I hold up my hand and with his free hand, he grasps mine. He nods, the cup leaves his mouth but he doesn't let go of it.

The next half an hour is nice. There are not too many snarky comments heavy with bitter, wry sarcasm. He asks me where I was at school on maths and how much water I feed Kathy's cactus, Elvis. It's nice.

It would've been nicer if he didn't litter the floor with cookie bits in the process, because I am not too keen on dealing with an imminent roach problem. But at the very least, my plan is a success so I let the crumbs thing slide. Even if cockroaches do end up taking residence as new roomies, they can't be any more annoying than the ones I already have.

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It starts, as usual, with my mental breakdown.

This isn't right. I scribble over my workings for the third time, because all these damn numbers are ugly, they don't make sense, and most importantly, they're tripping me the fuck out. The tip of the pen catches on the paper, and while it doesn't actually rip, the pen leaves behind tears that are certainly not microscopic.