Counterfactual

25 | ad absurdum

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

AD ABSURDUM

( — disproof of a proposition by showing an absurdity to which it leads when carried to its logical conclusion. )

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          ROWAN IS RUNNING OUT OF COFFEE.

          He brews just enough for everyone sitting in his living room and ensures it will be enough for two cups each, but they all go through the freshly brewed beverage as if it was just water. Rowan doesn't even want to think about how many hours of sleep these people are standing on, but it's not like he's doing that much better himself, so he lets them drink every last drop of coffee.

          They go through his entire stock of coffee and Isla doesn't come back.

          "Rowan," Natalia calls. "Can you be a sweetheart—"

          "No," he replies.

          She pouts. "You didn't even let me finish."

          "I know. You didn't have to finish that sentence. I"—he proudly raises his chin—"am a truly horrible human being."

          "Uh, yeah. We're aware." She slouches in her couch, arms lazily crossed over her stomach. "Can you please go get more coffee? We barely slept last night."

          "You went through my strongest coffee; how come the caffeine still hasn't kicked in?"

          Natalia throws him an impressive glare. "You call that your strongest coffee? Goodness, Rowan; my little brother drinks that for breakfast and sleeps like an angel until lunch time." Micah fist bumps her. "Please? Pretty please?" She reaches out for her handbag, pulling out her wallet. "I'll even pay you back, but my headache is killing me, and I really can't focus. You'd have to go out for coffee eventually, anyway, so . . ."

          "I don't need your charity, Nat." Rowan pulls a leather jacket from the wood coat rack standing by the door that leads to the fire escape. He has found this is a much better place for it, as he tended to knock it down while it stood by the front door because he often forgot it was there. "Does anyone need anything else, before I run out of patience?"

          Joanna's face lights up and, as badly as Rowan wants to, he can't be mad at her. "Can you bring us some snacks, please? I need sugar."

          "And we'll order pizza for lunch," Micah adds, and Rowan knits his brows together, wondering when the hell he became a father to four college kids, who aren't that much younger than him. They're all turning twenty-two this year, while he's one day closer to twenty-six. "You're an angel and we'll always be grateful for your existence."

          "Flattery will get you nowhere," Rowan remarks, putting on his leather jacket in a swift gesture. The piece of clothing is gelid against the uncovered skin of his wrists, and he shivers, bracing himself to face the even colder hair outside.

          He feels it as soon as he closes the front door behind him. His teeth chatter and he has to cross his arms as tightly as possible as he stands in front of the elevator. It goes up as slowly as it possibly can, taunting him by stopping at every floor below his, and Rowan is forced to keep moving his legs ever so slightly, discreetly marching in his place by bending his knees, one at a time.

          It doesn't do much to help. Granted, he could have simply chosen to take the stairs, as it would have taken not nearly as long as waiting for the elevator to reach his floor and he would have warmed up considerably by the time he got to the street, but what can he say? He's stubborn. Now that he was subtly kicked out of his own apartment to serve as an errand boy, he's doing this the way he damn pleases.