Page 62 of Should the Sky Fall

“The first thing he said when he came here was: This place is a dump.”

“It’s not a dump. Just very…” He searches for the word.

“Sterile?”

“Yes! Like the hospital, but with windows.” Cal studies the sofa, then rounds it and sits down. Bouncing a little, he makes a face. “This is very uncomfortable.” Even his hospital bed was more comfortable.

Dawson presses his lips together, his eyes sparkling. “You picked that.”

Cal gives the piece of furniture a loathsome look. “I have horrible taste.”

Instead of disagreeing, Dawson smiles, making it clear he doesn’t like the set up either.

“Is there anythingyoupicked?”

Dawson shakes his head. “You’d already lived here for a while when I moved in, so it was furnished by then. Here, I’ll show you around. It’s not as big as it looks—four bedrooms and two bathrooms.”

“What do we need four bedrooms for? Do we get a lot of guests?” Cal asks as he trails behind him.

Dawson snorts. “Yeah, no. We do have a guest room, though. One of the remaining rooms is used for storage and you set up an office in the other.”

“Probably won’t need that one anymore.”

Dawson gives him an odd look. “You never know.”

True. He doesn’t know anything, to be honest. Which is why he dutifully follows Dawson around and tries to re-familiarize himself with their home.

The rest of the apartment looks pretty much the same—mostly white and bare, safe for impractical-looking furniture and strange decorations. Like the pictures on the walls, for instance.

“Why don’t we have any of your art here?”

The way Dawson looks at him, Cal might’ve as well just hit him. “My art wouldn’t fit here.”

“Why not?” Surely it’s better than the meaningless lines and shapes that are hanging there now.

Dawson shrugs, not saying anything. It’s a clear dismissal, so Cal doesn’t push.

The tour is swift—as Dawson said, the place isn’t that big. After he shows Cal their bedroom with an adjoining bathroom, they return to the living room. Since it’s an open space, it transits directly to the kitchen. The counters are spotlessly clean. It hardly seems used at all.

“What’s this?” Cal points at the machine sitting in the corner of the counter.

Dawson’s lips twitch. “It’s a coffee machine.”

Cal instinctively takes a step back, making a disgusted face. “I don’t think we’ll need this anymore.”

Dawson seems to be trying very hard not to laugh. “We should keep it. You could change your mind. Coffee is an acquired taste, anyway.”

“Not going to happen.” Of that, he’s absolutely sure. On the contrary, the reminder of the coffee makes him crave something sweet.

Curious, he goes over to the fridge. Opening it, he stares at its illuminated, empty interior—unless he counts the bottle of milk and some hot sauce. Closing it, he goes to check the cabinets, finding them equally vacant, save for a box of cereal.

“Why don’t we have any food here?” He turns around, wondering why Dawson has that spooked animal kind of look again.

Flicking his gaze between the cabinets and Cal, he says, “Oh. Well, we usually eat out or order in.”

“All the time?” Cal looks around the large kitchen space. “The kitchen is so big. Why don’t we cook?”

At that, Dawson barks out a laugh. “You don’t cook. The extent of your skill in the kitchen is boiling water. Which you never needed to do anyway because…” He nods pointedly at the offending swill-making machine. “And you’re not here much. Usually eat at work.”