Page 72 of Nine-Tenths

"Let's get you wasted," Mauli says when Hadi's finished. "Day drinking solves everything."

The tea pot is empty, and the morning light is giving way to the harsh glare of noon, and I feel gray and hollowed-out. Face-down on the table, my phone vibrates. Someone is trying to call me. I don't feel like answering. I don't want to talk to anyone but—

Dav.

I lunge for the phone, flipping it over, and—

"It's Mum," I say, staring at it dumbly. "It's… it's not him… it’s…"

I hit 'ignore.'

I can't do that right now.

"He'll come back, you know," Hadi says softly. All casual-like.

The sentiment is echoed by Mauli and Dike.

"Sure," I say. I’m not sure I believe it, though.

The next morning, I stay in bed, stare at the ceiling, and don't let myself squeeze Dav's pillow to my face.

One, because I refuse to be that pathetic.

Two, because it probably doesn't smell like him anymore.

Three, okay, I am that pathetic, but I won't give into it.

24 hours, and nothing.

No phone call. No email. No well-dressed, coiffed dragon on my doorstep with a shame-faced grin, dorky socks, and an explanation.

Nothing.

(Is it 24 hours when it becomes a Missing Persons case? No, that's 48. It's the first 24 hours after a kidnapping that are the most vital. Is it a kidnapping if he just got in the goddamned limo and went with them?)

In the afternoon, Hadi sends me a picture—the roaster is in. It's the sports-car of bean roasters, bigger than the last one, and sleek in a way that makes me wonder if it might actually launch into space if I press the wrong button. As she oversees the installation, we work together to craft the perfect post to explain the emergency closure that's both upbeat enough that it will encourage people to come back, and isn't so abrupt that it reads like Beanevolence failed a health inspection.

Or isn't the kind of honest that makes Lieutenant Governor Asshole come back.

Hadi wants to put him on blast.

I would like her to not get disappeared, too.

Because that's what it is.

Disappeared.

I call Dav, and his phone rings out. I text, and there’s no read notifications. Dav has no social media I can find, and I never got his home phone number or address. "Dragon estate Canborough Niagara" brings up literally zero results when I search for it.

Nothing should getzerohits. There’s a puzzle here, and that’s a piece of it, but I don’t know the shape of the whole thing yet.

On the second day, the grief hits me like a sucker-punch as soon as I wake up.

Not everybody you love will leave without a goodbye, Gemma had said.

Ha fucking ha.

I'm glad Katiya's in Europe, because it means I can lay around as long as I want, lunging for my phone when it buzzes, and ignoring every phone call and text that comes from anyone who isn'thim. On the fifth day, Hadi abuses her spare-key privileges again, and the gang drags me to the Brass Monkey. I drink red wine that wasn't made by Dav, and feel recklessly angry enough to eat a slice of chocolate cake.

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