Page 28 of Time for You
“If you’re going to be here for a while, it’s time you learned how to wash your clothes more often. And the ones Vibol loaned you, too.”
“You realize that’s entirely unnecessary?”
“I’m not going to be your servant, so yes, you have to learn.”
“I meant, laundering your clothes that often feels excessive.”
Daphne decided she didn’t want to know how often he was used to his clothes being “laundered.” He seemed to have adapted to daily showers very easily, and he hadn’t been particularly filthy the day he arrived, so maybe his time period wasn’t as gross as she thought, but she still didn’t really want to think too hard about what unwashed clothes smelled like in the era of horse shit everywhere.
She picked up a basket of underwear and socks that she’d been meaning to wash for several days, and Henry blushed, averting his eyes.
“We’ll be washing our things together?”
“I can’t imagine your servants washed everyone’s clothes separately.”
“Likely not, but there’s a difference when it’s your mother and sisters and when it’s you.”
“A single woman, you mean?”
“A single woman whom I barely know and whom I find—”
“You probably don’t want to finish that sentence,” she said, and his mouth snapped shut, but there was an odd look on his face, like he was about to start blushing again.
“Put them in here,” she told him, and opened the door to the washing machine. He did as instructed, and she tossed her things in and pulled down the jug of detergent. “Pour about this much into the cap,” she said, holding her thumb and forefinger apart.
“What is this?” he asked instead.
“Soap.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Soap isn’t liquid.”
“You know we’re able to access entire libraries from our phones, but liquid soap is unbelievable?”
“I’ve simply never heard of it, that’s all.”
“You’d never heard of a fucking car, either. Pour the soap, Henry.”
He threw her a look but did as she told him, and watched closely as she set the cycle. “I wonder what’s happened to the washerwomen,” he said. “If these contraptions have put them out of business.”
“Um, no idea?” she said. “There’s still like, dry cleaners, but that switch would have happened a long time ago. Why do you care?”
He shrugged. “Simple curiosity, I guess. Your world is really—a whole different world for me.”
Daphne had another stab of guilt about how cranky she was being with him. “It’s not improper here to wash your clothes together. And really, fathers and brothers have like, no say over our lives. Or only do in really fucked-up situations. I get that it’s normal for you and your family seems fine with it, but it’s not how it is here.” Part of her wanted to addkeep that in mind if you ever get back home, but she didn’t want to bring up the fact that, so far, they hadn’t even figured out how he’d gotten to the twenty-first century, much less how to get him home.
“My apologies. I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” Daphne replied. Her shift started in just over an hour, and she was glad she would have a reason to escape from this confusing, confounding man, at least for a little bit.
Daphne hoisted the grocery bag higher on her shoulder and opened the door. Henry was on the couch, as was his usual routine these days when one of them was home. He was dressed casually, and other than the fact that he jumped to his feet the moment she walked in, he looked like any other guy she might see on a dating app—relaxed and comfortable.
“Let me help you with that, Miss Griffin,” he said, rushing forward to take the bag she had in her hand.
“It’s not that heavy,” she protested.
Henry stopped trying to take it from her and crossed his arms. “I’m not doing it because I think you’re incapable,” he snapped.
Daphne sighed, piling the bags onto the counter. “Then why?”
