Page 232 of The Holy Grail
“No kidding. Did you have to give away both of them?”
“Well, you gave away all the cookies.”
“You can’t eat cookies for dinner.”
“But you can eat cake?”
“Well, cake is made with eggs, which are a good source of protein.”
“Cookies are made with eggs, too.”
Jules silently chuckled again, joined by Evan. “Actually, why don’t I just scramble some eggs? That will be faster than waffles.”
“We just got everything out for the waffles,” Evan complained loudly, even as he was smiling. “Fuck it, I’m having Lucky Charms for dinner. There’s nothing faster than cereal.”
He began opening and closing a few more cabinets, then plunked a bowl down on the island, and dropped a spoon on the floor for good measure, before opening and slamming the fridge door.
“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to give Dawn Corleone any milk,” Jules said, making Evan cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“I know, but she really likes it, and I honestly don’t think a small bowl of it will really give her the shits. I think Mal was lying about that.” Then, in a whisper, he added, “If that doesn’t get him out here, nothing will.”
They waited … and waited.
Nothing.
Giving each other exasperated looks, and on the verge of admitting defeat, Evan’s eyes suddenly lit up. Holding up a finger, as if to say,Hang on, I’ve got it, he said, “I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want a cup?”
Jules’ eyes widened at Evan’s brilliance, and she quickly replied, “Oh, my God, I’d love one.”
A moment later, they heard the door to Malcom’s room open and his footsteps rapidly coming toward the kitchen. When he appeared, his expression was a combination of aggravation and disbelief.
Jules and Evan exchanged a quick, amused glance, as if to say,We should have started off with that.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” Malcom demanded. As he looked around the kitchen, expecting to see chaos and a huge mess, he was shocked to see only a pan on thestove and the waffle maker on the island, along with a mixing bowl and cereal bowl next to it. There was no mess, nor was Dawn Corleone drinking milk—she wasn’t even in the room, for Christ’s sake. “Oh, my God, was all that shit fake?”
“Most of it,” Jules said. “And by the way, it took you long enough to get off your ass.”
“So all that was just to get me in here?”
“You got it. And now that you’re here, we need to talk.”
Malcom took the beer out of Evan’s hand and sat on one of the barstools.
“We—” she motioned from herself to Evan, “—are worried about you.”
“I’m sorry,” Malcom apologized quietly, his posture deflating a little. “I’m just trying to work through some stuff.”
She went and sat next to him. “We know you’re trying to work through some stuff, but you can’t let it dominate your life ... to the exclusion of things like basic hygiene.” Jules patted the scruff on his face. “This needs to go. Evan can carry it off because it gives him a sexy, devilish vibe—”
“Why thank you,” Evan said, reaching up to touch his own facial scruff.
“—but on you, it just makes you look like you went camping and your tent blew away.”
Malcom frowned. “What?”
“It looks bad,” she clarified. “And it’s time to shave.”
“Fine. I’ll shave. I’ve just been feeling a little … unmotivated.”
