Page 37 of Madness Becomes Her
I sit on a stool, coming closer to her. “And you are?”
“Mitzy,” she replies tentatively.
“Mitzy. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Same to you.” She gives me the barest smile, but I don’t honestly know if mice can smile, so I don’t think on it too long, then turn back to the chaos of mice getting the pans from the oven to the counter.
“Can I help? I have larger hands. It would make much more sense.”
“A mortal, the mistress of this house, touching the dishes? I think not!” She’s clearly offended, and guilt eats at me as I swallow over a lump that’s lodging in my throat.
“I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”
“Whether or not meant, I took it.”
“I’m so sorry again. I’ll just get out of your hair.”
“My hair?!”
“Fur? I’m sorry.” I rush from the room, no longer hungry from the scents of roasting meat. My stomach churns with disbelief at how unbearably wrong that conversation went before I realize Finlo’s in the living room, staring at me.
He’s got a stretcher in one hand and a hat in the other. He’s been working hard on an order for someone in town all week. It looks like he’s in the final stages.
“Your face is flushed. You’re hot! I can open a window. Daft man, she needs air,” he scolds himself, dropping what he was doing and flinging open windows. “You know women with large, beautiful heads need air. What’s the matter with you?” His continued muttering has me feeling far less awkward about what transpired in the kitchen.
“I’m fine, Fin. Really. I had a run-in with Mitzy in the kitchen. She talked circles around me, and I’m pretty sure I offended her.”
“Mm. Mitzy is very disagreeable, but puts on a fine tea party.”
That only makes me feel worse.
I feel the flush in my face worsen as I drop beside Finlo on the bright orange couch. It’s weathered and has patches of fabric that Finlo’s sewn in over the years. I find I rather like it. “Distract me.”
“What?” His green eyes widen. He’d returned to his task and likely forgotten about my issue with Mitzy.
I’ve noticed he doesn’t dwell on things. Especially not when he’s fixated on something. He can only see what’s before him, even if his world is on fire. It’s a skill, but it’s also a downfall.
“Distract me from everything. Take my mind off what happened with Mitzy.”
“A chef’s toque has 100 folds.”
My brain immediately stops worrying that I offended a kitchen mouse, and I’m thankful. “What?”
He nods as if affirming his statement. “A chef’s toque has 100 folds. It’s said that it represents all the ways one can prepare an egg.”
“Wow.” I’m taken aback by the random fact and the fact that he’d actually done what I asked. I’m distracted.
“Have you made many of them?”
“Only a few. I can’t make one for Mitzy because her head is simply too small.”
Mitzy chooses this moment to scurry into the living room.
I sit straighter beside Finlo, and his grin is taunting.
“Dinner is served, sir.”
“Thank you, Mitzy.”
