Kattar is fidgeting uncomfortably, unnecessarily intent on his menu, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with the cantankerous kids, who at this point, are throwing themselves on the floor.
I’m also sure he’ll never tell me why, even if I ask, so I try my best to ignore it like I ignore the tantrum.
“I met my new agent today,” I say slowly, in an attempt to break the silence. He looks up abstractedly, and I can almost feel his interest fragmenting like a thousand slivers of broken glass. I only get one, and the apathy stabs me like one of Cupid’s arrows.
Something about her smile becomes venomous.
This arrow, it would seem, is tipped with amorous liquid wrath, bubbling up subtly in the warmth of my skin. I feel it before I perceive it.
“Her name’s Emelia Howard,” I say pettishly, surprising myself with the exasperation I let ooze through my tone. “She seems really…”
I try to think of something nice to say, fumbling about in the distant seeming memory like I groped through the darkness of Kattar’s immaculate bedroom.
“She’s very pretty.”