DeTamble Residence, Chicago, Sunday afternoon
Alba DeTamble had turned two. There had been a pale yellow dress with a full skirt, and a chocolate cake shaped like a daisy, and a chaotic party with family and her playground friends. And now the birthday girl had been carried off to her room and tucked away for a nap, still clad in a more wrinkled version of that yellow dress.
Henry felt blessed to be there.
As their last guest left -- Charisse, with a hug for Clare and a glare for Henry -- Henry found himself alone with Clare for the first time in quite a while.
"So, he said, carrying dishes into the kitchen, "here we are." Which is exactly the kind of nothing he hates it when other people say.
"Here we are," Clare echoed, scrubbing out a vat of onion dip like she was mad at it. "How much longer are you here?"
"I splurged and took a portal," Henry answered. "I can stay as late as you need me. If you need me."
"Of course I need you." Clare went quiet for a long moment, and there was only the clink of dishwashing. "I broke up with Dylan. I missed you too much."
"Oh." That was interesting news, but Henry had no idea what to say to it. "I'm sure he didn't deserve you."
Clare shrugged a shoulder, as if telling him he didn't deserve her, either. "Do the doctors at Hopkins know how long they'll want to keep you?"
Henry shook his head. "I think they'll poke at me as long as there's flesh to poke at. They aren't making any more progress than Kendrick did from what I can tell. But my job -- I'd like to stay a while longer."
"As long as you come home sometime," Clare said, and Henry counted himself blessed she sounded even that enthused.
They were interrupted by a rap at the kitchen window. Clare glanced out and got paler. "It's a naked little girl," she explained.
Henry took a peep for himself, recognizing the figure. "Ah," he said. "Hopefully big Alba will stick around until Little Alba's done napping. We have extra birthday cake, right?"
And so it was that Alba DeTamble celebrated her ninth birthday with the cake from her second.
Henry felt blessed to be there.
As their last guest left -- Charisse, with a hug for Clare and a glare for Henry -- Henry found himself alone with Clare for the first time in quite a while.
"So, he said, carrying dishes into the kitchen, "here we are." Which is exactly the kind of nothing he hates it when other people say.
"Here we are," Clare echoed, scrubbing out a vat of onion dip like she was mad at it. "How much longer are you here?"
"I splurged and took a portal," Henry answered. "I can stay as late as you need me. If you need me."
"Of course I need you." Clare went quiet for a long moment, and there was only the clink of dishwashing. "I broke up with Dylan. I missed you too much."
"Oh." That was interesting news, but Henry had no idea what to say to it. "I'm sure he didn't deserve you."
Clare shrugged a shoulder, as if telling him he didn't deserve her, either. "Do the doctors at Hopkins know how long they'll want to keep you?"
Henry shook his head. "I think they'll poke at me as long as there's flesh to poke at. They aren't making any more progress than Kendrick did from what I can tell. But my job -- I'd like to stay a while longer."
"As long as you come home sometime," Clare said, and Henry counted himself blessed she sounded even that enthused.
They were interrupted by a rap at the kitchen window. Clare glanced out and got paler. "It's a naked little girl," she explained.
Henry took a peep for himself, recognizing the figure. "Ah," he said. "Hopefully big Alba will stick around until Little Alba's done napping. We have extra birthday cake, right?"
And so it was that Alba DeTamble celebrated her ninth birthday with the cake from her second.