"There is a reason I never come back." Ethan stood in the kitchen doorway. The sunlight framed his body.
"And which reason is that? There are so many. You left a list last time. I taped it to the refrigerator," Joseph turned around to face Ethan, the rag he had been using the wipe the table dangling from his fingertips. He wore a rough cotton button-down shirt, tucked loosely into faded jeans. His dark brown hair was slightly too long and messy.
"You are such a prick sometimes," Ethan said flatly.
"Only sometimes? Feeling generous today, are you?" Joseph tossed the rag into the sink. It made a wet slapping sound. Ethan and Joseph stared at each other for a few moments. Joseph broke the silence.
"Well, come in and shut the door already," he said as he turned around to open a cabinet. He took two mugs out, and a box of tea bags.
"What makes you think I want to stay?" Ethan asked testily.
"You actually walked into my house."
Ethan let out a humph of air, and stepped into the kitchen, swinging the door shut with one hand. He unbuttoned his grey overcoat, took it off and folded it over his arm. He remained standing next to the door. His charcoal suit, dark green shirt and green tie were immaculate. He ran his free hand over his perfectly trimmed, sandy hair, then scrubbed it over his clean-shaven face. He looked uncomfortable in the cluttered kitchen.
Joseph filled the black kettle with water from the tap, and put it on the stove. He turned the burner knob, then lit a match and set the gas under the burner on fire. He waved out the match. The smell of sulfur tinged the air.
Ethan closed his eyes. He remembered lighting the logs in the fireplaces in the school at night with Joseph when they were 12. And 13, and 14, up until they were 17. The long matches would release the same sulfur smell after they were struck. While waiting for the fires to build, the two boys would talk freely.
"We were so innocent then," he whispered.
"'Scuse?" Joseph asked. He walked to Ethan, touched the elbow under the folded overcoat. Ethan opened his eyes, stared into Joseph's, one brown-eyed stare to another.
"Nothing."
"I'll hang this up," Joseph tugged the coat from Ethan's arm. He hung it up on a hook near the door behind Ethan.
"You plan on putting anything stronger than water in that tea?" Ethan asked.
"There's brandy in the hutch."
Ethan stepped to the hutch and opened the door. A half empty bottle of brandy sat in the front on the shelf. He took it out, put it on the table. Joseph had pulled one of the chairs away from the table.
"Have a seat?" he asked.
Ethan sat. Joseph returned to the stove.
"Gail know you're here?" Joseph asked, his back to Ethan.
"Course not."
"Business trip?"
Ethan made a non-committal grunt.
"You never come back here, yet here you are. That's a bit of a conundrum, even for you, Ethan."
Ethan was quiet. He fidgeted for a few moments.
"I m... haven't seen you in a long time," his tongue tripped over the word "missed."
"You missed me then?" Joseph said with a hint of laughter in his voice.
Silence.
"I missed you," Ethan said simply.
The kettle whistled. Joseph took it off the burner, poured hot water into the mugs, swirled it around, then poured it back into the kettle. He poured hot water into the mugs again, dunked tea bags into them. He turned, placed a mug in front of Ethan.
"You still make tea the way Mrs. Callahan did," Ethan remarked.
"Only proper way to do it, I dare say," Joseph retorted with a smile. He sat down in the chair opposite Ethan, long tanned fingers curled around his mug. Ethan noticed Joseph had a couple-days' worth of old stubble on his chin.
"She used to make us tea Saturday afternoons. We would sit in the front room, the one with all the wood we'd have to polish in detention."
"I remember," Joseph said quietly. "It was usually your fault we were in detention doing all that polishing, though."
"I came up with the ideas. You followed through with them."
