Excerpt: Generations of Leaves

It’s November, and there are still leaves on all the trees—oranges and reds and golds, but leaves nonetheless—and it’s forty seven degrees out at nine thirty in the morning.

“You know,” muses Abdiel, his hands wrapped tightly around a cup of hot chocolate and his bright red scarf pulled up to cover his chin, “I think they’re losing their knack, now that new management is in. I tell them precisely how much whipped cream I want—one fifth, it’s not difficult—and they get it wrong, every time. It’s basic mathematics, isn’t it? Three fifths hot chocolate, one fifth marshmallows, one fifth whipped cream. It’s not difficult.”

The older man walking beside him rubs his hands together briskly, and shoots him an affectionate but deprecating look. “You are absurd,” he informs him.

“It’s fractions!” protests Abdiel. “Basic mathematics. They get the proportions wrong—I tell them, very clearly, but they still do—and it throws the whole taste off.”

“They hate you, you know,” says the man lightly, linking his arm around Abdiel’s and reaching over with his other hand to steal the cup of hot chocolate from Abdiel. “You’ve become One of Those People. Do you see what these strange addictions of yours do to other people? They’re bizarre and estranging. You’ve ruined our reputation at The Medici. They’ll never serve us again. They’ll poison our coffee and hot chocolate, and let the mice nibble at our croissants.”

“They like you,” points out Abdiel. “Silly people, they think you are charming and lovely. Your coffee and croissants are safe.”

“I don’t know. Much longer in your company, and they’ll lose all respect for me. My poor reputation—all of these ridiculous complaints of yours, they are tearing it to bits.”

“I’m particular.”

“You’re ridiculous,” corrects the older man, handing back Abdiel’s cup of hot chocolate as they stop outside of a pet supply store. “Lucky for you, you are also very charming and wonderful. Wait here; I’ll be back out in a minute.”

Two minutes later he steps outside again, a plastic bag filled to the top with tins of cat food tucked under his arm. “It is much too cold out to be outside,” the man decides, linking his arm around Abdiel’s again. “Let’s go home.”