34.

The Taste That Stayed

Aetherion, AGH 148

The mushrooms were still warm through the paper when Ressa got her key into the door. She had eaten two on the way home, choosing the little ones with more crisp edge than middle, and meant to eat the rest sitting down. There was paint on her cuff and a satisfying ache across her shoulders. The display was finished. The shopkeeper had paid her, then gone outside to look at it again.

“Don't come in yet,” Ivo called.

She stopped with one foot over the threshold.

“I'm in.”

“Not all the way.”

Beyond him, at the table, Mara was holding the top of something brown and white. Ressa could see her niece's face on one side of it and her dark hair, tied well clear of her shoulders, on the other. The construction stood almost as high as Mara's chin. Ivo moved a chair out of the way and came toward Ressa with his hands held slightly apart, as if he too were carrying something delicate.

“It's ready,” Mara said.

“Are you going to let go?”

“I have let go. This is in case.”

Ressa leaned to look past Ivo. A narrow plaque at the base bore the number forty-five in white icing. Above it, small cakes stood on tiers of biscuit, with a series of upright pieces that might have been spires. One leaned so far outward that she wanted to move something heavy to the other side of the plate.

“It's a tower,” Mara said.

“Yes.”

“An Aetherion tower.”

“I can see that.”

Ivo took Ressa's free hand and kissed her. His hair brushed her cheek; he had tied it back while cooking, but the short pieces near his face had escaped. He smelled faintly of hot sugar.

“Happy birthday. Let me take that.”

For a moment she thought he meant the mushrooms. Then he caught the strap of her work bag as it slipped down her arm. She gave him the bag, keeping the parcel close against her coat.

On the sideboard stood a shallow dish of pears. Each had been peeled with its stalk left on, and set on a round of pastry. There was filling in the hollows, a thick amber glaze over the fruit, and a scattering of toasted seeds laid so neatly around the edge that Ivo must have done it with a dry spoon after everything else was finished.

“Oh,” Ressa said. “Look at those.”

He looked, pleased.

She did look. They were beautiful. The light from the window sat in the glaze and showed the shallow cuts down each pear. It had taken him a long time. She could tell that even before she saw the pans behind him.

Mara made a small urgent sound.

Ressa turned. The highest biscuit had inclined a little farther.

“Can you hold this while I put the knife under?”

“You're not putting a knife under it,” Ivo said. “Somebody will pull it out.”

“Then what?”

While they looked for a substitute, Ressa slipped the mushroom packet into the deep pocket of her coat. The paper caught on the lining. She pushed it down with the flat of her hand and hung the coat on its peg.

“That side's lower,” she said, going to the table.

“Which side?”

“Yours.”

Mara moved around to Ressa's place and bent her knees to see along the lowest tier. She was broad through the shoulders and had to move the chair again to get close enough. At eighteen she had brought the dessert, carried it here herself, and apparently intended to hold it together until everyone had eaten it.

“It's the plate,” she said.

Ivo put a folded piece of paper under the rim. Mara eased her hands away. The tower stood.

Ressa reached toward the worktop. “What can I do?”

“Sit,” Ivo said. “Your evening off.”

She sat where he had laid a clean cloth beside her plate. From there the tower's crooked top looked almost intentional. A thin decorative piece curled out from its middle, dividing into two unequal loops before joining again. She turned her head to see the small space inside it.

“Don't look at that side,” Mara said.

“I like that side.”

“You haven't seen the other one.”

Mara turned the plate a little. Ivo caught the paper underneath before it slid out. They both stopped, with their hands on the plate, and looked up at the top.

“Leave it there,” Ressa said.

Ivo withdrew first. Mara waited another moment. Then she sat down opposite Ressa and began explaining how the upper tier had been meant to fit inside the lower one, which it would have done if the pieces had not spread while baking. Ressa listened with interest. When Mara had finished, she told them about the shadow she had spent part of the afternoon repairing under a painted bowl. From the street it had looked flat, though she had curved both sides. She took out a dark strip, put a little color beneath the rim, and at last it looked as if it could hold something.

“Did you have to start again?” Ivo asked.

“Only the shadow.”

“I hate that,” Mara said, looking at the tower. “When you can see exactly what's wrong and you don't want to fix it.”

“I wanted to fix it. I didn't want to wash my brush again.”

Mara looked at the pans on the worktop and nodded.

He brought the pear dish over with a cloth beneath each hand. Ressa watched him lower it into the space he had cleared. The mushrooms were cooling in her coat.

Ivo served her half a pear, keeping the pastry beneath it whole. The filling slid a little and he put it back with the edge of the spoon. He waited while she cut a small piece.

The fruit gave way at once. Its warmth brought the sweetness up into her mouth, followed by the softness she had disliked on every previous occasion. She could taste the toasted seeds. They were good. She tried to keep hold of that part of the mouthful while she swallowed.

“Lovely,” she said.

“I was afraid I'd left them too long.”

“No, they're very good.”

He looked at the dish. “There's plenty.”

“I can see.”

“More?”

She should have said she would finish this first. Instead she saw him holding the spoon, pleased by a result he had worried about, and moved her plate toward him.

“Yes, go on.”

He gave her another half and then the piece which had come away from its partner. She smiled and took the plate back. Mara accepted a whole pear, then used a finger to keep a stray seed on her spoon. She ate it with the filling and immediately went after another.

Ressa divided her second half into four. That made it occupy more of the plate. She ate one piece from the first half, then a little pastry from underneath, which had soaked up the glaze. Her mouth felt more full of sweetness after she had swallowed than before.

Ivo told her about finding pears of nearly the same size. He had rejected one that looked right in the dish because it was too hard. Mara said he had made her look at them without explaining what she was supposed to notice.

“You said they were all the same.”

“They were all pears.”

“Exactly,” Ressa said, too quickly.

They looked at her.

“I mean, you can spend all afternoon finding the difference nobody else can see.”

Ivo nodded. He knew that about her work. Ressa took another bite because the conversation had brought his attention back to her plate.

Behind Mara, the coat hung with a heavy fold at one side. Ressa could see the shape of the parcel now that she knew where to look. She had bought the mushrooms because she wanted them, and then carried them into a room where she apparently wanted pears. She wondered how long mushrooms could reasonably remain warm inside a coat.

“You don't have to eat the hard bits of mine,” Mara said.

“What?”

“The dessert. They're holding it up, but I tried one while I was making it.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

Mara glanced down at Ressa's plate. “Are you?”

Ressa moved a piece of pear onto her fork. It slipped off. She put the fork down and took a drink.

“Perhaps it tastes different now,” Mara said. “Since the transfer. In this body.”

“It's certainly bigger than when it arrived,” Ressa said, looking at her plate.

Mara smiled uncertainly. Ivo did not. He was considering the dish.

“You used to like the filling best.”

“I know.”

“I haven't changed that.”

“It might not be anything you changed,” Mara said. “She could have liked it before.”

There it was, ready for Ressa to agree with. Eight years since the transfer, and they could start counting which meals had come before it and which afterward. Ivo would not have to think he had mistaken her. She would not have to tell him how much help she had given the mistake.

“No,” she said. “It was before.”

Ivo looked up.

“I didn't like it before either.”

Mara's spoon stopped on its way to the dish. She lowered it to her own plate.

“When?” Ivo asked.

Ressa rubbed a thumb against the paint on her cuff. It had dried into the weave.

“The first time you made it. I didn't like it then.”

He set the serving spoon down.

“You've been telling me you love it.”

“You'd been cooking all afternoon.”

“Today?”

“Then. The first time.”

“And the other times?”

Each time the dish had arrived finished, with the work already spent and Ivo waiting to see her pleased. That was the answer she had ready. It left out all the evenings when there had been no pears on the table and she could have said something.

“I kept saying it.”

Ivo drew his plate nearer. He did not eat. A drop of glaze had fallen on the table beside the dish; he lifted the dish to see whether there was more underneath.

“It looks wonderful,” Ressa said.

He put the dish down. “Ressa.”

She stopped.

Mara had drawn her hand back from the remaining pears. Ressa wished she would take one. It would be worse if all of them stopped eating because she had finally said what she should have said years ago.

“It's not badly made,” she said, and heard herself begin again.

“I know what you said.”

“All right.”

Ivo looked at her plate, then at her. “What did you want?”

She could have said something savory. She could have named mushrooms as though the idea had just occurred to her. The pocket of the coat sagged beside the door.

“I've got something.”

She stood and went to get it. The paper had softened around the mushrooms, and one corner of the packet had folded beneath the others. She eased it out, making a loud crackle in the quiet room, and brought it to the table.

Ivo looked at the packet.

“You brought those home?”

“Yes.”

“And put them in your coat?”

“When I saw the pears.”

He sat back. Mara pressed her lips together, but did not laugh. Ressa opened the paper. Some of the crisp edges had broken off; the mushrooms underneath were flattened together. They smelled of the food she had wanted on the way home. She could have eaten them cold, with the three of them sitting there looking at the packet.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I should have told you. I've let you keep doing all this work because I didn't want to spoil the first time.”

Ivo looked from the mushrooms to the pear dish.

“I would rather have made something you wanted.”

“I know. I haven't let you.”

“No.”

She folded back another corner of the paper. There was a small patch of grease on her finger. She wiped it on the wrapping, then realized she was making room to eat before he had said anything else.

“You don't have to do anything with these,” she said. “I can warm them.”

Ivo stood and took the empty serving plate to the worktop. He rinsed it, set it down, and looked at the pan on the stove.

“They'll be soft if we cover them.”

“We won't cover them.”

“Bring them here, then.”

Ressa carried the open packet. She had to pass close behind him to reach the stove, and put a hand briefly against his back. He shifted to give her room. The pan was clean. She could see a little dried glaze on the sleeve he had pushed above his wrist. She felt a fresh small pang, then put the mushrooms in rather than tell him about it.

They lay in a damp heap. Ivo gave her a fork to separate them.

“Don't turn them yet.”

“I'm only spreading them.”

“That one can stay in two pieces.”

She had been trying to reassemble a mushroom whose edge had snapped. She left it. Ivo turned down the heat and fetched a plate. For a while they stood beside each other listening to the slight crackle as the moisture cooked away.

At the table, Mara took hold of the tower.

“Wait,” Ressa said. “We can help you carry it.”

“I'm not carrying it.”

Mara brought the knife down between two of the lower cakes. The blade stopped at a pale support, and the whole construction shuddered. She kept one hand against the upper tier until it settled.

“That's the bit I tried,” she said.

Ivo looked over his shoulder. “Don't force the knife.”

“I'm not going to.”

She withdrew it and examined the support. Then she lifted off the top cake, put it on an empty plate, and began taking out the upright biscuits one by one. Without them, the tier beneath sagged.

“That was supposed to be the strong part.”

“It is,” Ressa said. “The cake's moving around it.”

Mara stared at the exposed middle. She gave a short, annoyed laugh and took another biscuit out.

“Nobody lives there anymore.”

“Mara,” Ivo said, “the plate.”

She caught the small cake that slid into the space she had opened, leaving a streak of icing across her palm. Then she laughed properly.

“I have the plate. I have all the plates. I'm taking the whole thing down.”

Ressa turned a mushroom. One side had begun to brown again. She took a small broken piece to try, blew on it, and ate it.

Ivo watched her.

“Hot,” she said.

“I can see that.”

“And I want the rest.”

He picked up the serving plate. She scraped the mushrooms onto it, keeping the little brown fragments. He waited while she found the last one with the fork.

When they returned to the table, Mara had reduced the tower to two low arrangements of cake and a pile of pale hard pieces. The forty-five plaque was lying face down.

“That part's all right,” she said, pointing with the knife. “I've tried it. You don't have to tell me if it isn't.”

“I do,” Ressa said.

Mara considered her. “You can tell me after I've had some.”

Ressa sat. She moved what remained of her pears to a small plate and put mushrooms beside the pastry crumbs. Ivo took some too. They had lost much of their crispness, but there were browned places and a little salt left in the folded paper. She tipped it over her plate. Mara ate a mushroom, licked the salt from her finger, and went back to the pear she had been interrupted in enjoying.

For several minutes there was mostly the sound of cutlery. Ressa ate while her food was warm. Ivo reached past the broken tower for the water and filled her glass when she moved it toward him. She wanted to apologize again; instead she passed him the mushrooms before she took the last large one. He chose a smaller piece.

“That one has the edge,” he said.

“So it does.”

She took the large piece, smiling, and ate it.

The cake Mara had recommended was good in the middle. Its outside had baked rather hard, and the icing between the layers was thick enough that Ressa scraped some off. Mara watched without protesting. She was investigating one of the supports with the back of her knife.

“What did you use for those?” Ivo asked.

“Biscuit dough. It kept sticking, so I put more flour in.”

“How much more?”

“Until it stopped.”

He looked at the pile again.

“What?” Mara asked.

“You could have dusted the board.”

“I did. At the end.”

Ressa pressed her lips together. Mara saw her doing it and pushed the little pile farther away.

“Next time the tower can be shorter.”

“How short?” Ivo asked.

“I haven't decided. Eat your cake.”

He did. Ressa took another bite of the soft middle. Mara asked about the display again, wanting to know how the shadow could have made the bowl look deep. Ressa held her spoon just above the cloth and used its shadow to show her. The spoon would not stay at the right angle. Ivo held it while she moved the plate, and Mara leaned across to see.

“That,” Ressa said. “There.”

“That looks obvious.”

“It wasn't from the inside of the window.”

Mara asked to try. Ivo handed her the spoon. She spent a while making the shadow grow and shorten while Ressa finished her cake.

There was one pear left in the dish. Ivo lifted the spoon, then looked at Ressa.

“Would you like any?”

“No.”

He waited a moment. She did not add anything.

“I would,” Mara said.

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

He served her. She pulled the dish closer afterward and scraped some glaze from the side.

“We could have this on mine.”

“Ask me when it comes,” Ivo said.

“You can ask me then too,” Ressa said. “About next year. I'll choose when it's my birthday.”

“Before I buy everything.”

“Before that.”

Ivo laid the spoon down in the empty dish. Mara went on eating.

Ressa picked up the curled decoration she had noticed at the beginning. It had come away intact when Mara dismantled the middle tier. From this angle one of the loops was nearly closed, with a narrow line of light still visible through it.

“May I keep this?”

Mara looked at her over the pear.

“Why?”

“For the next panel. I want to paint that opening.” She turned it toward Mara. “The little one. I couldn't see how it joined from where I was sitting.”

“It didn't join. I stuck it together.”

“I can see the join now. I like where you put it.”

Mara took it from her, looked through the loop, and gave it back.

“Don't tell anyone an expert baker made it.”

“I won't.”

“And don't keep it in your coat.”

Ressa laughed. Ivo was gathering the plates, and his laugh came a moment after hers. She put the decoration on a clean scrap of paper by her work bag, well away from the crushed wrapping.

There were more dishes than seemed possible for the meal they had finally eaten. Ressa carried a stack to the sink and rolled her sleeves above the paint. Ivo put the glaze pan in to soak. Mara came over with the tower's base, from which two supports refused to detach.

“Leave that one,” Ivo said. “It needs water.”

Mara lowered it carefully into the sink. The water rose around the base and stopped just beneath the supports.

“It's still standing,” she said.

Ressa leaned forward. “You should have built the rest like that.”

“I did.”

Ivo began laughing with a plate still in his hands. Ressa reached for it before he dropped it, and then had to set it down herself.