“Constantly. You’d love Sebastian. He has as many friends as you.”
“A necessary skill for us orphans—making our own family.”
I frowned at this. “Sebastian has us now.”
“Of course. But you Mortons are so daunting,” Hiromi said. “That huge estate. Your grandmother tracking you, and her weird sayings! Hundreds of people—at a funeral for a kid. There’s this immense machine whirring around you, Jessica. You might not see it, but it’s kind of terrifying.”
“Oh, I see it.” The collective that forms whenever we Mortons assemble, swathed in loyalty, tradition, blood.
“When Garrett took me upstate for Peter’s funeral, everyone was so proud of what you had. It was like you all wanted to adoptme.”
I considered this, then leaned closer. “I don’t want to adopt you, Hiromi. I want to fuck you.”
She held my gaze, taking her time before answering. For a moment, her eyes contained a great distance. Then she whispered, “Well, that’s a relief.”
An hour after arriving,we were led from the jam-packed bar by the host—yet another friend of Hiromi’s—into the sudden, expensive peace of the dining room, like plunging into cold water after a sauna.
My ears rang with the quiet.
The host seated us at a counter that looked onto the kitchen, a front-row vantage. At least a dozen chefs were at work, dissecting and dicing produce, steaming, frying, cleaning. Everything gleamed with sweat or polish. Giant, somehow silent, extractors overhung the whole enterprise.
Hiromi looked elated, her eyes gleaming.
“All those beautiful knives,” she said. “You must be happy.”
“You can’t throw chef’s knives.”
“Too big?”
I shook my head, thinking of the magnificent Ziggy. “It’s about balance.”
“With the right knife, could you hit an apple on someone’s head?”
“That’s archery. Which I’m even better at, so yes.”
“Of course you are.”
I recognized Samantha Chan on the far side of the kitchen. She was ignoring the labors of her chefs, taking slow, thoughtful bites from an array of small plates before her.
“Thanks for wearing this tonight,” Hiromi said, lifting Sebastian’s gift. The skull was on a new silver chain Grandmother had sent. “How is it so light? Because birds have hollow bones?”
“All skulls are hollow,” I said. “But yes, birds are airy creatures.”
“Do you ever wish you could fly?”
“No.”
As Hiromi laughed, a chef moved into the spot across the counter from us and began assembling a salad of yellow tomatoes, plums, and a purple fruit I didn’t recognize.
“Hey, Treasure!” Hiromi said. “This is Jessica. She’s interning with Garrett.”
Treasure looked me up and down. “The knife girl?”
“Knife-thrower,” Hiromi corrected.
“Cool. Show me sometime?”
“Sure,” I said, wondering what else Treasure had been told about me.