HE PLAYS

“I haven’t had lemon salmon rice before.” I say from his sofa, dressed in one of his shirts he made me wear the second we stepped into his apartment, even when I argued my clothes already dried on me.

It was an obvious gimmick, my refusal I mean, obviously I wanted to be in his clothes.

“Really?” he asks from the kitchen.

I raise the comic I picked up earlier, stretching my hands out entirely, my eyes go over the colorless pages full of cartoon drawings and the texts next to them, still unsure what he likes about them.

“Yeah, back at home mom never really cooked for us, too busy searching for the meaning of life, the cooks dad had always made things he liked, and it was either potatoes or some dish that involved potatoes.” I say without taking my eyes off the comic, the title was what drew me to it My cat hates you.

“Searching for the meaning of life? She didn’t find it with six children?”

I can’t tell which is funnier, the dry way he asked the question or the question itself, it d