“You mean the face I have when I’m thinking?” he asked.

“Oh, maybe that’s why I didn’t recognize it,” I quipped.

“Hardy-har-har,” he said, deadpan. I poured the fluffy chocolate and egg white mixture into a soufflé dish.

“So … what’s what like?” he asked again as I put the dish in the oven. I didn’t answer right away, taking my time to position the soufflé dish just so in its water bath, checking that the tin foil around the edge was high enough to support the rise. I closed the oven door, straightened up, wiped my hands on my apron, but I didn’t turn to look at him, instead choosing to stare straight ahead at the counter, his folded figure on top of it just in the corner of my periphery.

“What’s the AM like?” My voice was quiet and I could feel my throat tighten around the words. I hated this. I hated not knowing something, I hated Aaron specifically knowing more about it than me, I hated having to ask him, having to show my cards, admit that I was vulnerable. I braced for impact, for him to poke fun at me, or roll his eyes. Be the Aaron I’ve known since I was thirteen, even though in this moment I desperately needed him to be the Aaron I knew when I was ten.

“It’s … kind of boring, to be honest,” Aaron said, surprising me by being neither. I looked at him then, saw the lines around his frown, his hunched shoulders, and could see, briefly, the person that Aaron the grown-up was going to be.

“Boring?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “It’s just a big hospital. And, yeah, it’s a hospital filled with people who have magical powers, but other than that, it’s pretty standard.”

“Oh, yeah, other than that.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’m serious, Rosie,” he said earnestly. “Whatever you’re imagining, I bet it’s not half as bad. I was even—”

“What?” I prodded, when he didn’t say more.

“I was gonna suggest you go even before all this,” he said, avoiding my eyes.

“What? Why?”

“I promise you, I’m not reading your thoughts regularly or anything,” he started and I tensed, “but I noticed that something was … off.”

“Off?”

“Your thoughts felt different. Dad’s thoughts do too though, like there’s a … fog around them…” Aaron trailed off, staring distantly at nothing, before shaking his head and continuing, “I started to think it was me. That’s why I didn’t end up saying anything.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, uncertain. We were in unusual territory here, skating dangerously close to sincere vulnerability.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, waving off my concern with a lazy hand. “I think I’m just out of practice. Though, seems like I was right about something going on with you.”