Over Goldengrove unleaving

He’d done something when Rupert showed up, something she couldn’t quite name, that kept it from feeling awkward. She’d been able to enjoy the wriggling puppy and Bas’s broad shoulders glimpsed from behind when he was dumping the pasta into a colander. He’d made her want to talk and he’d been interested in everything she said. She knew he’d slept with a vast number of women, most of them gorgeous and confident with great hair and long legs, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t until now.

“It’s too much basil,” she said.

“Too much? I don’t think bringing you dinner and dessert and promising to do the washing up is too much for your 21st, Taggie. You deserve all of this, more, I should have brought champagne, a case of it—”

“No,” Taggie said, feeling clumsy and embarrassed, but more embarrassed for him than for herself, which was a novel experience. The puppy, still nameless, was dozing in a crate she’d draped with an old tablecloth and was making little snuffling noises in his sleep.

“No?”

“The chicken. It’s got too much basil in it. The balance is off, with the pesto. Maybe if there were more pine nuts or we’d used dark meat instead of breast,” she explained, hoping he understood now.

“I’ve mucked it up, yeah?” he said, leaning back in his chair, looking only mildly concerned that she couldn’t stomach the dish, not sly and salacious because she’d said breast.

“Basil’s a strong flavor, it can take over,” she said.

“And you don’t love it,” he replied. He must have seen something in her face, the way she pursed her lips before she smiled.

“It’s not my favorite,” she admitted. “But I’m sure plenty of people would like this quite a lot.”

“How would you fix it?” he asked. His curiosity was unexpected, charming her when she didn’t really believe in charm, having seen what it did to Mummy and Daddy, how Rupert had made a bloody mess of everything with it, so convinced it was his ticket out of any muddle, a mixed-up series of words she knew she’d gotten wrong but that Bas would be unlikely to point out or correct if she’d spoken aloud.

“With this much already in the sauce? Heavy cream, I think. That would be easiest,” she said.

“But not best,” he said. 

“I’d toast another batch of pine nuts, add some mascarpone,” she said.

“You’re terribly clever, aren’t you, Taggie,” Bas said.

“I don’t think so, no,” she said.

“You don’t think so, but you are. I won’t say you’re adorable, though you are, because this isn’t humility, false or otherwise,” Bas said.

“No?”

“No. You’ve listened to them all far too much, you’ve believed they were right about things you knew were wrong,” Bas said.

“Who do you mean?” Taggie asked.

“Everyone,” Bas replied, reaching over to take her plate, to stack it on his. Dinner was over, it seemed.

“Everyone,” Taggie repeated. Some people might take it as a challenge, a dare. Her da did, he fancied being underestimated, shoved aside, for all the power it gave him when he proved them wrong. She felt glum and lonely and young, as if instead of turning twenty-one, she’d turned the clock back to twelve, when she’d come out in spots and shot up but out nowhere, when her best friend Colleen had dropped her and started going round with a boy who had feathered hair and a denim jacket.

“Everyone but me,” Bas said.

He’d done something when Rupert showed up, something she couldn’t quite name, that kept it from feeling awkward. She’d been able to enjoy the wriggling puppy and Bas’s broad shoulders glimpsed from behind when he was dumping the pasta into a colander. He’d made her want to talk and he’d been interested in everything she said. She knew he’d slept with a vast number of women, most of them gorgeous and confident with great hair and long legs, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t until now.

“It’s too much basil,” she said.

“Too much? I don’t think bringing you dinner and dessert and promising to do the washing up is too much for your 21st, Taggie. You deserve all of this, more, I should have brought champagne, a case of it—”

“No,” Taggie said, feeling clumsy and embarrassed, but more embarrassed for him than for herself, which was a novel experience. The puppy, still nameless, was dozing in a crate she’d draped with an old tablecloth and was making little snuffling noises in his sleep.

“No?”

“The chicken. It’s got too much basil in it. The balance is off, with the pesto. Maybe if there were more pine nuts or we’d used dark meat instead of breast,” she explained, hoping he understood now.

“I’ve mucked it up, yeah?” he said, leaning back in his chair, looking only mildly concerned that she couldn’t stomach the dish, not sly and salacious because she’d said breast.

“Basil’s a strong flavor, it can take over,” she said.

“And you don’t love it,” he replied. He must have seen something in her face, the way she pursed her lips before she smiled.

“It’s not my favorite,” she admitted. “But I’m sure plenty of people would like this quite a lot.”

“How would you fix it?” he asked. His curiosity was unexpected, charming her when she didn’t really believe in charm, having seen what it did to Mummy and Daddy, how Rupert had made a bloody mess of everything with it, so convinced it was his ticket out of any muddle, a mixed-up series of words she knew she’d gotten wrong but that Bas would be unlikely to point out or correct if she’d spoken aloud.

“With this much already in the sauce? Heavy cream, I think. That would be easiest,” she said.

“But not best,” he said. 

“I’d toast another batch of pine nuts, add some mascarpone,” she said.

“You’re terribly clever, aren’t you, Taggie,” Bas said.

“I don’t think so, no,” she said.

“You don’t think so, but you are. I won’t say you’re adorable, though you are, because this isn’t humility, false or otherwise,” Bas said.

“No?”

“No. You’ve listened to them all far too much, you’ve believed they were right about things you knew were wrong,” Bas said.

“Who do you mean?” Taggie asked.

“Everyone,” Bas replied, reaching over to take her plate, to stack it on his. Dinner was over, it seemed.

“Everyone,” Taggie repeated. Some people might take it as a challenge, a dare. Her da did, he fancied being underestimated, shoved aside, for all the power it gave him when he proved them wrong. She felt glum and lonely and young, as if instead of turning twenty-one, she’d turned the clock back to twelve, when she’d come out in spots and shot up but out nowhere, when her best friend Colleen had dropped her and started going round with a boy who had feathered hair and a denim jacket.

“Everyone but me,” Bas said.