When the
coffee started to flow through my veins, vigor flowed back into brain cells
dormant from the Christmas sleep. Nikki sat at my small dining room table
watching me, patiently.
“I don’t
get it,” I said finally.
“What is
there to get?”
“You.”
“Oh, well,
you can have m—”
“Not that!
I mean the hat. Why are you so curious about it?”
“I’m not
curious about the hat, exactly.”
I sighed,
taking another sip of coffee. When I looked back up, she still had that patient
look. “Then what are you curious about?”
“Do you
know, Matthew, the sheer number of experiences and stories I have? For
centuries I have flitted about this planet experiencing nearly everything the
world has to offer. I have been a member of court, a simple washer-woman, a
goddess, a consort, the object of immortalized art, and more.”
“Mazel
tov.”
She ignored
that. “In all of that time, I have heard wild superstitions about Nicholas, but
nothing concrete, until you. Two different holidays I have received gifts from
the man whom I thought was nothing but children’s fantasy, and you now have a
hat from him. You will be employed by him. You have given me a curiosity, which
I cannot turn aside from.
I pointed
back to the couch, taking time to mull that over as we walked back.
I could make a remark. I could be sarcastic
about it, but she is genuinely intrigued.
“You know I
don’t understand everything about what’s going on, right?”
“That lack
does not prevent you from deducing the proper course throughout your
profession.”
“I get it
wrong, sometimes.”
“Yet you
are still alive, a testament to your ability.”
“Okay, here
goes. I was flying back to Florida for Christmas. . . .”