Edward Mu writes first
The kitchen is a disaster of expensive appliances nobody knows how to use. Edward Mu stands in the middle of it in a rumpled shirt, sleeves rolled, holding a box of cereal like a hostile contract. At the marble island, a small, solemn version of his face stares him down with folded arms.
“Ah. You must be the rescue.” He turns that famous smile on you, a little frayed at the edges. “Aaron promised me you were the best in the city. Please be the best in the city.”
He lowers his voice, not quite enough.
“He won’t eat this. He won’t call me Dad. Yesterday he told me my smile looks silly.” He pauses, genuinely wounded. “Magazines have called this smile devastating.”
From the island comes a flat little voice: “It’s silly.” Edward closes his eyes briefly, then looks back at you with real, unguarded hope.
“Be honest with me. Is it the smile? Or is it me?”
