“Which can you see?”
“The tip of the sword. It’s brighter than the rest.”
“Does that mean it’s bigger?” I ask.
“In this case, yes. Want to see?”
Grayson holds the telescope out, and I accept it. It takes my eyes a second to adjust, and Grayson explains where to look. At the corner of the fence and then straight upwards. There, amidst the fuzziness of what I presume to be clouds, is a star.
“How do you know it’s the tip of the sword?” I ask him. I can’t see any of the rest of it.
“Just do.”
I raise an eyebrow. “All right, Mr. Astronomer.”
He huffs. “Hardly.”
“You could’ve been,” I point out, handing the telescope back.
He simply shrugs. “Maybe in another life. Come on. There’s something I want to do before bed.”
I nod before glancing up at the sky one more time. The tip of the sword is barely visible with the naked eye, but I swear it winks amongst the dark.
Back inside, Grayson makes his way into the kitchen. He pulls a carton of eggs out of the fridge, his hair still wet from his shower. The brass telescope sits on the counter nearby.
“It’s two in the morning,” I say curiously, watching him move about. “A little early for breakfast, don’t you think?”
“This isn’t breakfast.”
Grayson starts cracking eggs, separating the egg whites from the yolks. The whites go into a large mixing bowl. The yolks, he dumps in a storage container.
It finally dawns on me. “Gray… Are we making meringue?”
“Well, right now,I’mmaking meringue. You coming or what?”
Smilewide, I join Grayson at the counter. He nudges the carton of eggs toward me, and after washing my hands, I crack a few myself, separating them the same as he did. We let the egg whites warm as the oven heats, Grayson telling me about the drama club Madison joined at her college. She doesn’t want to be an actress, but she’s always loved being behind the scenes. She even joined us for filming on occasion when she was young.
Once the oven is ready, we beat the egg whites until they’re frothy. We add cream of tartar, vanilla, and salt, and beat again. Lastly is the sugar. I’m fairly convinced we’ve fucked it up, considering the white doesn’t look anything like the picture on Grayson’s tablet, but then, slowly, it starts to change.
Grayson nudges my arm with his elbow. “See? Just have to be patient.”
“Not my strong suit,” I admit.
He snorts.
Finally, we spread the egg mixture onto a sheet pan, making it as circular as possible.
Grayson places the pan near the top of the oven and closes the door. “Ten minutes. After that, we find out our fate.”
“Ominous,” I mutter.
Grayson starts cleaning up, and I grab the tablet to check the news. There are already articles popping up after my interview, the headlines making me shake my head.
“What is it?” Grayson asks, even though I didn’t say a thing.
I read one of the titles aloud for him. “‘Ezra Gold confirms he and boyfriend Grayson Fox are more than onscreen partners.’”
Grayson hums. “That’s not so bad.”
