“Rosie lunch is in the fridge!” I call behind me, then laugh at the sound of bags crinkling and boxes falling as they follow me.
Christmas! The downfall of covert operatives everywhere!
I beat them to the kitchen and am pulling out a large, snowman-themed gift bag from the fridge when they join me. We sit at the small four-person table that Baz made when he moved in. I take a seat in front of the spot where I carvedHeidi’s Spotinto the wood, andBaz sits to my right. Archie settles in across from us and grabs the bag, pulling out three bento boxes – red, purple, and black. Three more containers follow, smallerthan the bentos, in the same colors. Lastly, three thermoses. Red, purple, black, he pulls them out.
I wiggle.
“Color-coded!” I squeal, taking the purple for myself and pushing the black at Baz. Archie grins as he opens his red thermos.
“Cider,” he tells us, moving on to the smaller container. “And Christmas cake!”
Baz slides his chair out beside me, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor, and gets us some forks, then settles back in his chair, and we dig in.
I hum in satisfaction at the delicious beauty that is Christmas cake.
“Your mom is the best!” I cry around the goodness in my mouth, earning a shake of Baz’s head and a glare from Archie, who gives me a reminder to mind my manners. I stick a cake-covered tongue out at him. He fakes a gag.
Bazzy’s hand covers my thigh under the table and gives it a squeeze.
Behave.
I pout, then swallow my cake.
“He started it,” I mumble, pushing aside my empty container. Baz’s hand flexes on my thigh again, then relaxes.
“You’re fixing the power after we eat?” I ask Archie as I open my bento, then get immediately distracted by the absolute holiday perfection that Rosie has made for me. “Oh my gosh! They’re wearing Santa hats! They’re like us!”
I gaze down at the three little rice elves. They have Santa hats, as mentioned, and hold in their tiny nori hands presents made of carrot and cucumber with miniature broccoli bows.
“I love them!” I proclaim. “I’m supposed to eat them? How? For why?” I shake my head. “I can’t. I’ll have to starve instead. They’retooprecious –toocute. They must live on forever.There’s no other way.”
Baz’s hand leaves my thigh to rest on top of my head. He turns my face toward his, away from the beautiful creation his mother has made me, and shakes his head.
“But look!” I protest. I point at the elves. It’s clear he hasn’t actuallyseenthem. If he had seen them, he would not dare suggest that I should chomp them up. Even he, cold-blooded ex-assassin that he is, could not suggest such a thing.
He spares them but a glance and shakes his head again.
Don’t waste food.
He lets go of my head, wasting no time turning to his own elves and biting one of their pointy-eared heads off. Sad face. Apparently, the cold blooded ex-assassincoulddare to suggest such a thing.
I look at Archie, who similarly does not seem to have any qualms about the terrors the elves face. Two of his are fighting to the death in his box, hitting each other with cucumber presents and bleeding red sriracha blood. The loser of the elf battle finds himself further decimated by Archie’s teeth.
Okay. All right. I guess I will eat. But I do not have to like it.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell my elves, turning back to them, “but I’m sure you understand that this is always the way it was going to go. You were created to be destroyed – to bring life and joy to others for but a fleeting moment before your death, which will provide sustenance and even more joy, if you can believe it. Thank you for your sacrifice today.”
I bow my head in a solemn moment of silence, then, before I can talk myself out of it, I pick up one ultra cute head and shove it in my mouth. I chew, and as the taste of sweet and spicy chicken bursts through the rice, my apprehension melts away.
A little death isn’t so bad, is it? Surely not, if the result is this yumminess on my tongue.
“I will fix it after lunch, yes,” Archie says. I look at him, browsfurrowed.
“What?” I ask, then shove another elf head into my mouth. It is just as wonderful as the last.
“The power?”
Ah. Yes. That.