THE SCORCH MARK on the splashboard was approximately the size of a hand.
Mailah looked at it while she ate. Then at the cracked window. Then at the small, telling absence of one egg from the carton that sat on the counter, which had not made it onto either plate and had not, based on available evidence, survived the attempt.
"The first egg," she said.
"Is not a subject we're revisiting," he said.
"Did you — incinerate it?"
"I applied too much heat," he said. "It was a calibration issue."
"You incinerated an egg."
"The situation was resolved."
She looked at the scorch mark. "The splashboard would disagree."
He picked up his tea with the composure of a man who had decided this conversation had run its course and was declining to extend it further.
She looked at his profile — the absolute serenity of it, the complete absence of embarrassment — and felt the laugh move through her chest before she could contain it.
