Like Tabasco

“I don’t get what you see in him,” I said.

Parker smiled into his tea. “He’s … different.”

“Different,” I said. I looked at the sun-white windshield of the car parked outside. “What does that mean, ‘different’?”

“I don’t know,” Parker said. “There’s something about him. He has a quality. He’s different.”

“Okay,” I said patiently. “Different how, exactly? What makes him different?”

Parker leaned away, frowning. “Don’t interrogate me.”

“I’m trying to understand.”

“You’re trying to box. You want to pigeonhole everything. I hate that about you.”

“Oh, stop it,” I said, waving off his outrage. “I just want to know what you see in this guy.”

“Why is it so important to you?”

“Because he’s important to you,” I said. I took another sip of my chai. “And you’re important to me.”

“And you want to know if I like him better than I liked you,” Parker said.

“God, I’m having flashbacks to every fight we had for the last three weeks,” I said.

“Me too. So can you stop with the third degree?”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “I -”

“Jason, let it GO,” Parker said. He glanced out, shielded his eyes with his hand, and looked back into the café. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Fine,” I said. “How’s work?”

“Same as always,” he said. “Food comes in, food goes out. In between we get money.”

“So business is good?”

Parker shrugged, sipping his tea. “Good enough. How’s the wild world of architecture?”

“Nothing new,” I said. “Still working on the same commissions. Thanks so much for asking,  Parker.”

Parker stuck out his tongue. He started fidgeting with the condiments. “Why are these here? Salt and pepper for coffee?”

“I think they serve breakfast, too,” I said.

“Two Tabasco sauces? Just what we need, more ways to drown all the flavor.”

“Or enhance it,” I said. I wanted to needle him a little.

Parker frowned, shaking his head. “They’re the same thing.”

The wind shifted, and a tree leaned just enough to block the sun from the windshield.

“The same but different,” I said.

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