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The snow continued to softly fall outside and Bee’s arms were fully repaired by the Dad Box. Puppycat was thinking of the next question to ask her and Bee’s mood was considerably lighter enough that she wasn’t focusing that much on the memory of the pain of her arms being cracked open and broken. She stole a glance out the window.
She wondered if robot or android could be a fit for her unusual arms, ribbons flowing out instead of blood and her bones feeling like they were made of metal. She figured that if her name followed the theme of Puppycat’s name it would be something like Humanrobot. It sounded weird so she laughed.
Puppycat perked up at the sound and looked out the window to see if something out there made Bee laugh. When he didn’t see anything he asked his question.
“What’s your favorite flavor of shaved ice?” he asked.
“Hmm? Is that because it’s snowing right now?”
Bee continued, “That’s hard to choose. When summer comes along we’ll go get a shaved ice with everything.”
Puppycat nodded and asked, “What’s your favorite flower?”
“My favorite flower? Um… Oh! Puppycat, did you know that if you don’t like what you got in ‘loves me, loves me not’ you count the stem?” She had turned to face him when she told him this information, her entire body seemingly alight with excitement.
“That sounds like cheating.”
“Only if you don’t tell anybody,” Bee said with a lopsided grin.
Asking these kinds of questions was only the tip of the iceberg for Puppycat knowing Bee and vice versa. She thought of knowing people and had the fleeting wish of putting all her experiences into a key so that everyone could unlock this knowledge. But that’d take the fun out of it so she let the idea float away.
“You asked so many questions about me so now I get to ask you something!”
Bee gently bopped Puppycat on the nose. He rubbed a paw over his nose.
“Um, um, um, okay, okay, um…” Bee shut her eyes for full concentration. She opened them when a question came to her.
“Puppycat, when is your birthday?”
There was silence for a while and Bee tilted her head, a hum in her throat that was her usual brand of carefree. It caught Puppycat’s attention and seemed to motivate him to speak.
“I don’t have one,” Puppycat said, almost flippantly enough that one could assume that fact didn’t bother him.
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
Bee tapped her chin and her eyes were filled with inspiration.
“How about I give you a birthday? The date of the day we met.”
Puppycat huffed but there were no loud protests. “Will you remember that?”
“Okay, maybe I forget things,” Bee said. “Like buying an important ingredient for a recipe or what happens when I let an umbrella hit my guts.”
Bee ran her hands over her unblemished arms and gave a forlorn pat to the Dad Box. She looked out the window, at the dark winter sky and the snow that drifted down.
“I remember what matters,” Bee said softly.
The silent, still air of winter seemed to fill the apartment then, a sort of beauty that came with stillness and quiet; like they could contentedly exist like that until the island was blanketed with the warmth of spring.
But that sort of beauty was forgotten because the low growl of Puppycat’s stomach filled the air.
“What? Cardamon didn’t feed you?” Bee asked.
Puppycat gave her a look in response to the obvious question and Bee picked him up. She had him tucked underneath her arm.
“Come on, I’m sure we can find some dinner around here.”
When Bee finished foraging for any food found in the apartment she mixed them in a pot. It was a meal of carrots, sprinkles, potato chips, leftover fettuccine and ketchup from stray packets. The meal was served in two bowls.
It was awful but wonderful because Puppycat was her dinner companion.
Later, there would be new temp jobs for them to take on. Later, Bee would learn that Deckard left the island for culinary school. Later, Bee would find out that Cardamon gave his mother the wishing doughnut Bee had left him. She would learn that he gave his mother the choice of waking up but it was not her wish and he would need comfort.
In the moment Bee laughed, a smear of ketchup at the corner of her mouth, as Puppycat complained melodiously about the stale potato chips.