"...Everybody's got a type," Elijah concluded, stifling a laugh. Riling Malcolm was his favorite pastime. "And yours just happens to be broken angels."
Malcolm took a slow breath, whisking the eggs like his life depended on it. "I don't have a type. And she's not a broken angel."
"So she is your type," April said, nodding thoughtfully, "just not broken?"
Malcolm's ears turned red.
"You're not letting this go, are you?" he asked helplessly.
The twins shook their heads in unison.
Elijah raised his hand like a student. April pointed at him solemnly.
"I've discovered," Elijah announced, "that I love mean people trapped in baby bodies."
"You mean Tiny Taylor?" Malcolm teased.
"No," April corrected seriously. "Grumpy Sean."
Elijah laughed despite himself. "Yeah, well. I have a long, rich history with dating. It ends with Victor the Terror."
"Oh yes," April murmured, tapping her chin. "Victor the Terror… I feel like I've heard that one before."
"Only about a hundred names ago," Malcolm added helpfully.
"Bryson the Cheater… Nickson the Liar… Allen the First… Allen the Second-" April paused and turned to Elijah. "What are you really ending?"
"Could be lives," Malcolm said lightly. "I've never met Elijah's exes after the breakup. Have you?"
April gasped. "Where are the bodies?"
"You're cruel," Elijah muttered, humor draining from his voice.
"Not so funny when it's your life under the spotlight, huh?" Malcolm said, handing Elijah a plate- and kissing his forehead.
"Thanks for the food," Elijah muttered.
Then he froze.
Amy stood in the doorway.
She frowned in concern, signing slowly.
A million partners- and still a robot?
Then she smiled.
It was funny to me. Does that count?
"Piss off," Elijah snapped, retreating dramatically.
"Oh- hey, girl," April said, cheerful as ever. "We're making scrambled eggs." She patted the counter beside her.
Amy had no pen. No paper. So she climbed onto the counter and sat quietly beside April- too close to Malcolm. Close enough that the air felt thinner for him.
"So, Malcolm-" April began.
He knew that tone. He didn't look up.
"What's your type again?"
It happened fast.
Eggs hit the floor. Fire flared. Malcolm yelped as heat licked his hand. And suddenly, what was supposed to stay unspoken became obvious in the smoke and panic.
Amy wasn't stupid.
She knew Malcolm liked her. Had since the beginning. And because she didn't want her life to get any more complicated, she pretended not to notice.
Malcolm was wonderful- funny, awkward, kind, endlessly respectful. The list went on.
But she didn't feel that way.
Should she come clean and risk losing everything she had now?
Should she keep playing dumb and live with the tension?
Or should she date him- just because it would be easier?
That part wasn't new to her. She'd been in relationships out of convenience before.
Fear wrapped around her chest so tightly she didn't notice her sleeve catching fire-
or Malcolm putting it out with his already burned hand or Elijah turning the stove off or April soaking a towel.
It was all blurry to her at the moment.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't react.
Choices, right?