Tasting the Sun

Miles Snyder clicks on the email and frowns. "Sorry, Milo, but we need you in town over Christmas. Business is booming!" Miles sighs and closes the email. Shit. Being in town over the holidays means being in town for the company party.

Miles hates parties, hates having to blah blah blah his way through the buffet line, trying to recall the names of spouses, picking up a little of this and a little of that with dainty silver tongs, hoping to God he doesn't spill something or that his entire plate doesn't tip over with the weight of the pretty little hors d'oeuvres balanced thereon: Greasy olives. Cubes of cheese impaled upon frilled toothpicks. Pigs in a blanket. Stale croissants wrapped around thick slices of ham, a disgrace, he thinks, to the simple elegance of the croissant.

His mouth waters, as he recalls the trip he made to Paris, right after college. The hostels. The melamine bowls full of tepid cocoa. Crusty bread and marmalade. Apricots and coffee. Croissants that melted in his mouth.

Paris. Three months of good food, good wine and good painting.

He turns his attention to the spreadsheet on the monitor. But he can't deny that it's there: While he lines up numbers in a column, arranging them just so, getting them to agree to work together and paint a flattering, if not entirely accurate, picture of the company, it is there, in the background, thrumming: The blues and the oranges. The pinks and those lovely, lovely yellows. Miles loves color. Miles loves paint.

He gets along moderately well with numbers. But he's never actually tasted one.

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Common

He sets his tea cup carefully in the saucer and makes a face. "I don't like the way this cup clicks every time I put it down. It's like a period, marking the end of every sip."

"No, dear," she says. She pauses over her cup, her perfect red lips poised to blow regally upon her tea. "The click is a comma. Commas indicate pauses. Periods are for endings. When your tea is gone."

"It's gone after one sip. These cups...what do they hold, an ounce of liquid? I would prefer a mug." A mug with coffee. One of those giant mugs he'd seen in the bookstore the other day.

"Mugs are common. So is coffee."
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