When we stay home on days like this we eat whatever’s in my fridge. Which isn’t as barren as..say..Jules’s fridge..but she still laughs when she opens it. It’s champagne and some leftover sushi.
"You don’t even drink champagne."
"I know, but—it’s here for guests."
"When is this from?"
"New Year’s Eve."
"Which one? This year? Or before that?"
"It’s from this year!"
Jules closes the fridge and opens the cabinet above the sink.
I re-open the fridge, leaning around her, and grab the leftover sushi.
"You’re not gonna eat that."
"Well..if you won’t go out! We have to eat something."
"Well," she says, "I’m not eating day old sushi."
I’m opening the carton and correcting her. "This is at least two days old."
"What’s this?" She’s looking at some honey jars I have in my cabinet—right next to a 2-liter of Absolute Mandarin.
"That’s just..uh..you want a shot?"
She’s holding a honey jar in my face. "What’s this."
There’s a bunch of mushroom pieces suspended in the honey. I take the jar from her. It’s actually kind of beautiful, the way they’re floating there.
Jules is looking at me pointedly.
"They’re hallucinogenic mushrooms," I say. And I put the honey back.