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Entry tags:
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WHO: Teddy & Laurie
WHERE: The Food Hall
WHEN: Today
WHAT: Being Extremely Normal
WARNINGS: None
WHERE: The Food Hall
WHEN: Today
WHAT: Being Extremely Normal
WARNINGS: None
Teddy has not been actively avoiding Laurie, she has simply casually not been in places where she tended to run into him. But now — three days past their awkward conversation — she knows that the time for — okay, yes, maybe it was — avoiding is up. The intentionality of it does little to keep the warmth from spreading to her cheeks as she settles in the chair opposite of him in the food hall. It also does little to keep her mind from becoming a complete blank as she meets his gaze.
“They were out of chocolate chip cookies,” she complains, as it’s the very first topic to come to her. “I had to settle for ‘oatmeal raisin’.”
Laurie’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ of surprise when Teddy sits opposite him, because while he would never have said anything about it, he had noticed that she was avoiding him. Not that he blames her, it is not like he has sought her out, either.
“I think oatmeal raisin receives a worse reputation than it deserves,” he replies when he recovers from his surprise, a slightly too long pause. “A good, healthy option for a dessert.” Despite this, he had picked a chocolate chip cookie up for himself, which he pushes across the table in exchange for hers.
The temptation to accept the trade is very present, but Teddy feels a small tug of guilt at the idea of taking the chocolate chip cookie from him. She’s not convinced anyone actually believes that oatmeal raisin is comparable. “Half of mine for half of yours, instead?”
“If you insist,” he agrees quickly, without any actual insistence from Teddy.
Although there is a part of her that feels, based on how quickly he agrees, that perhaps she shouldn’t make any sort of trade at all, that part of her is squashed as she thinks about having to eat the oatmeal raisin cookie instead. With a quick snap of her own, she offers it across the table to him. “The best of both worlds?”
“A well balanced dessert,” Laurie agrees, breaking the chocolate chip cookie in half to offer in exchange. “Thank you.”
“I do think I’m the one who owes you the thank you,” Teddy admits, slightly flustered when the handover results in the tiniest amount of contact. “You—” She pauses, briefly, as though considering saying something else, before continuing. “—are getting the worse end of the deal, if we’re honest.”
“I really do not mind oatmeal raisin cookies. They remind me of flapjacks.” Less good flapjacks, sure, but some of the ingredients (oats) were similar.
“They cannot remind you of flapjacks,” Teddy objects, staring at her half of the oatmeal raisin cookie as if it might suddenly resemble a pancake somehow. “Is it because they’re… flat and round?”
Laurie frowns, looking down at his half-cookie. “No. I have never seen a round flapjack.”
“They…” Teddy pulls a pen from her pocket, a napkin from a dispenser on the table, and after a few moments, pushes a rough sketch of a plate of pancakes across the table to him. “Is that not what you mean?”
Laurie shakes his head, the picture clearing up the confusion. “No, no, flapjacks, not pancakes. They—” he holds his hand out for the pen, “ — may I?”
“Flapjacks is another word for pancakes,” she explains, careful to extend the pen in a way that minimizes the likelihood of contact. “For me. That is.”
Laurie is equally careful to avoid any finger brushing as he takes the pen, realising as soon as he starts his sketch that flapjacks are not as easily turned into a recognisable doodle as pancakes, and that the rectangle he has drawn does nothing to clear up any confusion. He scrunches the paper serviette up. “For me it is more of a slice, with oats and golden syrup.”
“Oh.” A beat. “So, the only resemblance is the oats?”
“I assume both also contain sugar.”
A smile blooms at that and Teddy nods. “I would bet they also contain salt,” she says, as if it is even a little bit relevant.
“I would say that you are most likely right,” Laurie agrees, somehow unable to get off the topic of baked goods now that they have started.
“It’s very likely.” There’s very little left to say about oatmeal raisin cookies or flapjacks now, yet she still finds a way to continue lingering on the spent topic of baked goods. “You do like chocolate chip more than oatmeal raisin, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Laurie admits, because he’s never been a good liar. “But I do not dislike oatmeal raisin. I would have been content with it.”
Teddy hesitates, but then can’t help saying (to the half a chocolate chip cookie in her hand, eye contact would have been too much to ask): “That’s very sweet of you.” Which is, admittedly, still related to the topic of cookies. Technically.
“It’s nothing,” Laurie replies, breaking off a smaller piece of oatmeal cookie. “I live with a child, I am used to swapping for what she would prefer. Not that I am saying you are like a child. You did not ask, or demand, to swap. I only mean that I do not mind switching.” He really shouldn’t have strayed from cookie talk. “They do bake good chocolate chip cookies here,” he attempts to get back on the now far too worn track. “I wonder what their recipe is.”
“I could ask,” Teddy suggests, though she has no intention of following through unless it turns into an opportunity to exit this conversation once she’s run out of cookie-talk entirely. “I think I have a better one, though. It’s simple, but delicious.”
“Perhaps I should try yours first, before we bother the kitchen staff for their recipe,” Laurie decides, because he has no intention of baking these cookies, so he would prefer that Teddy did not go to the effort of acquiring the recipe. He would feel obliged to follow through with the baking of them, if she did. “Only if you are making them,” he adds quickly, before deciding now is a good time to fill his mouth with the piece of oatmeal cookie he has broken off so that he does not have to continue to talk.
“I’m happy to make you some to try,” Teddy reassures, before taking a large bite of the chocolate chip cookie so that she does not fill the silence of his own chewing with even more inane cookie information.
“Thank you,” he says, another chunk of cookie chewed as he considers that perhaps the best course of action is to address the elephant in the room. But he had also told Teddy they could pretend said elephant had never come up and it seems like that is the route she had chosen. Out of cookie related conversational content, he reaches for another paper serviette, folding his half of the chocolate chip cookie into it so he can take it away. “I should get going. Thank you for the cookie.”
“I think I may be the one that owes you the gratitude, but… you’re welcome.” The smile that she offers is a little too blatantly awkward, but she decides to pretend that she is unaware of that. “I’ll see you later,” she adds, before busying herself with her food to prevent any further awkward looks.
“They were out of chocolate chip cookies,” she complains, as it’s the very first topic to come to her. “I had to settle for ‘oatmeal raisin’.”
Laurie’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ of surprise when Teddy sits opposite him, because while he would never have said anything about it, he had noticed that she was avoiding him. Not that he blames her, it is not like he has sought her out, either.
“I think oatmeal raisin receives a worse reputation than it deserves,” he replies when he recovers from his surprise, a slightly too long pause. “A good, healthy option for a dessert.” Despite this, he had picked a chocolate chip cookie up for himself, which he pushes across the table in exchange for hers.
The temptation to accept the trade is very present, but Teddy feels a small tug of guilt at the idea of taking the chocolate chip cookie from him. She’s not convinced anyone actually believes that oatmeal raisin is comparable. “Half of mine for half of yours, instead?”
“If you insist,” he agrees quickly, without any actual insistence from Teddy.
Although there is a part of her that feels, based on how quickly he agrees, that perhaps she shouldn’t make any sort of trade at all, that part of her is squashed as she thinks about having to eat the oatmeal raisin cookie instead. With a quick snap of her own, she offers it across the table to him. “The best of both worlds?”
“A well balanced dessert,” Laurie agrees, breaking the chocolate chip cookie in half to offer in exchange. “Thank you.”
“I do think I’m the one who owes you the thank you,” Teddy admits, slightly flustered when the handover results in the tiniest amount of contact. “You—” She pauses, briefly, as though considering saying something else, before continuing. “—are getting the worse end of the deal, if we’re honest.”
“I really do not mind oatmeal raisin cookies. They remind me of flapjacks.” Less good flapjacks, sure, but some of the ingredients (oats) were similar.
“They cannot remind you of flapjacks,” Teddy objects, staring at her half of the oatmeal raisin cookie as if it might suddenly resemble a pancake somehow. “Is it because they’re… flat and round?”
Laurie frowns, looking down at his half-cookie. “No. I have never seen a round flapjack.”
“They…” Teddy pulls a pen from her pocket, a napkin from a dispenser on the table, and after a few moments, pushes a rough sketch of a plate of pancakes across the table to him. “Is that not what you mean?”
Laurie shakes his head, the picture clearing up the confusion. “No, no, flapjacks, not pancakes. They—” he holds his hand out for the pen, “ — may I?”
“Flapjacks is another word for pancakes,” she explains, careful to extend the pen in a way that minimizes the likelihood of contact. “For me. That is.”
Laurie is equally careful to avoid any finger brushing as he takes the pen, realising as soon as he starts his sketch that flapjacks are not as easily turned into a recognisable doodle as pancakes, and that the rectangle he has drawn does nothing to clear up any confusion. He scrunches the paper serviette up. “For me it is more of a slice, with oats and golden syrup.”
“Oh.” A beat. “So, the only resemblance is the oats?”
“I assume both also contain sugar.”
A smile blooms at that and Teddy nods. “I would bet they also contain salt,” she says, as if it is even a little bit relevant.
“I would say that you are most likely right,” Laurie agrees, somehow unable to get off the topic of baked goods now that they have started.
“It’s very likely.” There’s very little left to say about oatmeal raisin cookies or flapjacks now, yet she still finds a way to continue lingering on the spent topic of baked goods. “You do like chocolate chip more than oatmeal raisin, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Laurie admits, because he’s never been a good liar. “But I do not dislike oatmeal raisin. I would have been content with it.”
Teddy hesitates, but then can’t help saying (to the half a chocolate chip cookie in her hand, eye contact would have been too much to ask): “That’s very sweet of you.” Which is, admittedly, still related to the topic of cookies. Technically.
“It’s nothing,” Laurie replies, breaking off a smaller piece of oatmeal cookie. “I live with a child, I am used to swapping for what she would prefer. Not that I am saying you are like a child. You did not ask, or demand, to swap. I only mean that I do not mind switching.” He really shouldn’t have strayed from cookie talk. “They do bake good chocolate chip cookies here,” he attempts to get back on the now far too worn track. “I wonder what their recipe is.”
“I could ask,” Teddy suggests, though she has no intention of following through unless it turns into an opportunity to exit this conversation once she’s run out of cookie-talk entirely. “I think I have a better one, though. It’s simple, but delicious.”
“Perhaps I should try yours first, before we bother the kitchen staff for their recipe,” Laurie decides, because he has no intention of baking these cookies, so he would prefer that Teddy did not go to the effort of acquiring the recipe. He would feel obliged to follow through with the baking of them, if she did. “Only if you are making them,” he adds quickly, before deciding now is a good time to fill his mouth with the piece of oatmeal cookie he has broken off so that he does not have to continue to talk.
“I’m happy to make you some to try,” Teddy reassures, before taking a large bite of the chocolate chip cookie so that she does not fill the silence of his own chewing with even more inane cookie information.
“Thank you,” he says, another chunk of cookie chewed as he considers that perhaps the best course of action is to address the elephant in the room. But he had also told Teddy they could pretend said elephant had never come up and it seems like that is the route she had chosen. Out of cookie related conversational content, he reaches for another paper serviette, folding his half of the chocolate chip cookie into it so he can take it away. “I should get going. Thank you for the cookie.”
“I think I may be the one that owes you the gratitude, but… you’re welcome.” The smile that she offers is a little too blatantly awkward, but she decides to pretend that she is unaware of that. “I’ll see you later,” she adds, before busying herself with her food to prevent any further awkward looks.