Brownies Baked Backwards

The apartment was very quiet.

Too quiet, according to Vix, who was sitting on the floor with her back against the couch.

Tai was sitting on the couch itself, legs tucked under her, perfectly calm. Which was unusual. Tai was usually a weather system. Now she was still, her messy red hair pulled back, her pointy ears poking out, smiling a small, steady smile that showed just a little of her canines.

"Okay," Vix said. Her black hair was coming loose from its clip. "Okay, so how long has the clock been doing that."

Tai looked at the clock. "Doing what?"

"Ticking that loud," Vix said. "It's so loud. Like it's inside my head."

Tai nodded, reasonable. "It's been ticking like that all day. You just notice it more right now. Do you want me to take the battery out?"

Vix stared at her. "Why are you so calm? You are never calm."

"I am calm sometimes," Tai said, cheerfully, but in a low, even voice. "I'm calm right now. We're fine. The apartment is fine. We're just sitting."

"That's what worries me," Vix said. She stood up, then sat back down again very carefully, like the floor might move. "You made the brownies. You ate one. I ate one. And now you're just... sitting there being reasonable. You are never reasonable. You put googly eyes on my Kierkegaard."

"I am reasonable about important things," Tai said. "Like making sure we drink water. Did you drink water? Here."

She handed Vix the glass from the coffee table. She had apparently already gotten it, already filled it, already remembered.

Vix took it with both hands. "My hands feel weird. Like they're too far away. And the rug. The rug has too much... rugness."

Tai didn't laugh. She just nodded.

"Yeah, the rug is very ruggish right now," she said. "That's why I'm not looking directly at it. Look at me instead. I'm less textured."

Vix tried to. Tai's face was soft and calm and a little amused.

"Are we okay?" Vix asked, and her voice got smaller. "Did we do something bad? Is this bad? I feel like I should be concerned about something big, like time, or my thesis, or whether free will exists, and I can't stop thinking about it."

Tai reached over and gently pulled the blanket from the back of the couch around Vix's shoulders.

"You're okay," she said, still that calm, cheerful, completely grounded voice. "You're having the Vix spiral. You always have the Vix spiral."

"I do?" Vix said.

"Every time," Tai said. "Every time we have pot brownies, you get quiet for like twenty minutes and then you get increasingly concerned about everything from the clock to the concept of eternity. And then I tell you you're okay, and you are."

Vix blinked at her, wrapped in the blanket, holding the water.

"Every time?" she said.

"Every time," Tai said. "Last time you spent an hour being worried that our fridge light was judging you. It wasn't. It's just a fridge light."

Vix thought about this. The clock was still ticking loudly, but Tai's voice was louder in a good way.

"So this is normal," Vix said.

"This is your normal," Tai said. "My normal is I get really calm and want to organize the spice rack alphabetically. Which I already did, by the way. While you were noticing the rug."

Vix looked at the spice rack. It was, in fact, alphabetized.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and leaned her head back against the couch cushion, next to Tai's knee.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, spice rack is good. That's reasonable."

"See?" Tai said, patting her shoulder. "We're good at this. You worry, I stay calm. Teamwork."

They sat there in the quiet apartment, the clock ticking, the rug being very rug-like, and both of them waiting for it to pass.

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