28. Poppy
POPPY
If the living room was a HGTV nightmare, the kitchen is a psychological thriller.
The door slams shut behind us, multi-tiered deadbolt sequence locking so loudly that it feels incredibly personal.
My nose wrinkles as I take in the monstrosity.
The entire space smells like rotting fruit.
Lime-green shag carpet stretches wall to wall, and whoever designed this place needs to go straight to fucking jail. Federal crimes against hygiene and taste.
"Don’t step on the carpet, Vael," I tell him, whacking an arm across his stomach to keep him back. "That’s a biohazard. Whatever’s spilled on that will be there until the end of time.”
My skin starts to itch all over, probably breaking out in hives from the sheer disgust I feel.
“My grandmother had a kitchen like this. One day I went to visit and decided to vacuum it… and there were dead voles in the carpet. Just… dead.” I shiver at the memory.
“I decided not to eat at my grandma’s after that. ”
Vael narrows his eyes, his wing half-curving around my back like a shield. "The floor is the foulest texture imaginable."
The rusted door of the avocado-green oven flies open with a metallic crash. A mechanical blender with spinning metal whisks leaps out of the darkness, a nonsensical dial-up modem sound playing as it hurls itself at my shins.
“I KNEW THE INTERNET OF THINGS WAS A FUCKING TRAP,” I scream, kicking at it.
I needn’t have bothered, because Vael moves with speed I can hardly believe. Stepping in front of me, he whips his tail forward, catching the appliance mid-air and rocketing it into the drywall. The machine explodes into glitter.
Right. Because that makes sense.
"Are you hurt, Poppy?” he asks.
"Yeah, thanks for the air strike.” I pat his arms. "I didn't have death by Kitchen Aid on my bingo card today."
"It was an unworthy opponent," he rumbles, completely deadpan.
I laugh, but the sounds quickly cut off as a digital neon screen blinks to life on the refrigerator door.
Option A: maintain the galley layout
Option B: demolish the wall for an open-concept
A timer starts ticking down from forty-five seconds while a steel sledgehammer appears in front of the wall.
"Don’t let that sledgehammer hit the wall. It’s load-bearing.” I don’t need to check it, I know in my gut that thing is another trick. “Without support beams, the whole roof drops in on the kitchen."
"It would be unstable," Vael agrees. “My smart female.”
"Hell yeah," I say, pointing at the fridge. "Smash the panel for Option A."
Vael drives his fist straight through the blue icon for Option A.
The demolition sequence terminates as the sledgehammer freezes mid-air and slowly retracts into the ceiling while the deadbolt on the kitchen cabinet slides open to reveal a hidden passageway.
“Hell yeah. We made that kitchen our bitch,” I say, doing a fist pump. Then I remember we’re on camera and slowly lower my hand.
Vael lets out a rumble of laughter, and wraps his tail around my ankle to guide me toward the exit.
"Come on," he says, nodding toward the corridor. "Let us find the next challenge, bitch."
I blink. "Okay, we are definitely having a lesson on slang soon."