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Connor, overflowed with pride and joy, lifted a questionable liquid right at Hank’s face: “I call it… grass soup.”
“For fuck’s sake Connor…” Hank muttered.
It all started on a sunny February morning. The leaves have begun to sprout and Sumo was back to scaring off the occasional squirrel who had just woken up. Hank was scrubbing off the remnants of last night’s attempt at spaghetti when he noticed Connor spaced out right in front of the window.
“Yo,” Hank knocked at the window. Connor jumped at the noise.
“Yes, Lieu-Hank?” Connor turned around and stared right at the window with an awful attempt at a smile. Hank grimaced at the sight.
“The fuck you doin’ out there? It’s cold.”
“N-nothing,” Connor awkwardly swirled around as he looked for the path back to the house.
A moment later, Sumo and Connor arrived at the backyard door. “Have you ever noticed that Sumo never walks at specific places in the backyard?” asked Connor.
“No? Why would I need to know that?” Hank continued to scrub, although he couldn’t help but glimpse at Connor’s green stained hands.
“Just a fact,” Connor marched to the bathroom.
The next day, Connor had dragged Hank to the grocery store after the vegetables had supposedly “gone past their expiry date”. As Hank stared at last night’s hockey highlights televised in the deli section, Connor had disappeared into one of the aisles.
Hank didn’t bother looking for him, since he often materializes behind him with an armful of hearty foods when he pushes his cart to the register.
30 minutes later, Hank completed his checklist of groceries needed (beer and frozen pizza) and began his way to the register.
“Hank.”
“FuCK!” Hank twitched at the sudden voice.
Connor passed the Lieutenant and dumped—you guessed it—a bundle of vegetables that ranged from ginger to an ungodly amount of kale into the cart. “I told you to cut back on the beer and frozen pizza,” he said with a frown.
“Well, I gotta balance out whatever the fu-” he scans the area for children, “-heck you’re pumping into my stomach.”
The android shrugged: “I guess you’re right. Better get ready for dinner, ‘cause I’ll be cooking up a wonderful brew tonight.” With his arms up, he spun around the aisle and accidentally knocked a bag of pasta off the shelf.
“Goddamn it, Connor.”
To avoid listening to Connor rail about the health benefits of kale, Hank hid on the sofa with Sumo and watched a documentary about goats licking salt off rocks.
At the other side of the home, Connor cheerfully danced and hummed around the kitchen as the pot gently bubbled on the stovetop. Beside the possibly-glowing liquid, the kale was cut into 2-inch portions, green onions were divided into three, and chunks of carrots and potatoes sat in bowls. Thyme, rosemary, bouillon, parsley, and seasoning were arranged perfectly next to each other.
“Everything is mise en place ,” Connor did a chef’s kiss.
Two hours later, Hank woke up as Sumo slipped from underneath him. “H-huh?” he mumbled.
Nails tapped against the floor and a moment later, Connor arrived in front of the TV with a bowl of vegetable soup.
“Smells great,” Hank reached for the spoon beside the bowl but was abruptly slapped away.
“No. Wait.” Connor disappeared into the backyard.
After 5 minutes of more goat-licking documentary, Connor arrived with a handful of grass. He visits the sink for a moment, then walks to the bowl of soup.
“What are you doing–what the fuck Connor!?” Hank cried at the bowl of soup, now ruined by grass that swirled above the liquid.
“I call it… grass soup.”