A pungent aroma of onion and cumin wafts out as Mummy answers the door. I told her not to cook curry, that I’ll bring Evan over from school, but she’s clearly forgotten it.
“Hi, Mrs. Maylik,” Evan says without scrunching his nose or puckering his expression. Whenever I visit his place, the air is fragrant with scented candles—sugar cookies, warm eucalyptus, honey lemon—burning in their kitchen.
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