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On the kitchen side of the trailer door, there's a whiteboard. It has a few sections -- the circus schedule, an ever-changing to-do list, and frequent doodles of ladybugs or puppies in the corners -- but the middle one is a list of House Rules. Most of them are in Catherine's handwriting, and all of them have been there long enough to have dried solidly to the whiteboard.
Trowa fills the coffeemaker with grounds and water, and pushes the button. Then he wets a corner of a dishtowel, and goes to the board.
A certain amount of careful work later, the sentence about Lucille is gone. (Lucille is a perfectly nice girl, whom Trowa has never had any interest in, and in any case she left the circus a year and a half ago. That isn't precisely the point.)
Trowa tosses the dishtowel in the laundry bin -- it was time to do so anyway -- and replaces it with a new one, and goes back to the coffeemaker. It's finished brewing.
Trowa fills the coffeemaker with grounds and water, and pushes the button. Then he wets a corner of a dishtowel, and goes to the board.
A certain amount of careful work later, the sentence about Lucille is gone. (Lucille is a perfectly nice girl, whom Trowa has never had any interest in, and in any case she left the circus a year and a half ago. That isn't precisely the point.)
Trowa tosses the dishtowel in the laundry bin -- it was time to do so anyway -- and replaces it with a new one, and goes back to the coffeemaker. It's finished brewing.
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Cathy bounces up. "We're getting smoothies!" She states, finger pointed into the air declaratively. "Save your stuff, mister, and I'll get shoes on."
She ducks her head back in after she walks out, "And they're sandals so it will take like three seconds!"
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He'll even pick his own flavor of smoothie when they get there. Call it a gesture. (And a way to avoid some of Cathy's more inspired fruit combinations.)
Cathy may need more words than some, but she still understands a lot. Trowa -- appreciates it.