The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 19: A Voice from Toronto
The first ordinary thing Daniel did after seeing Xianglume was make soup.
Not because soup was required.
Not because either of them had asked for it.
Because the farmhouse kitchen contained potatoes, carrots, onions, leftover roast beef and a stockpot large enough to make the world feel manageable.
Neris stood beside the counter while he chopped.
She had followed him back from Takuhai without discussing whether she would stay for the evening. Daniel had not asked. Somewhere between the western ridge and the farmhouse, the question had stopped being necessary.
Her shoulder nearly touched his arm.
Each time he reached for something, her tail moved around the backs of his legs, not tightly enough to restrict him, only enough to maintain contact.
Daniel cut an onion in half.
Neris watched the knife.
“You are using an inefficient motion.”
“It works.”
“You rotate the blade unnecessarily.”
“Still works.”
“You would produce more consistent pieces if—”
Daniel placed the knife in her paw.
“All yours.”
Neris looked at it.
Then at the onion.
She began cutting.
Every piece was nearly identical.
Daniel leaned against the counter.
“You happy?”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t really a question.”
“I answered accurately.”
He reached past her for the carrots. His hand settled briefly at her waist as he moved behind her, a wordless warning that he was close.
Neris did not step aside.
Her tail curled around his wrist.
Daniel stopped.
The tail remained there for one breath, then loosened enough for him to move.
Neither of them mentioned it.
The contact no longer felt like an accident that needed interpretation.
That was new.
ER’s voice came through the farmhouse tablet propped beside the flour jar.
“Kitchen movement efficiency has improved by fourteen percent.”
Daniel peeled a carrot.
“That’s a strange way to describe affection.”
“I did not describe affection.”
Neris’s ears shifted toward the tablet.
Daniel waited.
ER added, “I described reduced collision risk.”
“Right.”
“The categories are not mutually exclusive,” Neris said.
Daniel looked at her.
She continued chopping as though she had said nothing unusual.
He smiled.
The resonator remained sealed aboard Takuhai. ER had extended the warning field around the housing after Neris passed it twice on the way out and looked at it with what he described as “premeditated technical interest.”
The damaged coupler would not be touched until the internal stress pattern stabilized.
The rule had been accepted.
Not happily.
Not permanently.
But accepted.
Outside, the storm’s last clouds had broken apart over the western fields. Late-afternoon light reflected from the snow with enough brightness to turn the farmhouse windows pale gold.
The generator had shut down when grid power returned. The sudden absence of its engine left the farm feeling unusually still.
Daniel added the onions to the pot.
They hissed against the oil.
Neris stepped closer to smell them.
Her muzzle nearly touched his shoulder.
“Different from the market.”
“Because they’re cooking.”
“The market had cooked onions.”
“Those had been sitting under a heat lamp.”
“That changes the chemistry?”
“Changes the optimism.”
Neris looked at him.
“Food cannot possess optimism.”
“Heat-lamp onions can lose it.”
She considered this.
The phone rang.
Daniel stopped stirring.
The sound came from the counter near the breadbox, bright and ordinary enough to feel out of place.
The screen lit.
CLAIRE
Daniel stared at the name.
Neris noticed.
“You are not answering.”
“It’s only rung once.”
“It has now rung twice.”
Daniel set down the spoon.
The phone rang again.
Claire did not call often.
Neither did he.
Their conversations had become things they arranged around birthdays, difficult weather and practical news. Claire would ask whether he had enough fuel. Daniel would ask whether her apartment building had fixed the leak above the service stairwell. They would mention work, roads, cattle, construction delays and the fact that they should speak more often.
Then they would not.
The phone rang a fourth time.
Neris’s tail slid from his wrist.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Daniel looked at her.
“No.”
The answer came quickly enough to surprise them both.
He picked up the phone.
“Hi.”
Claire’s voice entered the kitchen.
“Hi yourself.”
Daniel turned the heat down beneath the pot.
“You all right?”
“I’m calling you. That doesn’t automatically mean something’s wrong.”
“It usually means weather.”
“There is weather.”
“There’s always weather.”
“Then congratulations. We’ve found common ground.”
Daniel leaned against the counter.
Neris remained beside him, close enough that the edge of her sleeve touched his.
Claire continued.
“I saw the outage map. You lost power?”
“For a few hours.”
“Generator worked?”
“Yes.”
“Cattle okay?”
“Yes.”
“Buildings?”
“Standing.”
“Road?”
“Still there under the snow.”
Claire exhaled through her nose.
It was one of the few sounds she made exactly like their mother.
“You could have sent a message.”
“I was busy.”
“You are always busy.”
“The storm didn’t ask whether I had plans.”
“You could still have sent a message.”
Daniel glanced at Neris.
Her ears angled toward the phone.
“I’m sending one now,” he said.
“No, you’re answering one.”
“Close enough.”
“It is not.”
Daniel smiled despite himself.
Claire went quiet.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
“You sound different.”
Daniel looked toward the window.
“Phone connection’s probably bad.”
“No.”
“It’s northern Ontario in winter.”
“You sound awake.”
“I’m awake most days.”
“You know what I mean.”
Daniel did.
He stirred the onions again.
Neris’s paw came to rest lightly against his forearm.
Not gripping.
Present.
Claire said, “What are you doing?”
“Cooking.”
“You’re cooking?”
“I cook.”
“You assemble food.”
“That’s cooking.”
“No. Toast is not cooking.”
“It’s heat applied to bread.”
“You made that argument when you were fourteen.”
“It remains valid.”
Claire laughed.
The sound reached him more directly than he expected.
Daniel looked down at Neris’s paw.
“You working late?” he asked.
Claire paused.
“That was a follow-up question.”
“I ask questions.”
“You ask whether the roof leaks.”
“It’s a reasonable question.”
“You don’t usually ask whether I’m working late.”
“Are you?”
“No. I left the office early.”
“Everything okay?”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Neris looked toward him.
Daniel realized Claire was not used to him asking twice.
“Mostly,” Claire said. “We’ve got a school renovation in Scarborough that keeps discovering new ways to be older than the drawings.”
“What did they find?”
“A load-bearing wall that was not supposed to be load-bearing.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It is architecturally impolite.”
“What are you doing about it?”
“Opening more walls. Asking the structure what other secrets it has.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
Her eyes met his.
The sentence belonged too easily to the farm, the ship and everyone inside both.
Claire continued.
“Are you actually interested?”
“I asked.”
“You ask things when you want the answer to end.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“It’s a little fair.”
Daniel turned the spoon through the onions.
“What happened to the wall?”
Claire explained.
The project had begun as a ventilation upgrade and accessibility renovation. Demolition revealed that a previous alteration had redirected roof loads onto framing never intended to carry them. The building had stood that way for decades because old structures sometimes survived by distributing strain through parts nobody knew were involved.
Daniel listened.
Really listened.
He asked how they would reinforce it without closing the school longer than planned.
Claire answered in detail.
Neris watched him.
Daniel could feel it.
When Claire finished, she said, “You’re still there.”
“I said I was interested.”
“You’ve said lots of things.”
“So have you.”
“That is how conversation works.”
“I remember.”
Claire became quiet again.
Then:
“Who’s there?”
Daniel’s hand stopped above the pot.
Neris did not move.
Claire said, “I heard something.”
“The stove.”
“Your stove does not breathe.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
Her eyes widened slightly.
A faint sound had escaped her when Claire described the hidden wall carrying weight it had never been designed to bear.
Daniel should have moved into another room.
He should have asked Neris to remain silent.
He should have answered in the shed or the tractor cab where the world was easier to edit.
He had done none of those things.
“There’s someone here,” he said.
Neris’s ears lifted.
Claire’s voice changed.
Not louder.
More attentive.
“At the farm?”
“Yes.”
“Right now?”
“That’s usually what ‘here’ means.”
“Daniel.”
He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck.
“A friend.”
Beside him, Neris’s tail went still.
The word had been true when he gave it to Marcel.
It remained true now.
It was no longer enough.
Daniel looked at Neris.
She did not turn away.
“Someone important,” he added.
Her eyes widened.
The tail around his legs tightened once.
On the phone, Claire said nothing for nearly three seconds.
Daniel could imagine her expression: one eyebrow lifting, head tilting slightly, every piece of available information rearranging itself into new possibilities.
“Someone important,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“How long has there been a someone important?”
“That’s complicated.”
“Of course it is.”
“Claire.”
“I’m not interrogating you.”
“You’re preparing to.”
“I’m deciding which questions you won’t answer.”
Neris’s paw slid from Daniel’s forearm into his hand.
He closed his fingers around hers.
Claire asked, “Is she still there?”
Daniel looked at Neris.
“Yes.”
“Does she have a name?”
His grip tightened.
Neris looked at the phone.
Then at him.
She gave one small nod.
“Neris,” Daniel said.
Claire repeated it carefully.
“Neris.”
The name sounded different in his sister’s voice.
Not wrong.
New.
It was the first true piece of Neris Daniel had deliberately given to another human.
No invented surname.
No explanation.
A name.
Neris’s ears tilted forward.
Claire said, “That’s a beautiful name.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
“She heard you.”
There was a pause.
“Oh.”
Neris’s paw tightened around his.
Daniel said quietly, “You don’t have to say anything.”
Neris looked at him.
Then toward the phone.
“Hello, Claire.”
Claire was silent long enough that Daniel checked the screen.
The call had not disconnected.
Neris continued.
“I apologize for overhearing part of your conversation.”
Claire recovered.
“You’re in Daniel’s kitchen. Privacy there has always been more theoretical than real.”
Daniel frowned.
“That isn’t true.”
“You used to listen through the heating vent when Mum and Dad argued.”
“I was nine.”
“You were sixteen the second time.”
“That was different.”
Neris looked at him.
Claire heard the silence.
“He does that,” Neris said.
“Does what?”
“Describes similar actions as different when the distinction benefits him.”
Claire laughed.
Daniel looked between the phone and Neris.
“You’ve known each other thirty seconds.”
“And she already has supporting evidence,” Claire replied.
Neris’s tail moved against Daniel’s ankle.
He returned to the soup.
The onions had browned more than intended but had not burned.
Claire said, “So, Neris. How long have you been at the farm?”
Neris looked at Daniel.
He shook his head slightly.
Not because the truth was forbidden.
Because it required too many other truths.
“A number of weeks,” Neris said.
“A number?”
“Six.”
Daniel glanced at her.
Claire said, “Six weeks and he’s only now mentioning you.”
“Daniel does not communicate efficiently.”
“Finally, someone willing to say it.”
“I communicate fine.”
“You send messages that say ‘storm bad, cattle fine,’” Claire said.
“That covers the important parts.”
“It does not cover you.”
Neris’s ears shifted.
“No,” she said softly. “It does not.”
Daniel stirred the soup.
He could feel both of them looking at him from different distances.
Claire asked Neris where she was from.
Daniel’s shoulders tightened.
Neris answered without hesitation.
“Far from here.”
Claire waited.
“That sounds complicated.”
“It is.”
“Work?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Courier operations.”
Daniel nearly dropped the spoon.
Claire said, “Like delivery logistics?”
“That is an incomplete but functional description.”
Daniel turned toward Neris.
Her eyes held a quiet glint.
Claire laughed again.
“I like her.”
“You haven’t met her.”
“I’ve met enough.”
Neris’s tail curled more firmly around Daniel’s ankle.
He looked down at it.
Claire continued.
“Are you staying through winter?”
The question changed the room.
Neris’s expression remained calm.
Daniel knew better.
She looked toward the window, where snow covered the yard, the fields and the trees hiding Takuhai.
“I do not know,” she said.
Claire did not fill the silence.
That restraint made Daniel more grateful than he could say.
Finally, Claire asked, “Are you safe there?”
Neris looked at Daniel.
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
Daniel felt it in his chest.
Claire said, “Good.”
No qualification.
No demand for explanation.
Only good.
The soup began to simmer.
Daniel lowered the heat again.
Claire asked about the storm damage. Neris described the weather mast in terms precise enough to sound like an engineering consultant and vague enough to reveal nothing impossible.
Claire became interested.
Daniel should have expected it.
“You repaired the original mast?” she asked.
“Restored,” Daniel said.
“Mostly replaced,” Neris corrected.
“I kept the structure.”
“The structure was the least useful portion.”
“It held everything up.”
“Only after inspection and reinforcement.”
Claire said, “I’m with Neris.”
Daniel stared at the phone.
“Of course you are.”
“A structure is not automatically valuable because it remains vertical.”
“It worked.”
“Eventually.”
Neris said, “The recent optical repair succeeded on the first attempt.”
Daniel smiled.
“Tell her that again.”
“The earlier weather shield required an alternate approach.”
Claire said, “That sounds more honest.”
Daniel resumed chopping the remaining carrots.
“You two are a problem.”
Neris’s paw remained in his.
The practical difficulty of cooking one-handed should have made him release it.
He did not.
Claire spoke about Toronto.
Not the skyline or the traffic.
Her life.
The apartment building had finally repaired the leak in the service stairwell. A colleague had become engaged. Claire had adopted a plant from the office after someone left it beside a recycling bin, and the plant was now refusing to die despite her inconsistent attention.
Neris asked what species it was.
Claire did not know.
Neris asked what its leaves looked like.
Claire described them.
Neris suggested the plant might be a pothos.
Claire searched while they spoke.
“You’re right.”
Neris’s ears lifted with quiet satisfaction.
Daniel added stock to the pot.
Claire said, “You sound like you know plants.”
“My sister is a botanist.”
There it was.
A small truth from Xianglume, offered without its impossible scale.
Claire asked her sister’s name.
“Lysa.”
“Older or younger?”
“Younger.”
“Do you get along?”
Neris considered.
“Yes.”
“That pause sounded dangerous.”
“She alters musical performances to irritate our older sister.”
Daniel smiled.
Claire asked about the older sister.
“Teral.”
“Organized?”
“Excessively.”
“You say that like Daniel says ‘weather.’”
Daniel looked at Neris.
She looked back.
Claire heard the quiet.
“You’re standing close together, aren’t you?”
Daniel nearly overturned the stock container.
Neris’s tail puffed visibly.
Claire laughed.
“I’m an architect. I notice spatial relationships.”
“You’re on the phone,” Daniel said.
“You both keep forgetting what question you were answering.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves distraction.”
Neris’s ears flattened.
Daniel’s face warmed.
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