I throw an apple in his direction—which turns out to be a mistake when, in the blink of an eye, Lazlo grabs a knife from the wooden block and uses it to slash the fruit into four pieces. While it’s still in the air. The chunks hit the ground with dull thuds, and we stare at them for a long stretch of silence. Then I clear my throat. “I didn’t know that an apple murdered your family.” “I . . . did not mean to do that.” He scratches the back of his neck.
😆
