Without taking it from him, I leaned forward and bit off a corner. “Should it?”
His expression became disgruntled, and I had to laugh out loud. When I had still been the tadpole my fathers liked to call me, Dad had taught me the way his people ate what passed for eggs on their planet. It had to be partially swallowed, and once in the throat, the shell was crushed, but not broken, by the rhythmic rippling of throat muscles. Then the yolk and white would slide down, and the collapsed shell could be spat out whole. Uncle Lyn had turned green the first time he’d seen me do it.
I stopped laughing, but couldn’t smother the grin. “No, Drew. Nothing you do could repulse me.”
He became very serious. “That’s a sweeping statement, Da’. You really don’t know much about me.”