“Honey,
I don’t know that sounds dangerous.”
I
snatched the chemistry book out of his hands. “Fine, you can stay
out of it. I’ll figure out how to make it myself. If meth addicts
can learn to make it, I can definitely figure it out.”
“You
won’t find the recipe in there and you definitely aren’t
qualified to be dealing with chemicals like that.” He started
rambling in science jargon and by the end of it he had convinced
himself that he could do it.
The
next day we went to the library. We smuggled in coffee and snacks and
with a pile of books each we sat in the heavily air-conditioned book
stacks and read, taking occasional notes when something was important
enough. I forgot how comforting the smell of old books was and I
thought of my mother for the first time in a while.
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