Wild Raspberries by Jane Davitt

I got a taste for curries when I was in —”
    “India?” Dan guessed.
    “England.” Tyler sniffed the air ecstatically. “I don’t eat out often, or buy take-out, but it’s been a hell of a day. Want me to order something for you?”
    Tyler’s mood swings were going to take some getting used to — or maybe the meds were kicking in and making him a better, kinder person? Dan shrugged. Food was food and he was starving. “Sure — just nothing too hot.”
    “No, I won’t do that. You wouldn’t like it and you need some food in your stomach.”
    So stop by a burger place.
    Dan had to admit the place smelled interesting when he walked in, though. And in a surprisingly short amount of time, they were walking back out, his arms laden with brown paper bags, heavy and fragrant, something oily already leaking through one of them.
    In the cabin, he helped Tyler to empty the bags and burned his fingers prizing open the small foil containers. There was rice, which he recognized, though it wasn’t something he’d eaten a lot of, his daddy being the original meat and potatoes guy, some of it white and fluffy, some bright yellow, and a lot of meat swimming in sauce.
    “What’s this?” He prodded a thick, roughly oval slab of something soft.
    “Naan bread. You rip bits off and dunk it in the sauce.” Tyler dropped into a chair with a sigh, his face pale under its tan. “Mind dragging over a chair?”
    “You need a cushion, too.” Dan’s friend Alex had broken his leg in high school and some memories were surfacing about what you did with breaks and sprains. “Elevation, remember?”
    “Then go and get one from the couch.”
    Time for some training of the beast. Dan waited, arms folded across his chest.
    Tyler got the hint faster than he’d expected. “ Please .”
    Okay, he’d work on the snarl later.
    The first bite was weird, the second less so, and by the third, washed down with a beer Tyler had put in front of him without asking, Dan was hooked. “What’s this one?” he asked around a mouthful of naan, which was bland but still tasty. Tyler had rearranged the cartons and told Dan to help himself to any but the two farthest away from him.
    “Chicken Dhansak.”
    “It’s good.” He scooped up some rice, his stomach approving every mouthful. “All of it’s good.”
    “Might be a bit rich for you,” Tyler warned.
    “So why did you get it?”
    “Because it’s not all about you, boy.”
    The conversation kind of died right there. Dan finished what was on his plate and had a second helping out of sheer stubbornness — chicken korma, this time, creamy with a hint of coconut.
    Finally, with the beer buzzing pleasantly in his head, he waved his last piece of naan bread in the air. “Can I try dipping it in one of yours?”
    Tyler looked at him with tolerant amusement. “You won’t like it.”
    “Is that a yes?”
    Tyler shoved a container over to him, the spicy smell rising up like smoke. “Shrimp Vindaloo.”
    He got a dollop of sauce and a shrimp balanced on the bread and popped it all into his mouth. Tyler had settled back to watch with a “this should be good” air about him.
    The sauce had cooled down enough that his first impression was one of warmth, not heat, but that changed rapidly. He choked, swallowed as the best way to get it out of his mouth that didn’t involve spitting it onto his plate — tempting, but gross — and then opened his mouth wide. Sweat was popping out on his tongue and his nose was running.
    “Kitchen towel over there,” Tyler said kindly. “And a few gulps of milk will help.”
    Dan made a strangled sound of acknowledgment and headed for the fridge.
    When he’d recovered the use of his lips, which were both numb and tingling, and Tyler’s smile had faded, he asked if he could take a shower.
    “Sure. And you’d better bring in your stuff from the truck.”
    Dan nodded. “That reminds me…” He took out the change from the money Tyler had given him and