Page 103 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
Skye threw a glance at Bearnard, smacking at his ears, a lump that wouldn’t leave the yard any time soon. “Why?”
“I don’t like this house sitting around when I’m not here. With my security system, my phone’s alerts whenever my siblings drop by, but Dad told them to warn me.” With a deep sigh, Celene ran her thumb over Skye’s lips. “I can postpone selling the house. Mavis named the best seasons, but no deadline. Until then, crash here whenever you want.” Celene shook her head, back to herself, like she’d been in another state of being. “I’m sorry. Dragonfruit. You were saying?”
However, Skye had gotten her answer. She’d meant to ask if this was long-term, if they had a future beyond these beautiful snippets of time. Loving Celene came naturally, and she wasn’t keen on adding pressure to something this new. Skye’s lips worked without a good reason to close the reality portal when her phone vibrated in a unique pattern—an incoming call from Luce.
“Hold that thought.” Skye crawled from her place, then froze. Over her shoulder, she said, “Actually. Wait. I do want a key, please.” That way, she could enjoy Celene’s satisfied smile before swiping to greet her grandmother.
“I baked some ziti. It’s meatless,” Luce greeted,Vengeance: Retired’s theme song playing in the background. “You’re with Celene? Invite her over and we’ll have a girls’ night.”
Skye was already knee-deep in a better kind of girls’ night. No relatives allowed.
“Well, uh.” She watched as Celene got her phone out to record Bearnard, his legs shifting in slumber, reanimating the motion light. “Could you save it? I won’t be home tonight.” Chewing the corner of her lip, the honesty flowed out in, “Or tomorrow morning. Or possibly tomorrow afternoon, so...”
A speechless half-minute followed. Her grandmother’s progressive views battled with an old-fashioned upbringing, vestiges of being raised by ‘the sanctified population,’ as Luce called her old hometown. Having a lesbian granddaughter putthat in a gray area, though she hadn’t ever been confronted by the suggestion of a sex life. At last, she said, “You’re spending the night. With Celene.”
“I’mspending the nightwith Celene,” she confirmed as unambiguously and respectfully as possible. When Luce met her with a lack of response again, Skye decided to wrap this up. “Please remember to feed Phish and Swindle. I’m hanging up now.”
Skye disconnected the call, conflicted. Much like her ever-changing views on adulthood.
“Spending the night, are you?” Celene beckoned Skye with a tug of her necklace, the light outside casting onto her raised eyebrow. “I didn’t even have to ask.”
Skye sloped her head into a kiss, in pure exhilaration. While she found little shame in her living situation, especially for their family business, Celene offering a house key sparked something significant. She crumpled within Celene’s arms and chose to stay, their lips and tongue reacquainting so long that the motion lights timed out again.
Interrupting their momentum, of Skye moaning loudly for more, Celene broke away. “You’d said Dragonfruit. Is everything okay?”
Skye bit her lip. Right,that. “Everything’s wonderful. Don’t worry about it.”
Even in the dark, she knew Celene was trying to size her up. Mercifully, she didn’t belabor it. “I’ll take your word for it. But if we’re going any further with this...” She cupped Skye’s breast, breath short. “One of us has to close my blinds. Bearnard doesn’t get to watch.”
25
Smooth aster. Branded on skin, in perpetuity.
When Celene got her only tattoo years ago, she’d been uncertain.
It’d been another one of Nadine’s minimized “hangouts,” attending an appointment for one of those social media tattoo artists who stayed booked eight months into the year. Dante secured the arrangement through a work connection, but his trip schedule and the exclusive time slot overlapped. So, he passed it on to Nadine.
“I’m thinking here.” Nadine had illustrated to Celene, ghosting a hand over the side of her ribcage. “Hidden from my parents, a fun little treat when I’m in a bikini.”
Celene approved, commenting on how sexy that’d be for a lover, too. In the broad, no-pressure sense. Regardless, Nadine performed a disturbingly realistic imitation of vomiting in response.
“And you?” asked Taz, the artist inked so densely that it looked like she wore an elaborate turtleneck all year. She waved at Celene with a pen she’d stuck behind her ear. “Her tattoo won’t take long. I can fit you in, too.”
Thus, Celene wavered from turning her down to scrolling through the intricate examples on Taz’s site to bickering with Nadine about what the hell she’d even get and where. Nadine soon put all her energy into not crying as Taz needled onto the thin, sensitive skin she chose. Watching this almost made Celene throw out the idea entirely.
Until Taz, a calm and composed expert, said, “Go simple. Try a flower.”
“A flower,” Celene had mumbled, flipping through the first twenty pages of the shop’s portfolio binder. The small studio in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, with its throwback girl group playlist and wall art, was much more twee than she’d expect of a parlor with such pierced and tattooed clientele.
Frustrated, she scrolled through flower images on a plant identifier app. She’d stopped on not the most striking or flashy flower, but it caught her eye.
An aster, which came in over a hundred variations. After making sure the breed didn’t hold any problematic meaning, she selected a light purple variety and held the screen to Taz. “This, in your style. The geometric look.”
Glancing up from Nadine’s side, Taz flicked a toothpick from one end of her mouth to the other, then smiled. “Will do. Where do you want it? Your tricep?”
At obvious confusion, she tipped her head at Celene unconsciously rubbing the back of her upper arm. A sign of her being unsure.
“Hm, I don’t hate that,” Celene mumbled, looking to her friend for confirmation.
