Page 106 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
Plus, these local lessons were the ideal companion to holding her girlfriend close, silently stricken by how Celene’s cardigan felt softer, more supple on Skye’s body. During the second and third laps around the lake, a doe and her fawn casually followed them, taking breaks to graze, and Celene chose not to tease Skye about it, but rather let it happen as casually as anything else.
Their walks turned into hikes to two other ponds fashioned around their neighborhood, rounding out at Skye’s house once hunger called. There, Celene got her wish fulfilled in hanging out with her two favorite Florentines. This chat, however, differed from the ones she had in her one-on-ones with Luce.
Luce seemed to have fallen into a dreary mood she couldn’t rise from, recounting stories of her late husband in the present tense, as if he’d been out on a long trip and not six feet under. Celene could tell it heightened Skye’s discomfort. Especially when Luce went into a long spiel about the three-slab relief she’d dedicated to Walter forChromatique Flair.
As much as Celene enjoyed the food and stories from decades before she’d been born, she complied immediately when Skye made an excuse to clean up, ending the discussion.
Initially, Celene thought it’d been a cue to leave altogether, yet Skye had other plans.
“My mom and I built the shelving,” Skye explained from inside her clandestine studio, gripping one of the painted ledges to show how it didn’t budge, fastened securely onto the wooden wall. “She stumbled upon this space when I was home from college, but it was inconvenient to bring a ladder into the bedroom. Dad helped us clear up the cobwebs and feed in outlets for lamps, but it mostly stayed unused until June built the loft bed, and I could reach it. Whole time, Luce had no clue.”
The area behind the trap door was narrow, its ceiling sloping at an angle favoring the roof’s structure. It accommodated the space for a desk, several shelves and cabinets, and foldingwindows for ventilation. Everything smelled vaguely of the wood that surrounded them and light whiffs of glue. A secluded, undercover artist’s hideaway.
And theart. Though Skye locked up the Forever Fuchsia in its unfinished state, Celene committed long moments to examining the handiwork of everything else up close. Incomplete or not, Celene was awestruck by the detail, how the hand-sized sugar maple leaf’s pieces cascaded uniformly and divergently alike. Growing up with the Florentines must’ve been the ultimate learning experience.
What affected Celene more strongly was Skye nearby, watching Celene observe everything with the intensity of a student. Just as she had for the last four pieces, Celene spoke what made her heart hammer loudest. Handling the leaf with delicate fingers, it gleamed beneath the small LED desk lamp.
“Skye, I’m amazed,” Celene intoned, questioning how Skye calledherlarger than life while harboring all this. “I have to lecture and berate people who, by way of their status, are called the greatest minds because of titles they’re one case of tax fraud away from losing. They’re all average people, really. Then, I met you and...”
There was only one chair, and Celene was sitting in it. Skye had perched herself on a short cabinet, feet planted on a rug she’d added to help insulate her footsteps. With a soft smile, her head had tilted, her stare penetrating.
Dragonfruit.
Did Celene need to speak their word?
Because she absolutely, doubtlessly loved Skye.
“And...” Skye said as she blinked from a headspace Celene could only assume to be bountiful and radiant. “You now want to lecture and berate mosaicists?”
Celene placed the leaf safely onto the table so she could laugh. It came out shallowly, stunted by her realization. Shegrasped at Skye’s hand, replying, “Not at all. I find you extraordinary.”
Skye’s eyebrows shot up, hiding under her bangs. “Oh. Wow. Thank you.”
Needing to see them, Celene glided a thumb across Skye’s forehead, gathering hair aside. “Do you have a plan for telling Luce about the accident?”
“Kinda, yeah.” Skye sighed, lips pinched unpleasantly at the topic. “The magazine’s been corresponding pretty slowly, and I’m in control of all the emails, so it’ll give me plenty of time to update my parents when they come next week. I’ll tell them what I did, how I use this space to make art. Trust me; they’ve wanted me to get into this stuff forever, and they’ll be on my side in case Luce takes it badly.” The unpleasant pinch migrated to the rest of her face. “Is that wrong? Needing my parents? It’s essentially everybody’s bus?—”
Celene intercepted with another caress. “I think it’s admirable. This is a family matter, so you’ll deal with it together.”
“Luce forgets I mourn Granddad, too.”
“That can’t be easy. I…I don’t remember him much, sorry.” Those old summers, Celene avoided adults as much as she could. “But I know he’d love what you added.”
“I think he would, too.”
The wooden cabinet beneath Skye creaked when she leaned forward, meeting Celene in the middle for a kiss. Celene’s hand slid to the underside of Skye’s jaw, careful not to pinch her neck. For they were still learning each other’s bodies; she needed to signal this with an embrace purely of emotion, the dedicated connection of a partner.
Celene grazed Skye’s lips, resistant to ending the night this way. Skye would return to work in the morning, but responsibility didn’t mean misery. She apportioned a lengthymoment to watch Skye engrossed in the kiss, haloed by the warm overhead lamp.
“I don’t want to leave you here.” Celene clarified, their pendants detaching in a soft jingle. Skye blinked back, a little delayed post-kiss. “We have the rest of the afternoon, the evening. You don’t have a fucking curfew.” They laughed quietly. “I want more time with you.”
“Or I could spend the night again.”
“Yes, please. Do that.”
Skye wound her pinky into her necklace, going silent only for a minute. “When I returned to Yielding after living in Philly, I didn’t move straight home. I figured I had the funds to stay at a hotel first, then get an apartment.” She fiddled with the hem of the cardigan, the memory obviously not a kind one. “Nothing felt right at the hotel. Too sterile, even the cozier ones. Luce offered my parents’ old suite, and I made it my own; it became home again. Like you did for the summer house.”
This information grazed chills over Celene’s shoulders. Did that once-shabby old house become a second home?
