Page 132 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
Byron rubbed at his stiff knee, sighing. “What’s this about?”
“The house,” Celene replied. What the fuck else would it be about?
He keened his head backwards, genuinely thrown off. “We resolved that. Elise gave you the deed. You have my blessing.”
“I understand and I appreciate that.” Something intrinsic inspired her to treat Byron like one of her clients, careful not to offend too soon before laying down the hammer. “It’s an incredible gift. Overwhelming, even.”
“Bah, nothing overwhelms my Celene.” Byron waved a thick hand, though Elise could give him some acting lessons for that smile. “The house is nicer than ever.”
“It totally is,” Elise hurried to confirm. “Celene even kept your tacky eagle motifs.”
When Celene gritted her teeth, she tasted remnants of Arabica coffee. A fine flavor, but she wished she’d ended the evening with tea. “I kept theleasttacky eagles.”
Byron’s smugness dictated his slanted grin. “Oh, yeah?”
No, she wouldn’t let his sentimentality derail the point of this meeting. Celene scooted closer in her chair, legs crossed. “Dad, why did you give me the house?”
Again, Byron eyed Elise as if she’d translate. Elise remained predictable, as in any conflict not involving herself: speechless neutrality. Suddenly fascinated by her bright red fingernails.
Celene went on. “Initially, you mentioned the summer house project to Shanice, Mom, and Lonnie. Don and Briana. Then, Elise and Ajay. I came last.”
“I, erm…” He rested an elbow on the knee he’d been rubbing, to wring his calloused hands. They needed moisturizer; Celene cringed at the audible sliding of his dry skin. “Didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“But, why?” Celene asked her second parent tonight. “Why was I last? We’re no traditionalists, but I’d assume the oldest child would come to mind earlier.”
“It doesn’t matter. You took on the house.”
“Itdoesmatter.”
“God damnit,” Byron grunted, meeting her stare finally. “The Vale house is—or maybe was—a family home. Anticipated for future Vales and laughs, playtime, joy outside the city life. You’d made it clear you don’t value those things.”
Elise gasped loudly. Nothing else came out.
Everyone always hinted at this opinion, but to hear it aloud. What a slap to the face.
And Celene’s skin flared; her upper lip bent for a sneer. “Do you truly believe that, Byron?”
No ‘Dad.’Byron.
Byron’s bushy eyebrows rose at the name switch, too. “You disappear for weeks on end. You, um, well—you never particularly enjoy being around us. Even as a kid, you’d lock yourself in your room and read?—”
“It’s called having different interests.”
“It’s called distancing yourself from family. And it’s rude.”
“Dad,” Elise piped in, her lips goldfish gawping until more sentences formed. “Celene’s introverted. Like Mom.”
“Don’t give me that.” Byron scratched at his freshly cut hair, then his beard. A clear feigning of indifference. “Here I come with money to liven up old memories. Spare me if I wouldn’t tap the daughter who can’t return a few phone calls. The daughter who walks out on her own father at an afternoon lunch.”
Was this his actual perception of reality? Celene sacrificed a good time at Elise’s two-day wedding for everything to run smoothly. She sped to his hospital bedside and babysat his seven-month-old child. Not to forget countless gestures in the past.
Maybe she wasn’t keen on family gossip or spending evenings surrounded by overlapping banter. God, maybe her familydidirritate her sometimes. Often. But this meant a lot to them, so it meant something to her. Why else would she put herself out there?
Elise had activated. Rather miraculously, yammering these exact facts at their father to the point of incoherence. It granted time to think. Celene closed her eyes and eased in a breath.
Byron wasn’t a friend. Nor a client.
He was her father, and he could handle the truth.
