Page 134 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
That received Edna’s modest grin. “Elise would beg me to sign her up for every school musical, every camp, every improv class. Her teachers would call with warnings about excessive talking. I caught her skipping school with some random boy at least three times. And Celene...kept to her studies. Of course, she had her teenage angst, but she was exceptionally well-adjusted.”
“Oh.” Skye sipped at the rest of her cold coffee, fighting a frown. “One sister overshadowed the other.”
“Regarding time management and needing supervision, yes.” Edna’s fingers constricted on the mug, and Skye assumed she did that out of nervousness. “I’m proud of Celene’s independence; it’s what mothers pray for every night. What if I had no career or identity to fall back on after my divorce? I get nauseous at the thought.”
The moth fluttered to the arm of the porch swing. Habit told Skye to hold her finger out for it; rather, she remained on course. “I think I understand. My household was a mix of closeness and me journeying off on my own.”
“I read up on your family. The Florentines attract a lot of tourists to Yielding.”
“That’s us,” Skye murmured, gulping coffee and a lump of embarrassment.
“Sitting out here, I’d been trying to come up with a good way to put it.” Edna glimpsed at a truck trailing down the quiet street, beamed by yellow streetlights. Her dark eyes returnedto Skye’s. “I won’t say I’m not traumatized from how Quinn deserted my daughter. Celene had been self-sufficient in her youth, so she’s even harder to help as an adult. How do you tend to a child’s broken heart if they have all the tools at their disposal?” Meaning that to be rhetorical, her voice got smoother, more professorial. “Celene may not believe me, but I respect her romantic choices. What keeps me up at night is her finding someone who treats her like I did at times, as her mother. Someone who coasts on Celene’s competence.”
Skye lifted her legs, causing the swing to sway. Anything to add some motion, as she’d gotten antsy. “I can see how her exes would take advantage. Weeks ago, I pictured love like a beautiful stranger showing up and everything’s effortlessly bright, no complications.” She bit her lip, now charmed by memories of their curt exchanges that keyless night. “Doing things for Celene makes me happy. I won’t tap her dry.”
Edna squinted. Shrewd, but the smile seemed real. “Time will tell.”
“I can see how Celene interprets your worry as...” She flattened her feet on the porch to stop the swaying. “Belittling.”
“Agreed.”
If Skye comprehended correctly, Edna didn’t want somebody to baby Celene. Nor tread too carefully about the typical give and take of relationships. So, spoke as boldly as she could, saying, “You want someone in Celene’s corner, since you can’t be, for those times she’s not her strongest.”
Edna imitated a clap against the mug. “That’s what everyone deserves. However, Celene deserves it most because she’s my child.”
Saved by the wail, Theo’s long howl sounded from inside the house. Time to meet with Celene, in case chatting with her father went wayward. Skye rose from her perch, straighteningher clothes. She smiled down at Edna, saying, “I’ll be around to prove myself.”
Another one of Theo’s cries came out, louder than the first.
“It’s past that little one’s bedtime.” Edna eyed her thin gold watch in a very Celene-like way. “Oof, and mine, too.”
Skye knew not to offer a hand; Celene’s mother carried herself with the countenance of someone who preferred to get up by herself. “This was nice.” She gestured to the night sky, the yard sprinkled with toys. “Being outside puts me at ease.”
“Well, then I’m glad you joined me.”
Edna stood to Skye’s height. Naturally, she shared some features with Celene, though those Vale genes were nothing to reckon with. Lines formed around her smile as she pulled Skye into a hug. Near Skye’s ear, she said, “I like your grandmother’s mosaics, especially her landscapes. Maybe I’ll take an overdue trip to Yielding.”
Laughing, Skye hugged her back. “Please do. I’ll give you the family discount.”
35
Ashower post-drive back into Manhattan stood as non-negotiable. Skye offered her hand for Celene to drag them into the bathroom, intent on washing off all the “judgment and commotion.”
“Please do me a favor,” Celene said forty minutes later, her face muffled atop her covers. “Take a photo of me. Next time I suggest visiting my family, show it to me to bring me to my senses.”
In a set of Celene’s whisper-soft pajamas, Skye giggled at her single snapshot memorializing her girlfriend’s defenses down, in a condition of depletion. She pinched to crop it for better composition, of the methodically selected décor guiding the eye to the bed and its subject. “This is peak photography. I could sell prints.”
The numb voice responding couldn’t suppress her affection in, “What would you name it?”
Skye crawled alongside Celene. As her mind sailed the gulf of ideas that’d look immaculate on an exhibit label, she scaled fingertips through Celene’s damp hair. “This calls for somethingpretentious. I’d title it,‘Woman Lying or Lying Woman?: Musings of the Feminine Spirit In Modern Stasis.’”
“God, you’ll fit into the art world just fine.”
They laughed together, and even that laughter had been wrung of all vitality. Skye punched on the bedside noise machine, closing her eyes for its dependable whirr.
An early rising, marathon of sex, and an overstimulating evening rooted Skye to the bed. This combination called for tea, but not with her muscles and joints finally relaxing.
Skye’s phone vibrated in her hand. Her mother already returned to her Yielder pastimes, sending a photo of mushrooms—four varieties piled next to bunches of wild grapes in a woven basket.
