Page 141 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
In a new pair of flats, she traipsed to the mailbox across the street. Junk mail got a frown from her, stiff and wastefully present. Looking up from it, she waved at nosy Ms. Greene huffing and puffing by in her visor, in her early afternoon power walk.
Such pedestrian tasks. So, why did Celene grin at herself?
Maybe because this place was no longer an ashen, haunted deathtrap hanging by a thread. It no longer reeked of neglect.
Dragging her luggage behind her, Celene pitched the envelopes into a recycling bin. It reminded her she’d packed a tiny souvenir from a day at the park with her nieces—a handful of lollipop wrappers. They’d find an eccentric, worthwhile home in the Candy Red Office.
Upon the deck, she took note of the screen added to the sliding door. Good addition, she judged, as it allowed a breeze without any creatures sneaking in. Even the water-resistant rocking chairs Elise and Ajay bought matched the aesthetic.
“Skye, I’m here,” she called out as she washed her hands in the kitchen sink. The usual cleaning bottles from the store had been replaced by labeled reusable ones—natural concoctions.
She dried her hands, plopping her watch into a decorative bowl holding her girlfriend’s car keys. No need to monitor time right now.
Celene turned to find Skye standing there in a flowy cutoff blouse and jeans, her smile as soft and shy as it had been when they first started talking again. When she’d only been a familiar forager. “You made it here safely.”
Celene greeted her with, “Hello, beautiful.”
Skye had stayed at Celene’s apartment for five days. Five days they’d dedicated to radical amounts of relaxation, connection—physical and emotional—and reaching the necessary milestones.
Like meeting Celene’s friends. It went without friction, as Nadine asked relevant Poconos questions, trying to drown out Dante making fake-not-fake dating jokes. Skye seemed to like them, laughing to cover for her shyness. Those twins loved a captive audience, though, so they ate up her amusement. All of this occurred after a front-row Broadway experience Nadine had casually introduced like, “My dad gave me some tickets to this thing.”
The two weeks after Skye left were busy ones for Celene. Running more workshops at a company retreat, a Children’s Museum trip with Don and his family, babysitting Theo,and more hangouts with Shanice. Even an afternoon tea with her sister and Ajay—a short visit. Celene exited when Elise began belting showtunes.
With her dad, Celene had explained her idea of adding Skye for ownership of the house. They’d chatted over the phone with a lawyer friend, and Byron, as cavalier as ever, told her this would run with less hassle if she and Skye were married. Subtle.
All the family time still drained Celene. She was due for another trip.
She cupped Skye’s face for a kiss, tasting hibiscus and honey. Unsurprisingly, it melded into a deeper plunge because Celene’s tongue gravely missed stroking into Skye. She would’ve come to Yielding a week sooner, but Skye insisted on more days to tie up loose ends. By now, Celene had grown hungry for her without reason to hide it. She slid her hand down to massage Skye’s smooth, sensitive nape, clarifying her plans for the rest of the day.
Skye moaned, yet she severed their mouths before Celene could assert her hand into her top. Panting already, she murmured, “Hold on.”
That’s when Celene noticed Skye had both arms behind her back. “Do you have a present for me?”
Celene hoped. She hoped so badly.
When her hope had been confirmed, Celene still forgot how to breathe.
Skye presented the Forever Fuchsia.
And it was astounding.
It jingled, not unlike the chimes outside. That was where the comparisons stopped—for shiny, complex beauty manifested in stemmed cuts of glass. Celene took in how the pieces puzzled into each other along the curves in a gradation of greens. Similar leaves had been jiggered onto the stems, on hinges so delicate Celene feared touching them. And at the tops were the most vibrant parts—the flowers hanging on similar hinges, in glassy pinks, purples, and reds. Eleven blossoms in varying bunches on several stems, in a handmade mosaic pot, purposefully uneven in a swooping shape.
God, to live a day in Skye’s mind.
Celene blinked tears and didn’t attempt to wipe them. She needed Skye to see her, all of her rendered speechless.
“Welcome to Yielding,” Skye said, a step above a whisper. Her hands shook; the petals lightly clinked accordingly. “Happy you’re back, Celene.”
“Please, put it down,” Celene croaked, tapping the kitchen counter. She swiped her hands with more urgency until Skye gently slid it to the quartz.
Once the sculpture was safely out of dodge, Celene looped her arms around Skye’s shoulders, kissing her now out of a desperate need to just feel her, to spill out these emotions. Elation, amazement, admiration, longing, love.
Love, Celene couldlove.
They kissed until the clouds outside shadowed the room, in a house bursting with life and—she spotted one of Byron’s eagle motifs over the fireplace—personality. On the mantle stood a framed print of her and Skye as children, playing with the aster.
Yes, Skye fit in here seamlessly.
