Page 2 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
At 6’3”—nearly a foot taller than Elise—Ajay dropped to one knee as soon as he saw her, in full princely manner. Of course, everyone howled in tipsy laughter. Everyone but Celene, who ducked away to pick up on Brenda crackling into her ear, narrating her arrival.
In a black jumpsuit with a flower at her chest, Brenda rounded the bridesmaids and groomsmen into formation, leaving Ajay and Elise last, hand-in-hand. From the ballroom, their intro music blasted. The hotel staff parted the doors to the cheers of three hundred lively guests, a number they would’ve easily doubled if not for venue limitations. Celene shrank a little, though she smiled at her sister.
She held her breath, anticipating the moment Elise would turn around and they could share eye contact.
A smile, even. Some flavor of acknowledgement.
Instead, Elise and Ajay raised their hands high, rushing towards their adoring fans for the night.
Okay, fine. Not shocking.
Flicking at her phone, Celene detached that damned earpiece. She coiled it and the radio into a manageable loop in time for Brenda to approach.
“The assistant you covered for—her water broke two weeks early, so you came through right on time.” Brenda pocketed the devices, effectively re-tangling the cords.
Celene swept black hair behind her ear, stiff from the bridal stylist’s hairspray. “Are your assistant and her baby okay?”
“They are! She sent photos if you want to?—”
“That won’t be necessary,” she demurred as politely as she could. Another minute of hearing Brenda talk was unnecessary, too. “We survived. Now, I’ll enjoy what’s left of this reception.”
Brenda laughed like Celene hadn’t been serious, deep and raspy. “You can live it up until midnight. I’m grateful for your help, Sister, from the bottom of my heart.”
Celene’s sharply contoured brows dropped into place. “Thanks. Enjoy your night.”
A lasting“It’s fucking Celene”would’ve tied their interaction in a satisfying, petty bow, but how could she get so snide when Brenda said what she wanted to hear from her own flesh and blood?
Celene – 8:48 pm
I’m free. Finally.
Nadine – 8:50 pm
So I don’t have to help you bury Brenda’s body?
Celene – 8:51 pm
Something tells me she’d talk underground.
Nadine – 8:53 pm
Her corpse would cry out for you.
Sister
Sister!
SISTER
Weaving through guestsmingling and moving to infectious beats, Celene pressed a hand over her first real smile since she’d seen her best friend Nadine yesterday. Nadine stuck by Celene’s side for the entirety of the day—the Mehndi ceremony, the chá de panela, brunch, and everything between. For moral support, yes, but mainly because Nadine’s life had gotten ten times busier since her parents began priming her to take more responsibility in their family’s company. Between that and Celene’s travels around the Northeast, their linkups were practically sacred.
It meant the world since Nadine abhorred weddings; she called them cringe.
While following (some of) Brenda’s protocols, they’d throw short gazes at any attractive women passing by. They’d signal “oh, she’s cute” with a smirk to each other, then get back to rearranging the centerpieces.
Even if they weren’t on Lovefest Spectacular duty, they both took on rather apathetic positions on dating. No apps, no meetups, no DM responses. Cordial yet firm rejections when women approached, especially at affairs full of the sapphic ilk. Nonexistent love lives bred productivity, focus, and comfortable solitude.
However. Celene wasn’t naïve. Nor was she in denial.
