Page 24 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
“You’re not on the dating apps. You spend your free time running ’round for Luce or out in nature. You can’t date the squirrels.” June’s grin came off pained, flakes dappling her healing cheeks. “You expect to sit back, and a woman will emerge out of thin air to sweep you off your feet, doing all the heavy lifting to romance you.”
“Is that wrong?” Skye asked, vulnerable around all the beauty her grandma created while Granddad was still alive. She’d love to build something as beautiful with someone, someday. “I don’t expect her to do all the heavy lifting...”
“She would. If you’re sitting around.”
“You and Zini found each other easily.”
“Because I stepped outside my comfort zone. I left the house. I dated.” June exhaled, a little too exasperated. “It’s like you’re waiting for an idyllic love story. It’s unrealistic.”
Skye gripped her labradorite, barely noticing she’d done so. “Says who?”
“Says anyone. Everyone.”
Harkening back to Luce’s short-lived excitement of a possible date, Skye deflated. She batted back tears, or else June and her big heart would be crushed. Yet, Skye had never beenthe most conventional; why should her love happen that way? “I guess I can’t grasp everyone’s urgent need to be on someone’s arm. What’s wrong with waiting for love to show up?”
The wind chimes jingled. And in walked Celene, halting at the door.
Celene’s dark eyes widened, then she inspected her wristwatch. “Are you closed already? It’s only 3:24.”
June smiled as brightly as she did in their first encounter. “Hello again, newcomer.”
“Hey. June, right?”
Displaying manners nobody asked for, June stood at her full height, smoothing her hat-misshapen hair. “That’s right. June Christensen. And over here’s?—”
“Skye,” Celene interrupted. She fell into a slow gait to the relief display. Without looking away from the wall of assorted color squares, she added, “We go way back.”
“You do?”
“We do,” Skye hissed to June, begging with her eyes not to make it a big deal. They usually shared all sides of themselves, so she’d conveniently left this fact out. At store manager volume, she asked Celene, “Do you need anything in particular?”
“I’ll browse.” Though she moved slowly, there was a strictness to Celene’s movements. The pin-straight posture, her short, deliberate glances at a price tag or the names of pieces. It fascinated Skye, truthfully, to observe a person nearly as small as her exude the energy of someone of June’s height. Or taller. A giant in a 5’4 body.
Letting her feet take her to her daily tasks, Skye got a broom from the closet-break room and slid it across the floor. As she swept, she acquired snippets of Celene’s shopping experience. In a thin jacket, tailor-perfect slacks, and low heels, Celene would dedicate long moments to staring at items, quickly moving to thenext. And by the set of her jaw and how she folded her arms, Skye gained an inkling.
She propped her broom on a shelf and stepped in as closely as she could, an act of bravery unrealized. As measured as possible, she observed, “You don’t like anything.”
Celene’s scrutiny faded, replaced by an almost apologetic look. “I don’t believe I’m your grandmother’s audience. Her stuff is a little kitsch for my taste.”
June probably didn’t know what kitsch meant, but she came to bat for Luce despite that. “What do you mean? You can’t be too good for it—Luce sells big. Without exception. She’s a part of history.”
“She’s undeniably talented,” Celene replied with a dry, almost cutting ease. “I saidI’mnot her audience.”
Skye searched for outrage.
She should’ve been angry, right? For that snob-ass comment. Yet it wasn’t terribly off the mark. Kitsch was kind of harsh, but did Luce appeal to an older crowd and a different vibe than the Celenes of the world.
While Skye could apologize for wasting Celene’s time, she instead nodded toward the Candy Red Office. “I’ll show you more in the back.”
Ignoring June’s confusion, Celene followed Skye into the red room with the wrapper-deco walls, closing them in. Celene leaned her backside on the desk, as the room wasn’t large. “Is this where you beat up the customers who misbehave?”
Skye laughed as she unlocked her phone, opening a private photo album. After passing that off to Celene, she crouched to root around her messenger bag. God, she should’ve left the door ajar because Celene’s perfume made her dizzy.
“Okay,theseare different,” Celene breathed. “Where does your grandmother store them? Are they exclusive?”
“Yeah, they’re exclusive.” Skye waited for Celene to stop swiping from image to image, simultaneously flattered by her interest. “Luce didn’t make them, though. I did.”
In the photos were mosaics, but as fully freestanding sculptures Skye hand-cut and chiseled to replicate natural sights native to their region. Like a bunch of cardinal flowers, its vibrant red handmade mosaic petals Skye painstakingly soldered together onto hinges so that with a gentle hand, one could bend the pieces. Or a sugar maple branch, its see-through leaves orange from the fall. Her sculptures encouraged the viewer to interact with them, to touch things that looked like—or even could—break apart. Much like nature itself.
