Page 26 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
“That old haunted shed? The shed with the bats?!”
Celene sipped at her dark roast, then added a dab more simple syrup she bought from a cute café on Main Street. “We saw a bat fly outoncewhen you were nine. If Ajay runs into one, I trust he has the common sense to avoid it.”
Elise grumbled, but didn’t run to his rescue. She reached for the single cereal box in the cabinet, shaking it to check how empty. “I swear if you indirectly kill my husband...”
“He can outrun a bat.”
“No, he can’t! He has a bad knee.”
“A bad knee from what? Producing tracks on his laptop?”
“A skiing accident, thank you kindly.” She angled her chin high, as if that were some manly badge of honor. “You kill this husband, it’s your responsibility to find me a new one.”
They shared a laugh. Celene’s standards would knock out most of the male population, and Elise would be too big of a weeping widow to notice.
“I’m going by Gertrude’s today to see if they can replace this—” Celene spread her fingers on the aged Formica bar counter. “With marble. Or granite. Quartz. Anything that won’t peel at the edges like this garbage.”
Elise shook at her hair, trotting to the window doors. “No need. They’re here.”
“Who?” Celene peered at a van from Gertrude’s Home Improvement parked on the street lining their yard. “Wait, did you call them?”
“Yo, welcome to our crib,” Elise shouted from the door opening, voice congested and way too loud. June and a wide-set man in matching green flannel trudged over the yard, laughing at the reference. “Come on in!”
Celene cringed at their work boots sinking into carpet she surely wanted to remove. “Hello again, June,” she greeted, then to the young guy, “Are you related to Gertrude, too?”
“Yes, Mrs. Vale,” he replied, immediately backtracking when Celene flinched at the formal and inaccurate title. Sure, the gray-free facial hair on his deep skin hinted at a person in his early twenties, but damn. “Uh, I mean. Former Missus?”
“We’re tied by marriage,” June filled in for him, hugging his shoulders with a proud arm. “This here is Tariq. He and my sister April are happy newlyweds.”
Celene could overlook the month-based names because someone being married before thirty surprised her. Even Donovan and Briana had been a shock. “Okay, cong?—”
“Newlyweds! Oh my god, I’m a newlywed, too,” Elise gushed, aiming her mug to the air in congrats. “Elise Vale Mehta, of the Hell’s Kitchen Mehtas. My husband’s in the backyard, warding off bats.”
“He’s sweeping the shed,” Celene deadpanned.
Tariq rubbed fingers into the side of his beard. “Aren’t bats out during the day rabid?”
“What?!” Coffee sloshed to the carpet at Elise’s full-body stomp in place. “Celene, shit! I don’t want to be a widow.”
“We’ll go check on him,” June announced, patting Tariq to follow her. He hesitated, like he wanted to help wipe the floor. Celene dismissed him with a wave.
Elise blotted a handful of used tissues on the spill. Celene could let her deal with it on her own, but the satisfaction wouldn’t endure, and she’d be left irritated by the stain on their tan carpeting until it’s ripped out entirely. At least the bedrooms had hardwood floors.
While Celene dabbed it with a wet hand towel, Elise ran her mouth. “First name basis with the home improvement lady. Have you met all five lesbians in Yielding already?”
“You don’tknowher sexuality,” Celene commented.
Her sister mumbled a “true, true” and a few minutes later, they’d effectively removed the coffee. Celene went back to the bar with no stools, bringing her mug to her mouth.
Yesterday, at Luce’s shop, she began reevaluating Skye’s relationship with June. Seeing them together once stoked a tepid curiosity; a second time inclined her to assess their comfort. June moved like she’d spent many afternoons there, yukking it up as a regular. And while Celene browsed through mosaic samples too splashy and themes outside her taste, she tried to read any chemistry between them.
Visiting Skye had been both a blessing and a mistake. A blessing since it resulted in exclusive fine art, a gift to herself for this house nonsense. A mistake because of Skye.
In her oversized pullover and jeans roughly sheared mid-calf, Skye might fool an inattentive woman into thinking her no-frills, indifferent to her appearance. Fortunately, Celene was wise in women. That hair had been professionally cut, lending to why, when tousled with strands sticking to her lips and lashes, a photographer could get a centerfold-ready shot at any angle. And she smelled like muffins and flowers and fuckinghoney. Skye wasn’t anyone’s condescending idea of a “small town ten;” she was atenten.
Ugh, Celene needed to get out of Yielding.
As she scrolled for new text messages, June reappeared, partner-less. Hiking a thumb, she informed them, “Tariq’s sticking around to finish the shed, free of charge. Big J’s tired of killing spiders.”
