Page 28 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
Celene – 10:16 am
Thank you.
The dots of Skye typing started. Then stopped. On and off, suspending Celene on the edge of her seat until finally, a text materialized.
Skye – 10:23 am
I’m calling it the Forever Fuchsia. Because it’ll never wilt.
Celene gazed at her real-life fuchsia on the table next to the window door, downturned pink blossoms yawning open. Vibrant, beautiful, and nothing close to wilting.
Time alone had lured Celene into a false sense of security, finding the peaceful potential in this house. Only for it to be destroyed by family. Elise cough-laughed at maximum volume social media videos, belaboring the point. Celene thumbed out another message, as Skye had yet to give her a headache.
Celene – 10:26 am
Fitting. I like it.
Having a tidy,organized shed should’ve been a cause of modest celebration—maybe pizza. Instead, Celene, Elise, and Ajay argued over the splintery wooden plank sporting six broad strokes of Gertrude’s most popular house stains.
Celene knew she had final say, but it wouldn’t pass without lots of hemming and hawing if it came out any less than perfect for the whole house. They’d bickered until Celene fled to a tea shop in time for a client call, desperately needing space. Their family was heavy on discord and deficient in resolution.
After telecommunications on free wifi good enough for email and too choppy for video, Celene visited a couple of vintage stores. Nothing stood out, and the salespeople assumed she’d cave to their unreasonable prices. Her dad may foot the bill; it didn’t mean she’d be taken advantage of.
Starving, she to-go ordered what was supposed to be an uncomplicated vegan sandwich. Driving back to the summer house, she impatiently bit into it and gagged when she pulled a hunk of prosciutto from her mouth. A revolting mix-up. Its dry, limp side salad kept her alive, which she washed down with a green juice while parked in her driveway.
Elise and Ajay made too many unsubtle remarks for Celene to “take her time” for their “bonding” to know how they’d passed the hours with her out of their hair. At 7 p.m., Celene slammed the front door and upped the gusto of dropping her handbag on the table and getting water. As a courtesy warning.
She locked herself in her room before Elise and Ajay could emerge and invite her to stream a musical on their tablet.
Celene showered in the primary ensuite’s bathroom, changing into her silk nightgown. Something luxurious against her skin, but too revealing to wear out front with company present. Confined, she’d probably fall asleep soon.
Ready for bed right after 8 p.m. Life of the party.
She drew her new vertical louvered blinds from the patio door for a view of their half-grassy, half-rocky backyard, darkened by the enclosing trees. The sky, blushing with oranges and pinks, calmed her. It reminded Celene not to let everyone’s foolishness ruin this time for herself.
Not lakeside, but acceptable.
On a normal day, she’d meditate for about twenty minutes around this hour. In Yielding, she conceded, her meditation schedule fluctuated. Directly after chatting with a contractor or Elise? Meditation, yes. When gazing at the natural colors the world had to offer? Celene merely lounged on her fluffy comforter.
She used to tell Quinn a fantasy of escaping where nobody knew them. To live away from the familiar concrete and high-decibel noise. Yielding hadn’t been in the equation, however. She’d been thinking of states with more scenic qualities, even upstate New York, near Tara. Quinn had listened politely, though she thrived in cities, and Celene couldn’t picture her ex leaving that behind. It’d been a recurring talking point, a dream of a burnt-out city dweller.
Absently, Celene unlocked her phone and reread the contract signed and delivered hours ago. Skye had a graceful, calligraphic signature.
Be it the lack of dinner or the resplendent scene through her dated French doors, Celene let her mind roam, wandering only to a love life she’d locked away the moment Quinn left her.
She’d noticed Quinn Archer at a friend’s going away party more than five years ago, and god, shecouldn’tconcentrate on anyone else. Quinn had been stuck nodding through some unsightly man rambling about god-knows-what, and Celene couldn’t let it continue. She strutted up to them and, in plain English, told him, “She’s not interested. Go away.” He’d faltered, trying to laugh it off, until he noticed neither of them laughing along, and unsurprisingly, he lumbered off to bore someone else.
Quinn’s beauty hit Celene like a firecracker. Unavoidably, in her face. Lengthy, dark tresses and high cheekbones and confidence behind the shyness. Hot, hot woman, call the fire department.
Celene stared past her phone, at the ceiling spliced with wooden vaulted beams. She relaxed further, to touch on yet again, losing all sense of herself when browsing around Luce’s when she’d spotted Skye. Skye’s fine features, as delicate as her flowers and even her art, were almost unfair. Curled lashes, a swanlike neck, stylish hair going where it wanted, and looking flawless in its journey. While her beauty was undeniable, it simmered from beneath the surface, temperature rising as Celene’s eyes lingered. Skye gave furtive sexiness, almost damningly stealthy. It would overtake Celene before she’d think to dial 911.
Kind of like the actual sky. Something seen all day, but once one stopped and stared, its beauty was all-consuming.
“God,” was all Celene grumbled. That’d been almost poetic. She’d find her right mind once she exited the GWB, back to Manhattan.
It was unavoidable to lie on her back, flicking at the chipped polish on her pinky, in the room once inhabited by her parents, and not get nostalgic. Much like the gray cardigan she found that morning. It’d been abandoned in the shadowy end of thebedroom’s closet, and Celene played detective to decide which ex-wife or wife left it behind.
Cardigans were practical and understated, much to Edna’s style, but did it make sense for nobody to throw it out after so long? Lonnie, Donovan’s mother, mostly wore bomber jackets, but she’d nab anything on sale if it suited her mood. Its high quality and versatility would fit Shanice, a lover of layers. Celene couldn’t imagine Shanice leaving clothes of all things in a house she didn’t frequent.
