Page 34 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
Luce rejoiced like mystery baskets would rain from the ceiling. Arms in the air, swaying in a way she would if she attended church. First, Miss Janetta read a valid Pokeno win. Afterwards, Celene. They both won.
Skye wheezed.
Marta, oblivious, set the water cup down and got official. The most insubordinate player she’d encountered in a long time would’ve been thrown out in the street, if up to her. “Janetta called first. She chooses first.”
Celene had slowly risen from her seat, like she intended for that to happen anyway. Though Skye realized this wasn’t better because that meant she could hang around. Uninvited, Celene leaned beside Skye, drifting her fragrance with a slight and altogether facetious smile. “Luce and I hit it off.”
Skye unplugged her microphone. Luce, huh? No more ‘your grandmother.’ “Then you can take her to ice cream. Get her butter pecan.”
Miss Janetta shook the mystery basket in its opaque shrink wrap, her mind not made up. Celene used the moment to ask, “What flavor doyoulike?”
Devoid of words for a second, Skye chewed her lip. “You really don’t have to. I’m already embarrassed.”
“I’m not leaving until later tonight.”
“I have a priority order to pack,” she hurried to mention. “And I need to finish the sorting. Work’s in the morning, so...”
“Take the date!” Luce echoed across the room to a chorus of loud chatter.
Celene drew a fingertip down the spiral of the mic’s cord. “See? You have a night off.”
Skye followed that path, then met Celene’s eyes and—god, why couldn’t she drop this infatuation? This would lead to nothing. Or worse, to reconnect only for Celene to disappear yet again. “If Miss Janetta picks the basket, I’ll do it.”
And Miss Janetta had been listening, evidenced by her thin eyebrows crooking up. “Then, I take the mystery basket.”
Skye got no chance to argue when Celene spun in place to broadcast, “She said yes.”
Who would’ve thought a lesbian could ever bemoan an accepting room of Pennsylvania elders? Skye flattened palms over her ears at the applause for the gay date that’d allegedly happen tonight.
She couldn’t mope for too long. Marta patted her arm and went into a dissertation on locking up the Pokeno equipment. Skye followed her every step, hoping the numbness in her butt would spread everywhere else.
9
Should Celene take offense?
Ten minutes after the activity room cleared, after she and Skye trotted past displays on social security, prostate checkups, and swimming pool aerobics, after eavesdropping on Luce and Skye bickering about a priority deadline, Celene was left loitering on the walkway outside the brick recreational building. Skye lost the argument with her grandmother and had been skulking around the glass bird feeders. She wouldn’t even glance in Celene’s direction. A jokey ice cream date repulsed her, clearly.
Celene didn’t know what came over her. The doors practically boomed when she busted in last-minute to Pokeno, and a quick, inquisitive trip morphed into spending her evening playing for prizes she didn’t even want.
In her normal life, Celene mediated fractured teams and mentored lackluster managers. She blended into the crowds as a New Yorker, blissful in her privacy. Or fielded calls from family with their various issues. Level-headed, responsible—accurate descriptors of Celene Vale.
In Yielding, PA, nobody knew her or expected results from her. Play a glorified version of bingo? Sure, why not? Chat with entertaining seniors? Easily. It’d been medicinal, liberating to banter with people she may not ever interact with again.
Then there was Skye, who had her little caller set up at her granny’s behest. Wholesome fucking cuteness. Her and Skye’s relationship could remain professional, but some flirting couldn’t hurt.
Especially for the payoff: Skye unconsciously pushing the long sleeves of her blouse to her elbows, then sliding them back into place. Or her failed attempts to play off Celene’s eye contact. Skye’s smooth legs restlessly dancing beneath the table, fingers twisting curl after wandering curl behind her ear. All signs of someone prone to fluster.
Celene flustered someone. How long since she’d even tried?
But she wouldn’t beg for an unsolicited date. Fuck that sort of desperation.
“Here.” Celene proffered the laminated certificate where anyone could punch out forty dollars’ worth at Nell’s. “Go with Luce. My treat.”
Skye adjusted the strap of her bag, shaking her head. The mauve sky painted them with light much too beautiful to be shut down like this. “You won, though. Its use is lifelong, so there’s no rush.”
“I won’t go destitute paying for ice cream. If my winning or even showing up today agitates you so much...” Growing irritable, Celene stuck her prize in an open pocket of Skye’s bag. “No more texts, no more visits.”
“Celene, that’s not?—”
