Page 35 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
“What is it, then? You won’t even look at me.”
Skye pulled the certificate out, bending it slightly within her slender fingers. Her nails weren’t painted; they were very nicely groomed all the same. “I don’t want you to feel obligated tospend time with me. You hit it off with Luce’s friends better than I have my whole life, so I get not wanting to disappoint them by turning me down.”
Celene never formed a reputation as the consoling type. She was predisposed to cut her losses and drive straight back to Manhattan. But she and Skye shared a history. And a contract.
One of the round, hanging feeders spun in the wind; Celene stopped the motion with a light touch. “You’re well-loved here. I can tell.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Skye breathed more than spoke. In the distance, Marta shut herself into a blue Saab parked nearby and gave a sharp, efficient wave. Skye lifted her arm in salutation. The car left the parking lot, and she said, “You’ll leave soon, but this is my home. I grew up a bit of an outcast, and now I’ve been single for years. Everyone and their mother will know the only way I got a date was because of my grandma.”
Perception problems. Celene related strongly. “That sounds suffocating.”
“That’s a good word for it. I guess I’m kinda stuck and it’s weighing on me extra lately.”
Skye, Celene noticed, didn’t always move only her eyes. Her entire head flitted in short, subtle movements. Much like a robin she spotted outside her window today. Simultaneously compelling and beautiful.
Resenting it the moment it left her mouth, Celene replied, “My ex-fiancée abandoned and ghosted me. Three years ago. My family acts like they’re past it, but I can tell they’re disappointed.” She let the bird feeder go. “You’ve met me. I’m not the most approachable.”
By then, Skye watched her with keen, sympathetic eyes.
Celene went preemptive, dreading what she’d say. “Please,pleasedon’t pity me.”
Pity would ruin her night. It’d flush her with the cold, hard reality: she was a thirty-six-year-old daughter killing time with a pointless home improvement project. All the effort she put into her fitness and peace of mind helped, but she hadn’t allowed herself to cry in months.
“Nell’s is a ten-minute walk away.” Skye pointed with the certificate, its rectangular shape starkly pink in the twilight. “I think ice cream would help both of us.”
In an unspoken understanding, Skye guided them on a grassy shortcut off the paved path, their footfalls muted.
Celene dodged a dragonfly zipping past her nose, frustrated at herself. That degree of vulnerability jarred her, frankly, never mind speaking it aloud. Those were thoughts meant for Nadine and effective meditation. Private words meant to be lost forever on a mountaintop or at a yoga retreat or on a dusty hiking trail, tasting of sweat.
It tempted her to call this off. What would she gain by hanging out with a sometimes-friend from decades ago?
Celene continued to walk, wary of more flying insects.
But it seemed more worth it when Skye said, “Celene, you’ve always been larger than life. I don’t pity you at all. I wouldn’t know how.”
Skye owed Celenean apology she lacked the tenacity to speak. As someone once considered the neighborhood misfit, it should have become second nature to keep her unfounded notions in check. Though,how? How could she when Celene carried herself so methodically, so coolly, with her head held high?
Celene messagedherfirst last night. Out of nowhere. As just another bored woman at home. That wasn’t a high-maintenancebusinesswoman with a dapper boyfriend and an abundance of plans and prospects.
Another one of Skye’s assumptions got disproven. Observed when Celene casually pushed the door open for Skye to Nell’s Rolled Ice Cream Shoppe and how she swiped two paper menus from the door stand for them.
Celene took charge effortlessly. Not as an arrogant, aloof woman, but as someone whose sense of taking charge came as naturally as breathing. It was enlightening.
And sort of sexy.
A few patrons glued eyes on Celene with her expensive handbag and flowy midnight hair, completely devoted to scanning her menu. She gave off I-command-this-place-and-I’ll-command-you-too vibes.
“Do you know what you want?”
“Mmhm…” Skye pretended to study, thoroughly acquainted with the stock. Celene smelled nicer than anything behind the glass; Skye stood close to relish it. “I’m partial to the jasmine with berries.”
Nell’s was a cute venue and, woefully, a town staple. Skye nodded politely at Mrs. Locke, her eleventh-grade English teacher, and instead of a smile in return, her stare bounced between Skye to Celene. It read as alarm. Or even disgust.
Not everyone was accepting in Yielding. Skye stepped back from Celene. Not by much, but enough to feel a little ashamed at caring about someone who graded her papers so long ago.
“I love tea flavors, too, but I’m getting toasted sesame.” Celene took Skye’s menu and deposited it in a stack on the counter. “Does sharing food bother you? Mind if I try some of yours?”
Skyedidmind…normally. That was a degree of intimacy she worked up to with women. Usually, women she liked more than friends.
