Page 40 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
“Riveting,” Nadine droned. “A tree-climbing old friend wants Celene to fake date her. That’s what we’re doing?”
“Hold up, this is forCelene?” Dante’s personality bounced between perceptive and acerbic. A natural extension of Nadine. “You need to do it, then. You get no play.”
Celene scoffed, and so did Nadine, who also dated nobody. “You can’t talk, Dante. When was your last girlfriend?”
The three of them locked their hearts in safety deposit boxes; another reason their rapport flourished. He mumbled under his breath before going, “This isn’t about me. Anyway, Quinn’s the past. You’re opening yourself up to new things.”
“New heartbreak,” Nadine muttered.
“It’s still new,” he concluded. “Do it.”
“There you have it.” Celene’s best friend of a decade lay back, replacing her sunglasses. Thoroughly done with their betrayal. “You could go the rational route and find your equal, who meets you halfway in a true partnership, deception-free. Or you could have...whatever this will be.” With a gulp at her half-melted iced coffee, Nadine shrugged. “The choice is yours.”
Burningthe candle at both ends may have been achievable in her early twenties, when Skye could roll out of bed after forty-five minutes’ sleep and operate effectively. Those additional ten-plus years, while usually not the most noticeable, plagued her current-day body with dry eyes and rigid joints.
During the day, Skye managed the shop. In the evenings, right after work, she’d assist Luce in mixing grout, polishing, and organizing a slew of special pieces for the upcoming festival. WhileFamily Feudplayed, Luce’s agile fingers blurred as she set each tile in a complex andamento for the true-to-life-sized arrangements, calling at Skye for any assistance. Be it to replenish the color-coded tesserae or jot down memos.
It also marked a time where grandmother and granddaughter switched roles, for Skye to be the caretaker. Fixing snacks and meals for Luce, prompting her to take five-minute stretch breaks, and opening the screened windows for ventilation. At Luce’s midnight bedtime, Skye tidied everything optimally, ready for the next morning’s goals.
Then, Skye would enter through the bedroom’s trap door to her covert studio and chip away at Celene’s commission. She’d already received half the due amount—more than she could imagine anyone paying her for art.
Skye sneak-ordered her stash of glass, smalto, and tools, keen not to get them mixed into Luce’s supply. Mocking up test patterns took hours. So did drafting concepts on graph paper and experimenting with flexible, bendy wire. Skye would crawl from her workspace like a mole person, greeted by the unwelcome spray of morning light. Other nights, she’d pass out before getting to touch the Forever Fuchsia and mourn the lost time more than lost sleep.
Thanks to multiple fans and windows, the rollable metal racks of Luce’s drying artwork clogging the living room and hall didn’t turn their home into a fume risk. One ridiculous enough to suggest pushing a rack or two in Walter’s off-limits study would have Luce biting their head off, though Skye considered it absurd not to utilize the space. Not an artist himself, her granddad loved art and anything related—he’d understand.
Skye yawned into her arm, realizing she’d carried her rinsed toothbrush into the dining area. Setting it aside in a cup, she and Luce detoured from festival needs to finish a custom portrait of a patron’s great-grandson. It’d come out superbly, amber enamel emphasizing his large, downward-sloping eyes.
“Have you eaten?” Skye asked, chopping a Honeycrisp apple into cubes. Manipulating a paring knife woke her up some. No time for nicked fingertips.
Receiving a noncommittal noise, half-drowned out by a movie’s action sequence, Skye rolled up her sleeves to scoop out oats and pecans for two servings of oatmeal. She’d whip up some eggs, too. They had a busy day ahead of them. “I’ll be out this evening. Around...” She blinked hair away from her eyes. “Six, I guess. Dinnertime.”
Luce found her voice to ask, “Is your girlfriend in town?”
The other reason Skye sacrificed sleep.
A text message three long days after sending thought-out answers to Celene’s initial questions about their fake dating arrangement.
Celene – 11:07 am
Okay, I’ll do it.
Somewhere down the line, Skye’s comfortable—if not occasionally humdrum—life bloomed into something out of a TV show: collusion in a secret dating arrangement.
Reluctant to have Celene come to her senses and change her mind, she’d tried her version of indifference. Deleting any knee-jerk ‘Really?’ or ‘Omgkfsjdfd,’ she’d decided on:
Skye – 11:09 am
Cool. We can map out the details when you’re back.
“Map out the details,” Skye mocked herself over diced apples sautéing on the stove. What did that even mean? Origin stories? Made up inside jokes? Detailed timelines? A rundown of their imaginary intimacy?
Celene’s cunning smile as she’d teased,I’ll show you what I want if you take me home,floated to mind, and Skye shook a big pile of cinnamon into her mixture. In the cloud puff, she coughed, “Shit.”
“Skye! You’re spacing out,” Luce shouted, head still down as she capped a tube of adhesive. “Are you seeing Celene? Invite her over so I can learn more about her people.”
“The relationship’s very, very new.” Skye spooned goopy excess cinnamon into the metal sink in quick, messy swipes. Adding oatmeal will salvage it. “Maybe we can give her some time before you interrogate her about her family?”
Luce cawed out a laugh dripping in sarcasm. “Me? You must’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with.”
