Page 60 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
Thalia widened thickly painted eyes when she recognized Celene, black matte lipstick tracing her somber smile. She’d opted for her dark hair today, in ringlets encircling her head. “Celene, in the flesh. My prayers have been answered.”
Celene liked this person, unwieldy bulk of jewelry and all. She fake-browsed a half-off basket of pins, feeling Thalia staring at her peanut butter pendant. “Is Skye in?”
“You’re not a stranger anymore.” Thalia nodded backward, an apron over her tapered black dress. “Head on to the office. Skye’s wrapping up stock management and—” she stage-whispered in a manner that evoked Elise, “please cheer her up. I sneaked citrine stones in there, but I think she needs you.”
Career and friend-wise, Celene had gained privileged access to some of Manhattan’s most exclusive spaces with moderate excitement. Nevertheless, her pulse raced more as she maneuvered around the counter to the weird red room with candy wrapper wall art. It didn’t help that she’d practically offered to make Skye come against one of those walls.
Celene pushed the ajar door, peeking inside.
Skye wasn’t working. Her laptop had gone dark as she stared out the squat, rectangular window, hands pressed between her knees, on the edge of the computer chair. Celene satisfied her fix on Skye’s lips, the gentle angles of her face, and wayward expression until Skye double-blinked, realizing she had a visitor.
“Hi,” Celene whispered, a quiet trespasser. She clicked the door closed behind her, squinting around the room’s red. “Thalia tells me you’re down today.”
Skye unballed her hand, revealing three clear, light golden gemstones in her palm. “She’s like the Easter Bunny, leaving citrine around. I found one in my pocket.”
At the festival, Celene had plopped onto Skye’s lap with no forethought, and that had been a mistake. It’d given her a sample of her friend’s lean, unfathomable softness. And now, Celene wanted to curl back there. “Have you had lunch?”
“I haven’t.”
“June said you spend your lunches with the birds and squirrels.” She made sure to keep it casual, not to sound snide or patronizing. “Care to show me? Maybe we could have a picnic.”
No blanket. No snacks. No anything. Proposing a picnic.
Celene couldn’t stop herself. Not in the face of Skye’s sullen mood.
“Right now?” Skye woke up her laptop to see the time. “For how long?”
Every part of Celene strained to clutch Skye around her gorgeous face and kiss her. “As long as you want.”
“Okay.” Seconds ticked by, and as each elapsed, Skye’s smile grew. “That would be wonderful. We can order from the food court, and I’m sure we have a blanket around here.”
Skye removed her apron and packed her bag with renewed energy. Celene unlocked her phone as a distraction, to not muse on herself being the cause.
Granddad Walter died this day,two years ago.
Skye needed no reminders, but Luce’s glib comments and gruff micromanaging all morning would’ve tipped her off. While she admired Luce ninety-five percent of the time, that last five percent packed a punch. In grieving, she became a surly misanthrope. It could last a few hours or extend to weeks. No telling what direction it’d fall. Skye closed the door that foggy morning on her grandmother screaming for her to “give her some damn space.”
Sorrow talking, surely. Didn’t make her feel less like shit.
Under the pretense of spreadsheet work, Skye moped in the office. None of those number entries made sense in her state.
In her unique mode of mourning, Thalia floated in every hour and each visit; a citrine crystal materialized. On the desk, or in a potted plant, or tucked into Skye’s shirt. Skye had squeezed each one, willing them to do their thing. To make the pain go away.
“Warning. I’ve never had a picnic outside of a well-manicured park,” Celene groused, tipping her nice shoes around the woods’ sticks and overgrowth. “Thisis where you find solace?”
Laughing, Skye surveyed the imperfect lay of trees, the rocks cragging from the fertile earth. It smelled ripe, untethered from her issues. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I doubt that.”
Probably right. She wouldn’t live in Yielding forever.
Skye pointed to a fallen tree. Immense, lacked decay or poison ivy, and with the right balance, they could eat comfortably. Celene wouldn’t fare well on the ground, where they’d encounter more bug friends.
They draped an old quilt onto the trunk and, upon it, unpacked boxes from a vegan spot on the first floor. Save snippets of conversation regarding the smoked tempeh’s flavor or birds picking around for crumbs, it’d gone wordlessly.
Skye was grateful for that. After reaching their fill, they packed everything up so they wouldn’t lure more creatures their way.
Sitting cross-legged, Celene ponied her hair with an elastic, flashing abs whenever she raised her arms. Skye feigned disinterest, but not well enough. Celene grinned fiendishly.
