Page 64 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
This womanlived. Did Skye?
Frustratingly, June made good points. The love of her life wouldn’t just pop into her town, woo her into shambles, and declare her undying adoration. That was a dream that should’ve died in childhood.
“This grandfather clock is two thousand bucks.” Zinnia rested her chin on Skye’s shoulder, misunderstanding why it captivated her. “You gonna buy it for Luce?”
The untouchable room held one already, owned by her granddad—accurate for the clock’s name. It used to supply a rhythmic tick to any blues, Motown, and soft rock from his record player. He’d mastered a wildly efficient way of sitting three bowls of tiles on his lap, sorting through them at speeds Skye hadn’t matched to this day. In Skye’s teens and adulthood, she’d lay a blanket out on the floor and help him swap out bowls Luce needed. Their little assembly line.
An occasionally in-the-clouds type himself, he never nagged her if she missed a snippet of a comment, if he had to nudge her a third time to grab a bowl of vermilion squares. He taught her the string technique of not getting lost, since not everyone was as understanding.
“Skye?”
She smiled at Zinnia, knowing it looked weak. By some miracle, she recalled the question. “No. We don’t need it.”
“Alright.” Zinnia swiped her hand in a circle over Skye’s back, her nails scraping against the loose fabric. “Let’s go look on another floor.”
“After you.” Though Skye opened her phone’s messaging app and expressed what she hadn’t with her friends. To Celene.
Skye – 3:57 pm
I miss my granddad.
Don’t know why I told you that.
She wouldn’t expect an immediate answer, and she didn’t want one, either. Her and Celene’s lips have touched; they’ve gazed into each other’s eyes. That couldn’t be too intimate to confess.
Tired of the clocks, Skye followed Zinnia and June upstairs.
Nadine Hayes had an underplaying habit.A “low-key dinner” could mean a reservation at Nobu. “Running to grab shoes” may devolve into an hours-long hunt through Soho for a specific pair of heels in its half size. “Should I break up with her?” meant sneaking into a girlfriend’s condo to take her stuff back.
The “hangout” Nadine mentioned led Celene to a boutique flower shop after operating hours. Sitting at a metal table for a twelve-person class, creating botanical resin art. Nadine and Dante split the costs for the three of them to attend, as they agreed their parents would value an anniversary gift made by their adult twins’ (and expert instructors’) hands. This left Celene a little shellshocked, grasping for what she’d do. Celene wasn’t a creative, she reminded them.
“Let’s make them a picture frame.” Nadine pointed a manicured nail at the yellow printouts, nudging her brother in the ribs.
Swiping on his phone, Dante managed to no-look whack her, and Celene couldn’t help picturing this as their configuration in utero. Havoc on a pregnant Maxine Hayes’s insides.
Maxine once told Celene that for ultrasound checkups, fetus Nadine and Dante constantly socked each other in the face. The doctor assured her and their father Leonard that they:
1. had a low possibility of actual harm and 2. wouldn’t end up despising each other.
The doctor had been right on both counts. Never mind Nadine’s annoyed comments or Dante contributing zilch to the idea table—these two were bonded for eternity. They shared similar piercing dark brown eyes and borderline contemptuous smiles, an interesting contrast to the considerate gift.
At both ends of their table, the instructors distributed clear bins of dried and pressed flowers, fern fronds, gold and silver leaf, pigments, seeds, and other embellishments. Ever since Celene embarked on the Vale home improvement path, she’d been into nature more than ever before. More so after?—
“Skye.” Nadine spoke the name alone, like a specimen to examine. Celene’s pulse picked up at the very mention; she flipped her page absently. “Does she do this kind of stuff? The crafty, DIY sticks and twigs thing?”
This and much more. Skye excelled at exquisite fine arts, which could make someone like Celene weep. “She does. Her grandmother had me over for lunch twice, and there’s art in every corner. I haven’t gotten a chance to search Skye’s room.”
“Y’all have been in each other’s faces, and you haven’t seen her room.” Dante lifted his phone to capture a burst of selfies, then brought it to the table to post. He’d gone to the barber, andthe online world needed to know. “Playing the long game. I see you.”
Celene spun a flattened dandelion between her thumb and middle finger. Into adulthood, she’d licked and moaned and bitten through innumerable kisses. Yet, that single kiss from Skye still frustrated her. Replying to Skye’s message about missing her grandfather didn’t deter Celene; it enhanced the intrigue. It further blurred their flimsy lines. “It’s not a long game.”
Dante didn’t believe her, judging by the smile upon his clean-shaven face. Not by choice—the guy grew such paltry fuzz that he bladed it off religiously. “Can this one be more talkative than Quinn? I’m asking for stimulating conversation.”
Skye probably wasn’t any better; Celene grinned. “Let’s move on. How’syourlove life?”
“Nonexistent,” Nadine volunteered for him. With long, sure fingers, she placed dried roses on the printed outline to test their scale. “Our parents are starting to sweat. We’re mid-thirties and not a wedding or grandbaby in sight.”
Anniversary gifts constructed by their uncommitted adult children. At least they put in an effort. Dante set his phone down to laugh. “We should fuck with ’em. On the bottom, write a note that says, ‘The Hayes bloodline stops here.’”
