Page 69 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
Celene – 10:15 pm
Could you use some company?
Just us.
Skye – 10:17 pm
Yeah, alright.
Take my entrance on the side of the house. The door’s mahogany.
Bolting to her bedroom to hop into waffle knit shorts, she came up with excuses for why Celene would drop by without spending time with Luce. The last thing she wanted was a bad impression after weeks of Celene gaining Luce’s favor.
That progression of thought didn’t last long. Because two knocks sounded at Skye’s private door.
Already? She didn’t hear a car.
Regardless, Skye wiggled into a sleeveless top, hoping she came off calm and homey. And attractive. Not that it mattered.
When she opened her door, Skye realized she should’ve done more preparation. A blast from the past stood on the concrete doorstep: Celene, classy in sleeves she’d pushed mid-arm, her elegant watch, a skirt that stopped above the knee. And heels.
Post-work clothes. Like the night outside the blueberry patch.
She stammered to apologize until she noticed Celene was similarly rapt. Hugging herself, Skye explained, “I...wasn’t expecting guests.”
“I don’t see your arms often,” Celene said, meeting Skye’s eyes with a hint of that mischief that weirdly comforted her. “I’m not complaining.”
“Come in.” She waved a hand to her room, glad she’d tidied it. It’d been bound to happen when she’d been avoiding Luce in the worst of her moods. “Shoes on or off. I don’t mind.”
Celene kicked off her heels, mostly leveling their eye lines. More intense than before. She circled Skye in soundless footsteps, sly smile unwavering. “I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”
“No. We should keep our voices down, though.” Skye cringed; it sounded so juvenile.
“This used to be your parents’ suite, right?” Celene changed to the topic in a softer tone. Her lovely fingers splayed towards the loft bed built over a couch, lamp, and desk. Mosaic tile experiments littered the desk’s top, but it otherwise looked clean enough.
“Yep. We played in here sometimes.”
“I remember. Love what you’ve done with it. Great use of space.”
Skye would listen more attentively, yet Celene smelled amazing—almost excessively sharp. It pulled her in with little resistance. She coasted her fingertips over her rectangular table, also topped with mosaic paraphernalia. “Thanks. June built the loft bed.”
Celene’s swift head turn made her breath catch. Skye swore some disdain flashed through her eyes. “She’s getting married, you told me?”
“She is. To Zini. You met her.”
Snapping that thread of conversation, Celene carefully slid her handbag to the table. It looked as fancy as its wearer. Sleek and imposing. Celene tapped indigo nails on the bag, then side-eyed Skye. “Did you miss me?”
Skye fought her inclination to swoon. Celene’s posture read assured; her voice betrayed a tremor of guardedness, hesitation. It was a real question. So, Skye nodded, searching eyes tastefullymade up, boldened in competent black swathes. “How couldn’t I?” Playing with a tile, she asked, “Did you missme?”
Celene opened her bag with a quick, tuneful zip, voluminous hair blocking her profile. Overt elusiveness, or so Skye suspected until Celene extracted four objects wrapped in tissue paper. She situated them in a row, about an inch apart, before rubbing her palms over her fitted skirt. With a rasp, she said, “Your grandfather meant so much to you; I’m sorry he’s gone. I never met any of my grandparents before they died.”
“Thanks.” Skye glanced at the tissue-papered items, then held Celene’s gaze. “Is that why you’re fascinated by seniors? I couldn’t help noticing.”
“I’m interested in older people because they’vedoneit. They’ve survived. Built their histories and, regardless of their choices, have stories to tell. I envy their openness, even when they’re wrong.” She sighed restlessly through lips touched with a subtle color, and Skye held her breath. “I know they still have life ahead of them, but I’m jealous they can look back and say they tried.”
Living with her grandmother, encased in the world her grandparents created tile by tile, deprived Skye of this perspective. A touch of idealism tinted Celene’s admiration; she couldn’t fault her for that. Luce and her friends amazed her, too. Skye hadn’t noticed she’d reached for Celene’s hand until her smooth fingers squeezed back.
“Open them,” Celene offered, touching the leftmost bundle.
