Page 27 of The Temptation of Truth
Mabel steps into my room, and I move to my suitcase, suddenly very self-conscious of, well, everything, and trying my best not to let it show. I dig through my clothes to find an outfit while being hyper-vigilant not to drop any underwear on the floor. That would be mortifying.
I haven’t been alone with her since the day we landed, and we’ve only exchanged a handful of words since our encounter inthe hallway. If I’m being honest, I’ve been avoiding her. Mabel Rossi makes me nervous, and I don’t want to make a fool of myself.Again.
It hasn’t stopped me from watching her, though. Usually through my periphery or from beneath lowered lashes, I watch her from the moment she enters a room to the moment she leaves. It’s almost impossible not to, and it makes being in this enclosed space with her that much more difficult.
Don’t be awkward, Aurora Jade. Just act normal.
“How’s the orchid? Does it approve of the room?”
I practically jump out of my skin when her question punctures my thoughts, and I whip around to find her smirking at me.
“Oh. Um. Yes? I mean, he can’t talk, because plants can’t talk, as you know. Well, not really, anyway...Though I do think they have ways of communicating without words. Drooping leaves and wilting and discoloration and....such....”
Her smirk grows into an amused grin, and my ears burn with embarrassment. I clear my throat, plaster on a plastic smile, and avert my eyes to thenon-talkingplant in question. So much foract normal. Good grief.
“The window placement is great. Thank you again.”
I hug my clothes to my chest and purse my lips as I survey the flower, my attention focused on the small bud I’ve managed to coax from him. Just one. Only ever one. A small frown pulls my brows inward.
“Now if he’ll just wake up.”
“He?”
“Arthur Orchidaceae.” I can’t help but smile as I say it. “I know it’s silly. My mom always had names for her plants.”
“Had?”
Her voice is softer around the word. I force a swallow, then nod.
“Yeah. She passed away a few years ago, so I got custody of Arthur.”
She’s quiet for a breath, and I brace myself for one of the many platitudes I get when people find out my parents are dead. I hate it, but I’m used to it. I’ve realized in the last four years that people never say those things for my sake; they say them for themselves. Because they feel uncomfortable sharing space with my grief, and they want to feel helpful. They want to believe they’ve comforted me in some way.
I don’t like it, but I understand it.
When Mabel does speak, I’m surprised to hear no pity in her tone. No fake positivity or cliché hope. Just that playful lilt that makes my stomach tighten and a welcome subject change.
“Sounds like Arthur is in recovery mode.”
“Yeah.”
Recovery mode.Him and me both. I sigh and frown harder, eyes sticking on the single bud.
“I didn’t think he’d be this temperamental, but Arthur has been a bit of a diva lately. Honestly, I took a gamble even bringing him with me, but I don’t feel comfortable entrusting him to anyone else.”
“How long has he been resting?”
When I finally glance at Mabel, I find her thankfully studying the plant, not me. I scrunch my nose.
“I don’t know if I want to tell you. Your guardian would think less of me.”
“She would never.”
I huff a laugh then walk to stand next to her. We’re the same height, and I glance down at her shoes to find that while she’s still wearing platform boots, they’re not as high as the pair from yesterday.
I try my best to ignore the way she smells, but I fail. Gardenia and something sweeter. Something fruity. I’d normally associategardenia with the older ladies at church, but not this scent. Whatever she’s wearing, it’s fresh and playful, like her. I want to drown myself in it. Growing up around flowers has given me a pretty keen sense of smell. Usually, I like it. Right now, I do not.
I widen the distance between us and give my head a shake before forcing myself back on topic.
