Page 21 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls

No, not Skye’s typeat all.

And there Skye went, like an unfortunate soul fated to test the waters, calling out, “I—uh...” She only continued whenCelene put her sister back on mute, mid-sentence. “I have a store—well, my grandma’s shop. At Yield for Art, the collective in the Creative Square off Main Street. Home stagers stop by regularly, and you may want some décor, so...yeah.”

All business, no bull, Celene thumbed at her phone. “Hours?”

Skye coughed once; she’d expended so much to even speak up. “Ten to four. Come by and I’ll give you a family discount.”

“The theme inside this house is ‘eagle.’ I’m replacing it.” Celene flashed a faint, stingy smile. “Thank you, Skye.”

Finding more opportunities to speak too daunting, Skye rode away to her and Luce’s house with a terracotta exterior as warm as its history of residents. Where she felt accepted and at home. Because Celene certainly didn’t feel like it.

6

Early Monday morning, Elise and Ajay parked their car behind Celene’s.

That was when Celene’s headache started.

Thanks to Byron’s big mouth and tendency to look past Elise’s disinterest, he allowed her input on the Yielding property venture. While the house bore an arduous presence in her life, this big, ugly house with the flu-ish pallor washerrenovation, and she’d direct every aspect of its changes.

Celene made it clear before Ajay’s foot touched the patchy ground—he and Elise were guests. Assistants. Extra hands.

She allowed them to chit-chat with her about their impending honeymoon, pass out on the couch for an hour, and eat what little she had in the kitchen. In turn, Elise reacted to the fresh Poconos air wretchedly—congestion, swollen eyes, dry coughs. Pretty much a disaster, given her profession: voice acting for audiobooks and corporate explainer videos. Ajay ran to buy a pharmacy’s worth of allergy medicine, glued to her side until Celene recruited him.

“Byron told me there’s a TV,” Ajay said, shutting the awful window behind him. It whined so sharply, they both cringed. “Elise wants to watch PayDate.”

PayDate: an inane reality dating show where people hungry for internet fame disliked each other for cash. Quinn used to binge it. “I removed the flatscreen.”

“Please say sike.”

“I won’t.” Celene barely watched television, and it disrupted the living room’s harmony. “She’ll have to rot her brain on a smaller screen.”

Ajay double-blinked. “Well, damn, sis.”

“Are you handy?” Celene asked a man who spent most of his professional life in the arts. Music, theatre—he had to have assisted in set design or wielded a hammer for stage work. Some approximation of manual labor.

“I can build IKEA furniture without reading the directions,” he simply answered.

Celene crossed her arms, wondering how that correlated. “I get some local help, but I’ve subjected myself to more cobwebs, rust, grime, and ugh, bug carcasses than anyone should.”

Ajay tidied his Ivy League haircut in offbeat pats. For the wedding, he’d chopped off his billowy curls, and Elise sobbed for a week. Dryly, he replied, “Got anything from IKEA?”

“Change into something you can get a speck of dirt on and install these.” From a large cardboard box next to the front door, she presented one of many parcels delivered that morning. “The security system Dad set up is surprisingly sound, but I want this video doorbell and six cameras. It’s peace of mind if I’m in and out for however long it takes.”

“Six? I thought this was a vacation.” Ajay poked the contractor-laid gravel in the driveway with an expensive sneaker. Celene prayed he brought backups that could take some damage.

“You’ll be in Aruba next week. This is family business.” She pointed to the far side of the house; her over-six-foot brother-in-law gaped. “I left you a ladder. Though for you, that feels redundant.”

“Aw, thank you.” He began to gloat, effectively grating Celene’s patience. “I hit my biggest growth spurt when?—”

“It was anobservation, not a compliment, Ajay.”

“That’s Big J.”

“No.”

Celene closed herself in the house, massaging her temples. Three adults, and none of them excelled at physical labor. Societal successes, practical blunders.

She pulled her phone from her pocket. The entrance not attached to the deck needed painting, if not a total substitution. Byron insisted on preserving the home’s vintage qualities, but many of them were gaudy and timeworn.