Page 29 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls

Any could work, but something hopeful —and ick,sentimental—favored her mother wrapping herself in it before sitting out on the back deck, those twenty-something years ago. Still, Celene’s memories didn’t protect her from the evening’s chill like this gray cotton blend.

Celene picked up on Elise or Ajay rifling out in the kitchen, starting the microwave with excessive beeps. She’d left her light on and hoped they didn’t see it as an invitation to hang out.

With younger siblings, opinionated parents, and the extras of in-and-out family blending, Celene’s sense of privacy had been under attack most of her life. Even in adulthood, anything significant to Celene—introducing Quinn to her family, a glaring example—started okay. Then, when things had gone south, her family wouldn’t let her forget it. They reminded her she’d been abandoned like that cardigan, or that Quinn’s beautiful girlfriend got along so fucking well with Donovan’s girls, or Celene hadn’t gained experience soothing babies.

She’d hated those neighbor girls Elise brought up—Clarissa—no, definitely Claire—and Barbara-Lynn Wayne. That first summer vacation in Yielding, Byron befriended the sisters’ dad, a boon during his short-lived DIY phase. The Wayne father woodworked everything, including an expansive two-story playhouse in their backyard. Celene, Elise, and eventually littleDonovan, based on proximity alone, gained automatic access to enter throughtheir gate to partake.

Respectively one and two years older than Celene, Claire and Barbara-Lynn were absolute dictators. Elise’s sunny demeanor won them over, but they clashed with Celene constantly, as the Waynes praised, breathed, and sustained themselves on strict gender roles. Celene pushed back against them enforcing her to wear their tutus or tending to the babydolls. And their terror extended to literally dragging boys off Goldfinch Lane to act as their “husbands” while playing house. Claire shoved the runt of the boys to Celene, readying them for a mock wedding.

That was Celene’s last straw.

Elise had been a kid, eager for acceptance. She’d looked away when Celene told her they should both leave. So, Celene stormed out, and instead of flying into the Vale house to find an adult, she kept going down the street, as swiftly as she could, into the woods.

Now, at thirty-six years old, Celene could rationalize their childlike motivations. It made sense; she’d been uncooperative not only in the husband thing, but in any game where she felt as cornered as those fake husbands did. Aware of herself, her attitude probably brought the mood down.

Eight-year-old Celene had sunk into the cold dirt, breaking down against a tree. She didn’t know this area or how far she’d run. And that meant she’d be kidnapped or eaten by a bear. Another reason to cry until she heard a voice above ask:

“You like birds?”

She’d batted her wet eyes and sun rays flowing past treetops to Skye swinging her feet, smiling down at her.

Celene – 8:32 pm

Does Yielding have much of a nightlife?

After tossing the phone to the comforter, Celene clapped a hand over her eyes. Did she care about Yielding’s middling nightlife? No, not at all. She preferred relaxing with tea and a psychological thriller she’d downloaded to her e-reader. Yet, what other excuse would cover texting at this hour?

Skye – 8:40 pm

Nothing good on a Tuesday night.

I’m not the one to ask, though.

Celene’s top teeth dented into her lip as she rolled onto her stomach, letting the smile slip through. She studied the messages to see if they meant anything deeper. Loner or a lover of peace, like herself? Too unbothered or busy with a partner?

Celene – 8:44 pm

Why not? Are you a recluse?

Skye – 8:46 pm

I’m doing this.

And Celene held her breath for her phone to load a picture of about thirty bowls of tiny mosaic pieces scattered around a bedroom, telling by the part of a rug and woodgrain floor. Although that wasn’t what made Celene pinch and zoom. In the background stood a full-length mirror propped on the wall, where the reflection showed Skye sitting cross-legged in a hoodie, the phone covering the lower half of a very concentrated face. Skye definitely didn’t notice herself in this. Her legs were bare, and Celene wondered if she had shorts on or not.

Feeling playful, she screenshot her zoomed-in segment and sent it back to Skye.

Celene – 8:51 pm

Oh, hello, recluse.

Skye – 8:52 pm

Wth

The tiles. You’re supposed to be looking at the tiles.

“Like I give a damn about tiles.” Celene kept her voice low and loathed that she had to. But she’d heard snippets of Elise and Ajay chatting through her door, more rumblings than discernible words.