Page 60 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

“Not since twenty minutes ago, when I assured her he’s still alive and kicking our asses.” Elise gathered a purple stuffed bunny, stroking it on her lap like it were the real thing. “She linked me to a horrific video about SIDS. Maybe we can take shifts watching him breathe when he falls asleep.”

“ If he falls asleep.”

“Why isn’t there a sleep button on a baby?”

“Right? What more can Theo get into?” Out of exhaustion or humor—who knew—Celene pressed a pointer into Theo’s squishy thigh. He gently swiped her hand away. “I think that woke him up more.”

“This child-rearing thing is tiring. Does anyone ever mention how tiring it is?”

“Literally any mother we’ve ever met.”

“It’s hard as shit. Maybe Big J will agree to a hamster instead.”

Celene smirked at this, slowing in front of a four-frame set of abstract shape paintings.

Appropriate for a children’s wall motif while maintaining what Shanice deemed a Midcentury Modern Soul household, replete with velvets and crisscrossing geometrics.

The nursery hadn’t been skipped; the palette and toy aesthetics fit right in.

Not to mention the velvet upholstery of the glider Elise cozied into.

Byron left the design choices up to Shanice and paid for it all, as was his modus operandi.

“You have a cool home,” she whispered into Theo’s thick cheek. He smelled of the chamomile baby wash they’d overused.

It made her miss Yielding and her teapot.

And Skye.

Celene watched her sister’s head bob, hand steadily stroking the bunny’s fur against the grain. “Thanks for speaking up for me at the hospital.”

Elise snorted, blinking rapidly. Since when had she slept with her eyes open? Rubbing over her disheveled hair, Elise yawned. “Byron was being a dick.”

“He was.”

“I meant it, though. The summer home’s better, more than it’d been when we were kids. Byron and those damn eagles...”

Celene switched sides to bear Theo’s weight, laughing. “I kept the least tacky eagles. Call me sentimental.”

“I wouldn’t call you that .” Tossing the bunny into a woven bin of other stuffies, Elise went on. “I think Dad’s too hung up on the past. He wouldn’t have done a good job on the house if he’d orchestrated everything. Your uh, limited sentimentality resulted in major upgrades. Kudos.”

“Fiona and Isolde scampering around the yard and deck...” Blurry imagery of yesteryear played in Celene’s mind. Probably the way it did for her frustrating father. “They kind of resemble us.”

“We didn’t scamper much.”

“Not as much as Don’s girls, no.”

“Those girls could find a way onto the roof if left unsupervised,” Elise commented, her smile touched by the nightlight’s glow. “I get what you mean, though. Damn, maybe you’re more tender at your advanced age.”

The chasm between their ages was an unimpressive two years. Celene shrugged her off, walking the outline of the lion-shaped rug in the center of the room. “Do you—” She posed her question with direct eye contact. “Do you really think I hate our family?”

Elise stilled in the dimness, as if it’d give her invisibility. When Celene waited, patting at Theo’s back, she finally said, “No, but I don’t think you like us, either.”

“Hm.” Celene considered this. Not for long, though. “I like you.”

“Celene.” Skeptical, clearly.

“Yes, you’re just tiring. I’m expected to be on-call for everything, to fix issues that have nothing to do with me. And Dad’s not the only one who weaponizes my singleness against me.”

“You’re not single anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Fair, okay.” Her nestlike hair got fluffed by hand.

It cast a bizarre shadow in the blueish night light—a stringy, lopsided creature.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re miserable.

I’m a little jealous, alright? For a year, you could escape to a mountain range and return enlightened and refreshed while Big J and I battled in-laws about the wedding budget. ”

Theo nuzzled into Celene’s neck, his nose tickling her skin. “Without escaping, I’d be miserable.”

“We worry about you.”

She shook her head, not falling for this affectionate angle. “Because I was alone?”

“Well, yeah. Alone, heartbroken, angry...” Elise shot her arms up as she often did, dramatics never far from her. “You were angry, Celene. I won’t lie.”

Celene paced, nodding in quiet accordance. “Theo’s asleep.”

“I’ll text Shanice,” Elise murmured, cursing when her phone’s bright screen nearly blinded her. “A bedtime past 10 p.m. We are not good at this.”

“You’ll get used to it, if you decide to push out a little Vale-Mehta.

” Celene chose to wander around the nursery a while longer.

As she passed burnished cubbies holding wooden toys, she allowed herself to dwell.

On if a hefty baby’s warmth and quick heartbeat against her chest felt like something worth the hours of chaos, effectively turning her peaceful life upside down.

Then, she mentally closed the portal to such Dragonfruit-like thinking. Too soon.

“Shanice says thanks. Dad’s sleeping, too.”

Celene nodded as acknowledgement, staying put, even after Elise took her leave down the hall, the warm light from the kitchen showing under the seam of the door.

Regardless of any of these life stages she’d been pressured on since she’d been born, she would take her responsibilities as a big sister seriously. Theodore Vale deserved that much.

About twenty minutes later, she put Theo to bed, double-checked the room’s thermostat and baby cam position according to Shanice’s missive.

She padded out to the kitchen, finding no Elise.

An empty coffee mug and a granola bar wrapper stood as evidence on the table.

It tempted Celene to brew tea, though her curiosity got the best of her.

She followed the only other light on, from Byron and Shanice’s large walk-in closet.

“Shh—I’m on a mission,” Elise hissed, waving Celene over.

She roamed the coveted space. Eighty percent of the wardrobe comprised of Shanice’s fashions, the remainder full of Byron’s drab colors and dad sneaker collection. Elise sat on the floor in Byron’s section, legs crossed. And she’d uncovered a mini file cabinet that’d seen better days.

Celene scratched a nail across an edge that’d gone rusty. It was probably older than her. “Snooping through Byron’s stuff? When we’d done that fifteen years ago, we found old photos of him in bed with Mom.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Elise groaned, finger walking into the topmost of two drawers, through a faded accordion folder. “He doesn’t throw anything away.”

Like the summer house. Celene bent down next to her. “What are you looking for?”

“Don’t worry about it. Here.” She pushed a chunky old digital camera forward, bouncing it off Celene’s foot. “Dad keeps a box of portable chargers and cords in the computer room?—”

Celene’s heart raced in recognition. Minutes later, she’d collected the necessary charging connector and sat across from her sister as the dead camera winked a tiny amber light.

It could be charged.

Elise’s voice sliced into the silence that followed.

“Theo’s still asleep,” she announced, nodding at the viewfinder of the baby camera. In a similar tone, she attached, “I’m sorry, Celene.”

“For?” she asked, eyes on the amber light.

Elise waved for her attention. “Last week, I hung out with Big J’s cousin and his girlfriend.

They’d been out of the country during our wedding.

So, we brought out my laptop to present photos from both days, and I offhandedly mentioned ‘my sister.’ They got confused and asked, ‘What sister?’” She wet her bottom lip in two nervous licks.

“Big J and I hunted through hundreds—god, thousands—of images from the photographer’s final delivery. You’re only in a handful. I?—”

Jaw clenched, Celene stared.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” Elise concluded.

“You helped us prep for the wedding and took on a huge role to assist Brenda. I can’t believe I had the nerve to question your commitment to us.

Or—” she gasped in the loud way Celene hated, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Or inviting Quinn and her girlfriend— wife —oh my fucking god, Celene. I never thanked you.”

Satisfaction didn’t describe what dripped tears from Celene’s eyes. Vindication was better, maybe some relief. The best she could do was be seen . Her sister saw her. “It took you long enough.”

Elise tackled Celene in a hug that almost broke her hip. Her annoying little sister wailed her gratitude for the flowers and wrangling her friends, and adhering to the schedule. It took Celene too many pats to her shoulder and a hard shove to make Elise get a hold of herself.

Scrabbling at the floor in her jeans, Elise scooped up the digital camera and jammed her thumb onto the power button. “This has to be charged enough.”

Celene pinched the toast charm on her necklace, her eyes darting.

The camera’s small screen toured them through a cascade of decades-old photos.

Christmases, birthday parties. Everyone’s smiles less burdened, hair free of grays, clothing choices questionable but comely in the way that history dictated.

But Elise and Celene were on the same unspoken goal with the swiftest mashing of the arrow button, made abundantly apparent when the greenery of the Poconos began framing photos.

Elise went through them slowly, grumbling at the target not found.

Thus, she punched her thumb so fast, it must’ve hurt, blazing through their childhood homes, candid shots, visits to theme parks, and then to an older visit at the Vale house. And finally. Finally?—

“Bingo. Oh my god. I can’t believe?—”

Snatching the phone like the girls in the flashes of their youth, Celene went lightheaded, reminding herself not to pass out.

Smiling back at her was a picture of herself and Skye Florentine at ten years old.

Arms around each other, eyes free of strife, backdropped by the house she once called a hassle.

Skye’s hair down to her shoulders in a twist out, shiny and bearing a single flower, the way Luce does, and Celene with a long braid draped over her shoulder, woven with tiny purple flowers.

Smooth aster. The skin at the back of her arm tingled, begging to be touched.

“You have to blow that up and hang it on a wall,” Elise mused, as out of breath as Celene.

She nodded absently while she checked the rest of that summer’s photos. Celene found five more photos of them, the most captivating being a candid shot: her and Skye unguarded, legs swinging upon the sturdy old deck, hands full of different flowers, and heads close, like they were sharing a secret.

Celene’s favorite part of the summer.

“Dad called me back to the hospital room after you left,” Elise said softly, closely enough to grasp Celene’s shoulder again. She revealed a manila folder, softened at the edges from age. “He’d been trying to arrange time for you and him to sit and talk. So he could give you this.”

Fingers trembling, Celene pulled out its stack of papers. The summer house’s deed and other closing documents.

“Elise. This...”

Her sister shut the file cabinet with a rusty screech. “Don and Bri don’t have the bandwidth. Neither Mom, Lonnie, nor Shanice want it. Byron’s out of his depth. Big J’s not done with the city, and my allergies can’t handle it.”

At a loss for anything else, Celene could only agree. “Pennsylvania’s air wants you dead.”

“It does. It really does.”

“The house will be mine?”

It wasn’t lakeside. The draft hadn’t been resolved. The fireplace needed updating. It could use a sunroom.

But Yielding’s stores were charming, and groceries fresh. Her nosy neighbors weren’t the worst. Zinnia invited her to next year’s Toast Festival. It had her hammock.

And Skye lived there.

Theatrically groaning, Elise pushed the file cabinet through Bryon’s rack of tan and gray clothes until it was flat against the closet wall, hidden and protected again. Then, she held a hand out. Celene took it without question, finding her footing.

Absently spinning the charging cable, Elise finally replied, “I’d shout it from the mountaintops, sis. That house is yours .”