Page 67 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

C elene hadn’t relied on her sister for much—not picking her up from the airport or remembering to submit important paperwork.

Certainly not backing her up in an argument against their father. Until now.

As new parents, Edna and Byron Vale pushed responsibility and self-preservation on Celene. Which went out the window once their bright star, Elise, had been born.

As young as four years old, Elise put on backyard musical productions and amassed extracurriculars like a hobby—improv club, school plays, student council, slam poetry.

An entertainer through and through, which tended to aggravate Celene reading a mystery book in the room furthest from Elise and her hobbies.

What a strange thing, how siblings get different versions of their parents.

“My girls,” Byron beamed, sagging into the office’s desk chair with a relieved huff. He must’ve presumed this a cheerful meeting, where he could brag on himself for being an amazing parental figure.

And to be candid, Byron’s version of fatherhood wasn’t the worst. Just unbalanced.

“Dad, I want that gravy recipe,” Elise said as she angled a chair to face him. “Did you use juices from the pan? That’s so oily, but Ajay swears it’s better than making it from the packets.”

Celene’s eye twitched as they strayed into a carefree chat about fucking side dishes and meal prep. Maddening.

She stepped out to let them finish, returning with a chair from another room. Then, when she sharply rapped her nails onto it, their twinned confusion stuck to Celene. Ruining the fun yet again. Her legacy.

Byron rubbed at his stiff knee, sighing. “What’s this about?”

“The house,” Celene replied. What the fuck else would it be about?

He keened his head backwards, genuinely thrown off. “We resolved that. Elise gave you the deed. You have my blessing.”

“I understand and I appreciate that.” Something intrinsic inspired her to treat Byron like one of her clients, careful not to offend too soon before laying down the hammer. “It’s an incredible gift. Overwhelming, even.”

“Bah, nothing overwhelms my Celene.” Byron waved a thick hand, though Elise could give him some acting lessons for that smile. “The house is nicer than ever.”

“It totally is,” Elise hurried to confirm. “Celene even kept your tacky eagle motifs.”

When Celene gritted her teeth, she tasted remnants of Arabica coffee. A fine flavor, but she wished she’d ended the evening with tea. “I kept the least tacky eagles.”

Byron’s smugness dictated his slanted grin. “Oh, yeah?”

No, she wouldn’t let his sentimentality derail the point of this meeting. Celene scooted closer in her chair, legs crossed. “Dad, why did you give me the house?”

Again, Byron eyed Elise as if she’d translate. Elise remained predictable, as in any conflict not involving herself: speechless neutrality. Suddenly fascinated by her bright red fingernails.

Celene went on. “Initially, you mentioned the summer house project to Shanice, Mom, and Lonnie. Don and Briana. Then, Elise and Ajay. I came last.”

“I, erm…” He rested an elbow on the knee he’d been rubbing, to wring his calloused hands. They needed moisturizer; Celene cringed at the audible sliding of his dry skin. “Didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“But, why?” Celene asked her second parent tonight. “Why was I last? We’re no traditionalists, but I’d assume the oldest child would come to mind earlier.”

“It doesn’t matter. You took on the house.”

“It does matter.”

“God damnit,” Byron grunted, meeting her stare finally. “The Vale house is—or maybe was—a family home. Anticipated for future Vales and laughs, playtime, joy outside the city life. You’d made it clear you don’t value those things.”

Elise gasped loudly. Nothing else came out.

Everyone always hinted at this opinion, but to hear it aloud. What a slap to the face.

And Celene’s skin flared; her upper lip bent for a sneer. “Do you truly believe that, Byron?”

No ‘Dad.’ Byron .

Byron’s bushy eyebrows rose at the name switch, too. “You disappear for weeks on end. You, um, well—you never particularly enjoy being around us. Even as a kid, you’d lock yourself in your room and read?—”

“It’s called having different interests.”

“It’s called distancing yourself from family. And it’s rude.”

“Dad,” Elise piped in, her lips goldfish gawping until more sentences formed. “Celene’s introverted. Like Mom.”

“Don’t give me that.” Byron scratched at his freshly cut hair, then his beard.

A clear feigning of indifference. “Here I come with money to liven up old memories. Spare me if I wouldn’t tap the daughter who can’t return a few phone calls.

The daughter who walks out on her own father at an afternoon lunch. ”

Was this his actual perception of reality? Celene sacrificed a good time at Elise’s two-day wedding for everything to run smoothly. She sped to his hospital bedside and babysat his seven-month-old child. Not to forget countless gestures in the past.

Maybe she wasn’t keen on family gossip or spending evenings surrounded by overlapping banter. God, maybe her family did irritate her sometimes. Often. But this meant a lot to them, so it meant something to her. Why else would she put herself out there?

Elise had activated. Rather miraculously, yammering these exact facts at their father to the point of incoherence. It granted time to think. Celene closed her eyes and eased in a breath.

Byron wasn’t a friend. Nor a client.

He was her father, and he could handle the truth.

“I think you punish me for not fitting your expectations,” Celene said, effectively silencing Elise’s attempts at defense.

“No, I won’t toast beers and laugh at your unfunny jokes.

It’s not in my nature to call you to shoot the breeze.

If you know I’ve been like this forever, then why won’t you acclimate to that?

” She held her hand up so Elise wouldn’t get chattering again; it wasn’t helping, though she loved the effort.

“Elise pointed out how cold I’d been to Quinn as our relationship dissolved.

Her delivery could’ve used work, but she’s not wrong—I’d been punishing Quinn for not loving me.

I take responsibility; however, this attitude didn’t come out of nowhere. ”

“Hold on. I hope you’re not about to therapy talk me into blame here,” Byron countered, voice suspiciously close to a growl.

“Like I said, I own up to my failures there. To really grow, finding the source of my issues is tantamount.” Celene chewed at her lip, imagining Skye’s warm smile, how, at Celene’s angriest, she didn’t look at her like a monster. “I’m...I’m actually happy to have the deed to the house.”

Byron scowled, and this close, she could see that a couple of his eyelashes were gray. “Then why in the hell are you coming for me like this?”

“Because a gift doesn’t erase how you misunderstand me.

” Celene blinked at Elise, who’d become a spectator, pushing Ariel Red hair behind her shoulder.

She faced Byron again. “I’m expected to work to be seen as a whole member of the family.

And don’t you deny it—” Her pointer shot up.

“Bri told me herself. You and Mom worry that I’ve been single for too long.

That doesn’t comfort me; it makes me want to keep my romantic life far, far away from you. I’m being talked about behind my back.”

“We don’t want you to be alone.”

“It’s okay if I was,” Celene stressed, eyes softening. “I was single when I packed a bag on a whim and drove to the Poconos. And single as I began cataloguing all of the problems with the Vale house. By myself.”

“She’s got her own life, too, Dad.” Elise, thankfully, spoke at a normal speed now. “Celene hates bugs. And physical labor—just like me. She does these things because she loves us.”

Byron glanced at the office’s shutoff computer monitor, the sports-themed posters on the wall. His white dad sneakers below. “It’s not the easiest thing for a parent to say they’re uh...intimidated by their child. I should’ve put more effort into giving you the deed myself and telling you why.”

Elise’s feet started tapping and hadn’t stopped. “Well?”

“I’m not as unaware as you think.” Byron let that settle, eyeing his daughters.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Celene, I won’t say I punished you, but you’re right.

You are different. I didn’t know how to work with that when you were a child, and I’m even more uninformed now.

I saw you weren’t engaging in our summer plans in Yielding with us . You spent more daylight out with Skye.”

The memory of Skye ticked on a smile Celene wasn’t sure Byron deserved yet. She waited for him to continue.

“I…I’m sorry for that. I should’ve tried harder.” He coughed once into his elbow, then sniffed. “This isn’t a gift out of guilt, or because you may have a future with Skye. It’s so you’ll reconnect in your own way, without any of us messing it up.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do,” he emphasized. Visibly slouched, tired.

“Single, not single, forthcoming, not forthcoming—I’m leaving the house in your hands.

This is a present from your dad, who couldn’t maintain it himself.

” Peeking at Elise, who didn’t resort to fussing at him again, he made direct eye contact with Celene and held out his hand. “You accept it?”

Celene had plateaued after all that, primed to crash. This would have to suffice. She shook his hand firmly. “Yes, I accept.”

Parents were a strange concept.

Parents of your partner were an even stranger concept.

Skye stole glances at Edna Vale’s sharply cut profile, accounting for similarities between her and Celene.