Page 33 of Kill for a Kiss

Morning light filters through the curtains, warming my skin before my eyes even open. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the faint scent of flowers and tea. It wraps around me like a memory I can’t place. But my body feels lighter, and my mind’s quieter than usual.

I slept well. Maybe for the first time in forever. I stretch, slipping out of bed, the sheets falling away. The morning is muted as I go through the motions—drinking the tea at my bedside, getting up from bed, brushing my teeth while avoiding the mirror, and then standing under the warm spray of the shower.

After dressing up, I step into the hallway and slow my steps. There’s no Clo at the door, no note from her either. No little nudge to remind me what the day is supposed to look like. That unsettles me. Did I forget something? Were we supposed to have breakfast together?

I hasten my pace, guilt heating my neck. I don’t want to be late. I don’t want her to be disappointed.

The sunroom’s door creaks open, and Clo is already there, seated by the window, sunlight shining on her dark curls. She looks up, her hands wrapped delicately around a porcelain cup. A slow smile liftsher lips. “You’re awake,” she says.

My fingers fidget at my side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was. Were we supposed to…?”

Clo tilts her head, then lets out a soft laugh. “No, darling. But I do love that you think so.”

The way she says it sends a cold shiver down my spine. Still, she looks pleased. And that’s enough to make me relax a little. She’s not upset. I didn’t do anything wrong. That’s all that matters.

I breathe out and cross the room to sit across from her. She pours me a cup of tea, the gentle clink of porcelain filling the silence. Everything’s fine. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Breakfast is waiting for me. A steaming cup of bitter tea, sweetened only slightly by golden swirls of honey. Honey cakes and biscuits, all arranged in perfect symmetry.

Clo doesn’t eat. She cradles her coffee instead. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she says, gesturing to the tea. “I always find it good to have in the mornings.”

I nod and take a sip, though the bitterness clings even after the honey. “It’s good.”

Her smile deepens, satisfied. “I’m glad.”

For a little while, everything feels easy. She asks if I slept well. If Stan treated me right. Her voice flows like warm water, smooth and familiar, filling the space between bites. It feels like routine. Like something I’ve done a hundred times, even if I don’t remember.

Then her gaze softens, looking distant. “You remind me of my first best friend, before Naomi.”

I glance up from my tea. “Oh?”

“Jade,” she says fondly. “Smart, graceful. She loved art. Always saw the beauty in people. You two are so alike. Filipino and Chinese too, exactly the same as you.”

My chest tightens. I blink slowly. “But I’m…Filipino and Korean.” Iknow that in my bones, like I’ve been told that since I could learn how to understand my own parents’ words.

There’s a pause from Clo. A silence that doesn’t normally pass between us. But her smile holds. Something flashes so briefly in her eyes that I think I must’ve imagined it.

She sets her cup down with careful precision. “No, darling,” she says, warm but immovable. “You’re Filipino and Chinese.”

My fingers go still around my teacup. The warmth is gone. All I feel is the chill pressing into my skin. “But I always thought—”

She lets out a soft sigh. Something about it makes my stomach turn. “You must be confused,” she says gently, but there’s no room to argue in her tone.

My heartbeat skips. Now, I have so many questions. If I’m either, why do I have blue eyes? Why don’t I recognize myself when I look in the mirror? Like I don’t know who’s staring back at me?

More questions come to mind, overwhelming me. So I decide to agree for now. It hurts to think. Hurts so much, it’s dizzying.

“I… I guess so,” I murmur, the words catching in my throat.

Clo leans forward, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Her fingers are steady. “It’s alright, darling thing,” she says. “I’m here to tell you who you are.”

I nod, because it’s easier than questioning it again. But it feels like I’m shrinking inside myself, one unsteady breath at a time. The tea in my cup swirls as I stir it absentmindedly, the gentle clink of the spoon barely masking the buzzing in my mind.

I should feel reassured, since Clo makes me feel that way when she fills in the blanks. But now, all I feel is lost. The courage to speak has been stomped out, the way a fire dims when there’s nothing left to feed it.

Then the door swings open without warning. Stan stumbles in, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair’s a mess of short wavesthat looks good on him. His shirt is wrinkled, hanging loose over sweatpants that sit a little too low on his hips. He scratches absently at the v-line of his hips, the hem lifting just enough to—

My mind blanks. I stare before I can stop myself. But Clo doesn’t even pause. “Good morning, Stanley.”