Chapter 11
Celeste wiped down the kitchen sink and straightened the line of potted plants on her yellow countertop, then dragged her fingers through her hair, still damp from her shower, before yanking it up into a messy bun. Then she wiped down the kitchen sink again.
“Are you seriously still cleaning?”
Her gaze jumped from shining white porcelain to Morgan, eyeing Celeste from the arched doorway. At almost eighteen, Morgan had been taller than Celeste for a few years, her lanky body shown off now in black cutoffs and a red cropped shirt that exposed two inches of her stomach. Morgan’s clothes were more revealing than anything Celeste had ever worn, but the girl was comfortable in her own skin.
She exuded a sense of self Celeste had sought most of her life.
Celeste turned and leaned against the counter. “I haven’t been cleaning for that long.”
Morgan laughed as she riffled through the fridge, pulling out a cold slice of leftover pineapple-and-jalape?o pizza from the night before. Her long, sandy hair, streaked with one bright blue stripe, was pulled into a nest held together by a pencil. “I’ve never seen the blanket on the couch so precisely folded. What’s your deal?”
“I don’t have a deal!” Celeste protested. “It just felt like a good time to clean. I was listening to a podcast about the history of grilled cheese sandwiches and I really got in the groove.”
It couldn’t be John’s imminent arrival at her home that had Celeste buzzing around the house like one of those little black-tailed gnatcatchers she’d spotted on their hike. That would be silly. “Did you know that someone paid thousands of dollars once for a grilled cheese that looked like it had an image of the Virgin Mary burned into the bread?”
“Jesus.” Morgan snickered.
“Literally,” Celeste countered, satisfied by her daughter’s full-throated laugh.
Morgan downed the last of the pizza before sitting at the table and picking up the small notebook next to a potted plant. She pulled the pencil out of her bun, letting her hair fall past her shoulders. Since Morgan could hold a pencil, she’d been drawing, and the evidence of her passion was framed all over Celeste’s house. A big part of the past year had involved Celeste searching for an affordable college that had a decent art department but where Morgan could also pick up some more practical, and hopefully employable, skills.
Celeste had landed on Northern Arizona University, about four hours from Tucson, as the perfect solution. Far enough from home for Morgan to spread her wings, it still offered in-state tuition, with guaranteed scholarships if Morgan finished the year strong.
But another email reminder about registration had come in that week, and Morgan still hadn’t filled anything out. She couldn’t even be bothered to browse the course catalog and had shrugged at Celeste’s suggestion that they go up to tour the campus together.
“Hon.” She lowered herself to sit opposite her daughter, whose eyes darted between the plant and the page of her notebook. “We should really get serious about your NAU paperwork. Could we spend some time on that later? I know it might feel like a lot, but I can help.”
Morgan’s hand paused, a half-formed leaf under her pencil. “Can’t. I’m doing stuff with Em all day.”
“Oh.” Em and Morgan had been joined at the hip for years, and she couldn’t blame Morgan for wanting to squeeze in all their time together before graduation. Soon, she’d pin Morgan down for college prep. And she was wrapped up with John today anyway.
Well, not wrapped. The extremely convincing act at the bowling alley had been a necessary departure from their ground rules, but there’d be no further need for actual, physical wrapping. “What are you two up to?”
Morgan shaded the leaf’s edge with a series of small hash marks. “We’re going to the skate park, then I’m gonna help Em study for their AP chem exam.”
“What do you do at the skate park? Just watch?”
Morgan shrugged. “Yeah. Watch. Take pictures. Draw. Em’s working on a new move; it’s fun watching them.”
Celeste had watched the video edits Morgan had made of Em’s skating, and some of the moves made her mom heart cringe. “Em wears a helmet when they skate, right?”
Morgan laughed. “Usually. Almost always.” She looked up at Celeste, cutting off the coming lecture with a jab of her pencil. “Do not start texting Em statistics about skateboard accidents.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” she lied. Maybe she’d find a pamphlet instead. She could leave it on the table where Morgan and Em were likely to see it.
“I saw a flyer up for your show downtown.” Celeste pulled herself from the edge of a safety-while-skateboarding lecture. Every conversation with her daughter was a balancing act. “Are you so excited?”
Morgan just shrugged, but a small smile played on her mouth. She’d been nominated for an end-of-the-year art showcase of graduating seniors from throughout the region, and she’d been putting in hours every week on the pieces she’d use. The event fell on the same night as the final gala for the Bird Binge, so it would take some balancing to get to both. But Celeste often felt like she lived on a tightrope, so she’d manage.
“Do you want to order ramen tonight and plan our outfits for the show?” Celeste asked hopefully. “Never too early to plan a good outfit.”
“Can’t tonight.” Morgan nibbled at her lower lip as she looked up from her drawing. “I’m doing dinner with Dad and Lucy. His girlfriend.”
“Oh, right.” Morgan had mentioned Lucy before, though Celeste hadn’t known she’d achieved full girlfriend status. It hurt to think of losing time with Morgan to someone she didn’t even know. “That’ll be fun.”
Morgan just let out a sigh and worried her tongue into the side of her cheek, then looked back up at Celeste. “You know you can date people too, right, Mom?”
Celeste leaned her elbows on the table. “I know, honey. I just don’t want to.”
“But why?” Morgan nibbled at her pencil, then returned to her sketch of the plant. “Do you really want to be alone forever?”
Her voice took on a tinge that sounded a lot like pity. Being “alone forever” did seem pretty sad. But that wasn’t how Celeste thought of it when she looked ahead, at least to the next few years. She saw independence, not loneliness. A chance to stand in the sunshine and let herself grow.
“I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m having fun learning how to be on my own. Your dad and I met when I was barely older than you are now, and my whole life became about his life. I never really had a chance to be just me.”
Her daughter’s eyes stopped mid-roll. She’d heard it all before, especially when Celeste had been desperate to explain her motivations for seeking a divorce.
Morgan abandoned the sketchbook and stood, rolling the pencil between her long fingers. “Okay, okay. I just don’t want to see you cut yourself off, you know, from love.”
Celeste rubbed her temples and looked up at her daughter. “Baby, I’m not. I got to experience love with your dad for a lot of years, and now I’m experiencing it with myself.” She laughed as Morgan groaned, well aware that her daughter hated sincere-mom mode. “And I can’t wait for you to have love someday, when you’re ready.”
Morgan opened her mouth for a moment, but then stuck the pencil between her teeth as she remade her bun. Celeste watched the easy movements with near adoration—Morgan sweeping up her hair, twisting it, then skewering it with the pencil. This was the same kid who used to draw all over the walls of their small apartment in Lincoln.
Celeste might have resented a lot of those years with Peter and the shadows they’d cast over her. Even now, two years divorced, she’d learned to always be in her bedroom when she called him so she could throw her phone on the bed as soon as she hit end. Especially last week, when Peter had told her he’d be away on a work trip for Morgan’s art show.
But she would never regret their relationship, not when it had given her this young woman already halfway out of the kitchen.
“Don’t forget to talk to Em about the helmet!” Celeste called after her.
The only answer was a groan, but a few seconds later Morgan’s head popped back into the kitchen. “Uh, Mom? There’s a guy on the porch. Says he’s here for birding?”
Celeste stood quickly, almost knocking down her chair. There should definitely not be bees swarming in her stomach at the knowledge that John was on her porch, even if the last time she’d seen him, he’d caged her against an arcade game. He’d just been acting for her friends. But Celeste couldn’t shake the memory of how his hand had spanned the whole width of her back or of how his small, quiet observations had made her feel like something unique and precious.
The dream she’d had last night didn’t help, either.
She’d woken that morning to dawn light filling her room and an aching heat between her legs, sensations from a dream just fuzzy at the edges—callused hands mapping her body, a quiet smile scraping against her skin. Sighing and stretching across her mattress, she’d trailed a hand down her stomach, ready to let the residual arousal from her dream get her Saturday off to a good start. But just as her hand moved down, the edges of the dream had come into focus.
John’s masterful hands, John’s smile, John’s—
With a snap, she’d pulled her arm up and plastered it over her comforter, breathing hard and squeezing her eyes shut tight.
She was not going there. They were not going there. They had an understanding.
Clearing her throat, she smoothed down the soft cotton of her yoga pants. “I told you his name was John. He’s coming today to focus on backyard birding. I invited you to join us, remember?” She figured having Morgan there would be a win-win. Her daughter could learn about birds and also, maybe, make sure Celeste’s mind didn’t wander while John was adjusting his binoculars. But Morgan hadn’t taken the bait.
Which was fine. Celeste was a grown woman who could control inconvenient lusty thoughts about her birding partner. “Did you just leave him out there?”
Morgan shrugged. “Yeah, just while I checked with you.” She grinned as her eyebrows lifted. “He was holding a little birdhouse and asked if my mother was home. Very polite. I like the beard.”
“Don’t start,” Celeste warned, knowing just what Morgan was thinking. “He’s just here to bird. That’s it.”
“Okay.” Morgan shrugged nonchalantly but maintained her knowing smile, sliding her hands into her back pockets. Teenagers were infuriating. “Well, Em is waiting, so I’m gonna go. Should I leave the birding guy out there?”
“John. His name is John. And you can let him in and tell him I’ll be right there, thank you. Have fun and tell Em I’ll get in touch later about the helmet.”
Morgan left with a tortured groan, leaving Celeste to listen as the front door closed.
A moment later, Celeste found John in the living room, standing at the bookshelf near her front door. His eyes flitted over the spines of her haphazardly shelved books as his thumb swiped along the grain of the little wooden object in his hand, somehow keeping pace with her heartbeat as she replayed her morning again.
After her shocking wake-up call, she’d launched herself into her bathroom and leaned forward to scan the mirror and the myriad of colorful Post-its that crowded it, searching the notes for something to confirm that masturbating to thoughts of her birding partner was a very, very bad idea.
Seek adventure. Not helpful.
Her eyes kept scanning as she started brushing her teeth.
If you can dream it, you can do it.
A spray of toothpaste and spit splattered her mirror as she let out a barking laugh. No, no, no.
Finally, her eyes had settled on a blue Post-it, faded and curled at the edges, one of her very first.
Learn to bloom alone.
Celeste rinsed her mouth and looked at the message again, silently mouthing the words into the mirror.
It hadn’t always been easy, but she’d been blooming these past two years. Sometimes it hurt, but when it did she reminded herself of the hours she used to spend rubbing Morgan’s aching calves as her muscles grew faster than her body could bear, tears in her eyes from the growing pains. That pain—the pain of stretching, of growth—was better by far than the realization that in her marriage she was growing smaller with each passing month. Worse, Peter had simply accepted her slow disappearance. And so had she.
Morgan might want Celeste to date again, but Celeste knew where that led, and it wasn’t a place Celeste planned to go back to anytime soon.
“Good morning.” John’s honeyed voice carried a hint of a question. “I hope it’s okay I came in. Your daughter—”
“Hi!” Her greeting was both late and loud, but she didn’t let it stop her. “Of course, yes, Morgan said you were here, and she”—Celeste motioned to the door—“she was just leaving. And now you’ve met her, so that’s good. Or not. I mean, it doesn’t really matter, I guess.” Wherever Maria was right now, she was rolling her eyes at Celeste. “You brought a birdhouse?”
He blinked, looking down at the delicate structure like it was a surprise. “Oh. Right. I made it for you. It’s a design by the ornithological society, a special project to help Lucy’s warblers.” He palmed the tiny house in one hand to pass it to her.
It wasn’t anything fancy. A few small pieces of wood put together in whatever way people put together wooden things, but it was so perfectly formed that Celeste took it gently, like it already held precious eggs inside. She turned it in her hands, admiring each smooth edge and the way the maple-syrup grains spiraled in nature’s own design.
“You don’t have to take it,” John rushed out. “But I was making them to give away at the trivia night and I thought you might like one early. Lucys are cavity nesters, but their natural nesting spots are taken up by invasive species and—”
“John.” It was possible he was as awkward as she was. Going past the ground rules at the bowling alley had not been wise. “It’s really lovely. Thank you.”
She’d have him show her where to put it up once they got outside. Because the longer she held it, the longer she’d be thinking about John’s rough, skilled hands delicately cradling these small pieces of wood.
“Birds!” she burst out, almost dropping the birdhouse. “That’s why you’re here.” She turned on her heels before her traitorous body had a chance to word-vomit any more, leading the way through her kitchen and to the back door. “Let’s go see some birds.”