Chapter Forty-Seven. Daye
Daye
One day, in the green depths of July, Rory said, “I’m going to try something different this transition.”
‘What?’ Daye asked.
“It’s a surprise,” he said, excitement in his smile.
Daye shrugged. The summer seemed endless yet. The next transition unthinkable.
She hadn’t thought about it again. Not until Rory appeared in her clearing one September Thursday, a day early. Smiling so wide and bright it seemed like he might bubble away.
The birds she was feeding scattered away in a boom of wings and feathers as he approached.
‘Rory.’ She got up and ran to hug him. ‘You’re early!’
“I am.” He picked her up and spun her round, her dress flaring around them. “Ready for your surprise?”
“Wake up, Blodeuwedd.”
Daye’s eyes fluttered open. Her hair fanned around her head, a wave of red in her peripheral vision. She rose to her elbows. Her hands felt strong and fresh, solid all the way through. Everything was as it always was. So why did she feel so strange?
Rory crouched beside her, tracking her movements. “How are you feeling?”
She sat up to free her hands. ‘Different. Strange.’
“Where does it feel different?” Rory asked.
Daye thought for a second. ‘I don’t know.’
“Could it be your throat?” He sounded eager.
Daye brought a hand up to cup it. It felt normal. She swallowed experimentally. It was the same as always. She shook her head.
“Are you sure? Can you try to take a deep breath for me, and then exhale?”
Daye did as he said, perplexed. The sound of her breath was too loud in her ears.
“Now do it again, but with your tongue out when you exhale, like this,” he demonstrated.
‘But why?’ Daye asked.
“Just go with it? Please?”
She did. Nothing happened. The weird feeling persisted, nagging at the edges of her thoughts.
“Just one more try, please?” he asked, a few more minutes and a few more tries later. His brilliance was starting to dim, his smile slipping.
‘Okay,’ Daye signed, weary.
“Look at what I do. How I open my mouth and what I do with my tongue.” He made an aah sound, mouth moving in an exaggerated way. “Just try to feel the air in your throat as you exhale. Like this,” he showed her again. “Wait, you know what? Can you close your eyes?”
She did.
“Okay. Now try to do what I just showed you. But try to imagine that you are making that sound, too. All right?”
Daye nodded, eyes still closed. ‘But this is the last time, right?’
“Yeah. But this time it’s going to work, I know it.”
‘What is going to work?’ Daye gestured, her hand slashing hard on the ‘what.’
“I … You’ll see. Now, a deep breath and try, okay? Remember, imagine that you can make that aah sound. Try to make it, okay?”
She wanted to ask what use was in pretending when they both knew she couldn’t.
She wanted to make him tell her what was feeling weird and why.
She wanted to get up from the ground. To stretch her arms and legs and revel in the freshness of everything, in how impossibly far away the rot was in the minutes after the transition. But Rory asked her to try.
She took a deep breath. Tried to shape her mouth as he showed her, stretch her tongue. She tried to feel it, as Rory asked. Tried to imagine she, too, could make that sound.
And then … she did.
The raspy aah had barely left her lips when Rory whooped and flung his arms around her, dragging her close and kissing the side of her head.
Daye pushed him far enough back to talk. ‘What just happened?’
“I made it. I solved it.” He was laughing.
‘Rory, what?’ She shook his shoulder. ‘What is happening? What are you talking about?’
“Daye,” Rory said, his smile so, so bright, “I’m pretty sure you can talk.”