Chapter Nine #2
“Brian’s shooting people with Nerf arrows at his work?”
Amelia gasps. “Absolutely not. Brian would never .” She clears her throat. “Now, the man in the Cupid wings…is a different story. He can’t be trusted.”
“I feel as though I’m missing lore.” Ceres sinks, resting her cheek against her hand. “You’ve made this picture your wallpaper?”
Amelia chirps, “Yup! Phone and laptop. I added other photos to my desktop spread and decorated them with feathers, because Brian is an angel and he deserves nothing less than that recognition in his fandom, population: me.”
I need a collage of Ceres to be my phone and computer wallpaper.
However, I also need her to stop staring at another man’s thirst trap, hang up on her delightful friend, and share breakfast with me. Or I will die. Allegedly.
“Wait a second,” Amelia interjects into her own Brian’s so amazing ramble. “Why did you tell me that I’m on speakerphone? Aren’t I always on speakerphone? You don’t normally announce that I’m on speakerphone. I just hear your computer keys clacking and think, ah yes, I’m on speakerphone .”
“Hm?” Ceres graciously closes out of Brian’s page as though he means nothing to her and can’t get off her screen fast enough. “Oh. Mars is here.”
“ Mars is there? ” Amelia’s voice pitches. “In your house? Listening to me, right now?”
With some mild delay, Ceres says, “…affirmative.”
“ Why? ” Amelia squeaks, not at all in an unmanly way, of course.
Ceres’s chair swivels so she’s facing me again, dry gaze heavy. “That is the million dollar question, isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s not like he just walked into your house.”
So. About that.
Amelia gasps, interrupting whatever snark Ceres might have blessed us with if her left brow had been given the chance to fully arch. “Don’t tell me you two became friends after shopping together yesterday.”
Brow reaching peak, Ceres says, “Surely not.”
“Then what’s going on? Don’t you dare tell Brian anything ! Jove’s not the only one who knows how to slash a tire, you hear me? I know where you ride your bike.”
Them’s fighting words, missy.
Within a millisecond, Ceres shoots me a look that promises I won’t live to see another sunset if harm befalls Amelia in any shape or form, so I slump against the couch cushions and roll my eyes.
“Mars isn’t going to tell Brian anything,” Ceres assures her friend.
I might . You don’t know me. Brian and I go way back.
He’d encourage me to practice my ransom notes in high school.
I’d slip stacks for those who had wronged Jove and me between the slats of Brian’s locker, and he’d sort them before delivering them to their appropriate locations.
Besides, it’s not like it would matter if I tell Brian that Amelia likes him.
Brian’s impervious to affection. He only cares about mail, yet he still wouldn’t get it even if I send him a letter that says Amelia Christmas has been in love with you for over a decade .
Who in our school wasn’t in love with him?
And exactly how many people did he go out with?
Yeah. Zero.
The guy is some kind of fictional figure, like Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy, but for mail.
Making matters worse, his parents and his twin sister, Brianna, run the local post office here.
They have for generations, and they’re all the exact same way.
I’m not entirely sure how procreation transpires or what is in their water, all I know is that something is charmingly wrong with the Single family.
While Amelia and Ceres continue their conversation without me, I decide to send Brian a perfectly normal message. Simply because I can. And also because I am bored.
Mars : Are you ace?
Brian’s reply is swift, which probably means he’s bemoaning a slow mail day at the fancy office building he heads mailroom in.
It’s the very same company that handles Rouge’s branding, which is to say, yes, Brian knows Jove and I are Rouge.
He’s the one who connected us with Whirlwind Branding, which gave our business a fighting chance years ago.
Getting our branding together and getting the opportunity to work with a cover artist like Frank was the turning point for the Rouge Empire.
Now that I’m thinking about it, Brian and I might actually be friends.
Huh. Wild.
Brian : Am I what?
Mars : Asexual. Aromantic. Etc.
Brian : I like girls.
Shocking.
Mars : What type?
Brian : XX
I stare at my phone, certain I’ve not just been sent chromosomes in response to my query. Except. No. That’s exactly what has happened.
Mars : Bro.
Brian : Any type of woman can love mail, Mars.
Wow. I suddenly feel like a moron.
Mars : So can any type of man, Brian. If you like girls, there’s more to it than just “loves mail.” Jove loves mail. He got mad at your sister for not handling the mail lovingly enough two days ago.
And then he dumped a box of fanmail unceremoniously on the dining room table, but that’s not important. For the purpose of my point, Jove loves mail. Not just Lyra’s mail.
Even though it is absolutely just Lyra’s mail that Jove loves.
Brian : Are you trying to set me up with your brother or convince me to disown my sister?
Mars : Jove’s already married, and your sister’s already disowned you.
Brian : …
Brian : Could this conversation have been a letter?
Mars : No.
Brian : You wound me.
Mars : Snail mail is too slow for my undiagnosed ADHD.
Kindly elaborate upon your female preferences.
It’s for research. Lyra loves mail. You know Lyra loves mail.
And we both know Lyra crushed on you for half a millenia.
You never reciprocated her feelings. Why, if your type is simply “female who loves mail,” was that the case?
Brian : Because she’s Jove’s Lyra.
Mars : She wasn’t Jove’s in kinder.
Brian : Pretty sure she wasn’t writing letters in kinder, either, homie buddy. I’m confident her single goal in life was befriending butterflies. Her love of mail bloomed with her love of Jove, and I’m too much of a gentleman to intrude upon another man’s mail-loving lass.
Mm. I suppose he’s not wrong. Someone really should tell both Jove and Lyra about their bloomed love, though. Sometimes, I find myself feeling particularly insane purely because I’m the only one wholeheartedly aware of this silly thing called my very obvious feelings .
Brian : Was there a point to your inquiry?
Mars : Since when is there a point to anything I do?
Brian : Since always.
Got me there.
Lifting my attention off the screen, I find Ceres with her forehead against her desk. As she gently lifts and drops, lifts and drops, Amelia’s voice lilts from the device beside her skull.
“—beautiful what he’s doing for his coworkers. Genius, too! A Countdown to Valentine’s Day is so good for morale. He’s a blessing. A gift. An angel. I wish he’d never left Bandera. Can you imagine how magical it would be if we worked together? Do Walmarts have mailrooms?”
Mars : Do Walmarts have mailrooms?
Brian : No. Not like they should.
Brian : Are you talking with Amelia Christmas?
Oh? Lips curling, I sit up a little straighter. Brian, Brian, Brian…what’s this about you not only knowing that Amelia Christmas works at Walmart but also her being the first thing that comes to mind when Walmart is mentioned?
Perhaps there’s hope for a Christmas miracle yet.
Mars : No? Why?
Brian’s typing bubbles appear and disappear several times until minutes stretch between now and my last reply. Finally, he offers a riveting:
Brian : No reason.
Brian : Mail’s here! Bye!
Fine. Keep your secrets, mail boy.
“Little goddess,” I say, and Amelia gasps, going dead silent as though she forgot I was here. Because apparently that’s happening a lot today. Maybe I’m just a forgettable person.
Dragging her gaze to me, Ceres arches a single brow without lifting her head off her desk.
I smile, amicably, and point at our carrot cake. “Breakfast?”
“Breakfast,” she echoes. “I gotta go, Mellie.”
“Breakfast? But it’s well past noo—”
Ceres hangs up, pulls herself from her desk chair, and approaches me—a rush of long skirts, grace, and beauty.
My heart rate stumbles when she seats herself on the floor past the coffee table and peers at me expectantly.
We need plates. I do not have plates. I did not think to bring plates…
But I do have a camera fixed on her kitchen window and the virtual walkthrough for this floorplan saved on my computer. Occasionally, I meander through it. And by occasionally , I do mean every other day. It’s an excellent habit to have while I wait for my carrot cakes to cool.
So, I go get plates as if I live here, because one day I will, and I do ever so love being prepared.