Chapter 17 #2
It occurred to Edith then that Thomasin had never once asked her to be smaller, or less. In fact, she had only ever seemed delighted by the moments when Edith had been most herself. So trusting that, she summoned her courage and sat down on the bed next to Thomasin.
At once, Thomasin took Edith’s hand and interlaced their fingers together. “Is this okay?” she asked.
Edith nodded and flipped their hands so that Thomasin’s faced downward and Edith’s rested on the bed.
She studied Thomasin’s tattoos. On the back of her hand was a burst of flowers.
Small, delicate petals woven into a maze of thorny stems. Blood did drip from the flowers, which made the flowery display seem much more suited to Thomasin’s tastes.
“Oleander,” Thomasin said, noting Edith’s attention.
“The Oleander Inn,” Edith realized aloud.
Thomasin’s lips tipped upward, but there was something sad in her smile. “The only home I’ve ever known. Seemed fitting.”
“Were you born into the syndicate?” Edith asked, taking care to measure her tone so that she didn’t seem too eager.
She wanted to dive into Thomasin’s past. It was a deep, dark ocean, and Edith wanted to explore every single inch of it.
She wanted to hear about all her adventures, all her trials and failures.
She wanted to know why Thomasin was who she was.
“No,” Thomasin said, eyes drifting away from Edith and down to the bed. “My parents died when I was young, and I ended up on the street. The leader of the syndicate at the time, Marshall, raised me up, trained me.”
“Did he love you?”
Thomasin seemed taken aback by the question, like she had never once considered it. “I think he loved me the way someone loves their favorite dagger.”
It was said matter-of-factly, coldly, like it wasn’t one of the saddest things Edith had ever heard. “You deserved more than that,” she told Thomasin, who smiled ruefully and batted away the comment with a casual swipe of her hand. “What about your parents? Do you remember them?”
Thomasin sighed and settled deeper into the mattress. “My father, no. But I have flashes of my mother. I might have just imagined them, though,” she added with an embarrassed little laugh.
“What do you remember about her?” Edith asked seriously, ignoring Thomasin’s attempt to minimize the love she clearly had for her mother.
Thomasin’s eyes went unfocused as she searched for words. “I only remember the stars. Sitting in her lap, learning about the constellations. I think I can hear her voice if I try really hard.”
“She loved you,” Edith said.
Another shrug. “I hope so.”
“She did.”
Thomasin looked at her, and for a second, Edith swore there was a faint sheen of tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall. “Thank you,” Thomasin said, her voice rough.
“You don’t have to thank me.” Edith knew too well what it felt like to be unloved, and it was a crime that Thomasin knew it too.
Thomasin released a deep sigh, the tension leaving her shoulders, then changed the subject. “Tell me about your family. You seemed sure that your father wouldn’t respond to the ransom.” The question was gentle, but there was an undeniable curiosity beneath her words.
“My father loves me, but I don’t think he likes me very much.”
Thomasin frowned. “Why not?”
“I’m silly, loud, emotional. I couldn’t trick anyone into marrying me,” Edith admitted quietly.
Thomasin shuffled closer to her, so that their knees and elbows touched, so that the words they said felt safe and protected in the little space between their mouths. “You are very silly, and I like it very much.”
Grins broke across both their faces, and Edith could feel the blush coloring her cheeks. She thought—hoped—Thomasin might lean in and kiss her again. She wasn’t sure if it was acceptable yet for her to initiate. Not to mention, she wasn’t sure she even knew how.
But Thomasin didn’t kiss her. Instead, she asked, “Do you have any siblings?
“Why?” Edith wasn’t sure why Thomasin would care. Surely she wanted to keep things fun, right?
Thomasin leveled Edith with a serious gaze. “Because I want to know you. Everything about you.”
Fear tightened Edith’s stomach. She didn’t want to say something that would put Thomasin off her. But Thomasin had asked, and so Edith forced herself to trust that she wanted to know.
She told her about Jonathan and Marigold.
How they had been inseparable as children but had grown further apart with every passing day.
That she was unspeakably happy they had found fulfilling lives for themselves, but it tore her heart in two that those lives didn’t have room for her.
She even told Thomasin she wasn’t sure she’d ever find her own happiness the way those two had, and that she might have to be content with a life spent alone, prioritizing people who had long since found better priorities, because no one in their right mind had ever prioritized her.
But she did her best to not resent them, because they were only doing what they were supposed to do.
They were in the right. It was Edith who was stunted, broken, frozen in time.
“You’re on a noble quest,” Thomasin whispered. “That doesn’t seem frozen to me.”
“Maybe,” Edith said.
“And you’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
Thomasin reached her hand up and stroked her fingertips across Edith’s cheek, before bringing them to rest on her jawline. “I’ll prioritize you.”
On a surge of confidence, Edith took the hand that was cupped along her jaw and brought it to her lips. She brushed her lips across Thomasin’s knuckles and looked up at her through her lashes. “Only if I can prioritize you too.”
“Deal,” Thomasin said, her eyes darkening.
Edith let her finger trace over the letters inked onto her knuckles. “Who did these?”
“I did,” Thomasin said with a smug smile.
Surprise colored her next words. “Just these, or all your tattoos?”
Thomasin gave a cursory glance at her arms. “Most of them, yeah. Except for the ones I couldn’t reach.”
Edith looked at the artwork strewn across Thomasin’s body in a new light. The tattoos weren’t just windows into Thomasin’s life. They were a masterpiece of skill and heart. “You’re incredibly talented.”
“I know,” she shrugged, but her dimple deepened as her smile grew wider.
Edith’s eyes drifted back down to the bunch of oleander on the back of her hand. She frowned and said, “I don’t think oleander actually has thorns, though, does it?”
“Fuck if I know, just looked cool.”
Edith laughed, tipping her head back. “I want one,” she said suddenly.
“An oleander? It’s poisonous, that’s the whole point.” Thomasin let her head fall to the side, so that she was facing her. Edith followed suit, their faces mere inches apart.
“No!” Edith bumped her knee into Thomasin’s. “I want a tattoo.”
She had never considered getting a tattoo before.
It just wasn’t something that ladies of her standing did.
But not only that, she knew that she’d never be able to decide on something that permanent.
How could she trust herself to choose something that would be etched onto her body forever?
It was more than likely she would make the wrong choice, and then she’d have to live with her regret proudly displayed forever.
It was the commitment of the whole endeavor that made her so anxious.
But in that moment, amid her quest and with Thomasin by her side, she wanted to be reckless. Edith wanted to make a choice without weighing the consequences for years on end.
Thomasin’s eyes lit up as she tilted her chin down and said, “Really?”
Edith nodded again, her resolve hardening. “You make me far too brave, Thomasin Shaw.”