Chapter 9 #2
The question, or part of it, makes me blink in surprise and my hands still on the box I’m breaking down. “What about me?”
“What are your parents like? Strict? Permissive? You don’t really talk about them.”
Suddenly, everything in the mortuary feels overwhelming. The fluorescent lights hum above me, and from outside I can hear the birdsong like it’s being piped straight into my ears without a wall between me and it. My fingers scratch along the cardboard in my hands, and I finally look down at it.
“My parents were complicated,” I admit. “I think that’s the best word I have to describe them. They were sort of all over the place. In my opinion, they didn’t always treat us—me—very fairly.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see that Cecil has stopped in his organization efforts, his hands frozen on a bigger box of cleaning supplies. “Were?” he repeats. “Are they not in your life anymore?”
Fuck it. I knew this would happen at some point if I hung around long enough. I’m not one to give out details of my personal life, but in this case, I know ripping off the band-aid will end his curiosity before it gets out of hand.
“Mom’s dead. Dad’s somewhere. He left when I was eight or so. Drank a lot and, yeah.” I avoid looking up at Cecil for as long as possible, until I can’t help the pull anymore. When I meet his gaze, my stomach sinks.
Somehow, I hoped to avoid seeing the pity that I knew would be there. The poorly disguised curiosity. The sympathy.
I don’t want any of it.
But I can’t say that out loud, so I only give an apologetic smile for making the conversation uncomfortable. Just like I’m so used to doing with people who ask.
“Sorry,” Cecil mumbles. I can almost hear his brain working to get him out of the hole he’s dug for himself, and I let him tread water for a few moments. Just because.
“No need to be sorry. It was a long time ago.” I flash him a practiced grin.
“I don’t talk about it because it brings the mood down.
And I’ve worked really hard to build my life in spite of losing them, you know?
” The words are all tailored to end the conversation and prevent it happening again.
I’ve spoken the lines more than once, and the reaction I get from him is expected. Typical.
More sympathy. An awkward smile. Then Cecil changes the subject to the weather, of all predictable things.
But given that it’s something other than my past or my parents, I’m more than willing to discuss next week’s forecasted storms.
It’s later than I bargained for when I finally push my way into the coffee shop where Hestia’s sitting on the counter beside the register. She barely glances up from her phone, though she reaches out for the cups, like she’s waiting to see if I’ll order my usual.
What the hell, I decide, swerving and tugging my headphones down to rest on my neck. “Yeah,” I say. “I’d love one.” But as I watch her hop down from her perch and start making my iced mocha, another idea shifts into place in my head.
Once I’ve paid for my drink, gratefully taking advantage of the employee discount I argued against for months since I don’t work here, I sit down in one of the comfortable wooden chairs near the counter and glance around, just to be sure we’re alone.
“Can I ask you about Amir?” I keep my words casual, reminding myself not to feel too intense or weird about it so she doesn’t think I’m interested.
But Hestia throws me a wickedly sly smirk, which makes my stomach sink. “Has his charm finally caught you? His pretty eyes and pretty dogs?” she jokes. “I get it. Really. I can’t blame you. So, what do you want to know? How many exes? Relationship red flags—?”
“No,” I interrupt hurriedly. “No, nonono.”
Well, actually…
“Umm, back up though. I don’t care about his exes. But if you know of any red flags…” I lift my brows enticingly at her before standing up to snag my drink from her hand. “I’m curious.”
“Mhmm.” She gives me a knowing look from under her lashes and hops back up on the counter, her heels tapping against the wooden base.
“Let’s see. He doesn’t snore, so you’re safe there.
If I had to say something, I’d say he’s a bit of a control freak.
” She pauses. “Okay, he’s very much a control freak.
Usually just about himself and his schedule, but he needs that grip on things.
” She rolls her eyes before meeting mine again.
“Oh, yeah?” That’s probably not what I’m interested in, though it occurs to me she’s probably not going to tell me he’s a murderer. If she knew, then she’d tell someone. “Any weird shit when you guys were kids?”
When Hestia gives me a careful look, my chest tightens as I wonder if I’ve gone too far. “Like killing animals?” she asks slowly.
Yeah.
“What? No, nonono.” I need to get this back on track before she gets suspicious, so I put one hand up to ward off that kind of suspicion. “I just meant, like a worrying obsession with taking fish pictures for his social media profile or drag racing some old car.”
Her expression lightens in clear relief as Hestia decides I’m just joking instead of accusing her cousin of something bad. “Oh, no, you’re safe with those. He hates fishing. Says it’s pointless and not worth his time.”
“He’s right.”
She snorts. “And he cares about nice cars, not necessarily fast cars.” For a few moments she just watches me as I suck coffee through the straw, cheeks hollowed as the cold, caffeinated liquid fills my mouth. “You like him?”
No.
But I just give her a tiny smile, then shrug. “He’s different,” I allow, not lying about that. “He’s interesting. I’ve never met anyone like him, and I like his dogs.”
Though I might have a small grudge against Umbra, even if she hadn’t hurt me.
“Oh, I will happily help you two.” Hestia gets to her feet, her smile wide. “It’s been years since he’s been in a relationship. He’s actually pretty sensitive. Don’t tell him I said that, but he takes things to heart way too easily—”
“Please don’t help—”
“I can make up some excuses to have him around more?”
“Really, you don’t need to—”
“And I’ll make sure to bully him into bringing the dogs since you like them.”
Somehow, this has gotten woefully out of hand. I just stare at her, flabbergasted, my coffee forgotten in my hand as Hestia goes on about all the ways she’ll help me get a date with her cousin.
But all I can do is sit there and wonder what the hell I’ve done to deserve such a ‘helpful’ friend. And whether her help will kill me faster than I would die otherwise.