Pinpricks of Light #3
“Of course, poppet.” Their mother smiled at him dotingly. “Now, where did I leave my stole?”
“Where are you going?” they asked as Jorge—their parents’ driver—appeared with their mother’s ruby red stole in one hand, their father’s decorative walking stick in another, and the keys to their car in a third.
Their father took the walking stick, slender fingers wrapping possessively around the ivory knob like a claw. “The theater.”
“We were invited to join the mayor in his personal loge along with Claryn Duboi.” Their mother stilled long enough for Jorge to drape her stole around her bare shoulders. “It’s a connection your father has worked hard to forge. The Dubois are well-respected, you know.”
Cya did know, though they didn’t think their parents would celebrate that the Duboi they happened to work for was Claryn’s disgraced, lesbian daughter. So they decided to keep that to themself.
Instead, they settled for an anticlimactic, “Oh.”
“First cocktails at Eduardo’s, then dinner at Amory.” She simpered as Cya’s father settled a top hat on his head. “Then Ynaldi accompanied by Tamlin’s orchestra playing in the grand hall of The Opera House.”
At that, Cya straightened out of the slouched posture they’d subconsciously adopted. “Ynaldi’s playing at The Opera House?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” She pushed her empty champagne flute into Cya’s hand. “Be a dear and hand this off to Hemersyn when you see him, won’t you, darling?”
“Wait, I want to come,” they blurted, and both their parents froze.
“That’s quite impossible. We only have the two tickets,” their father said, checking his pocket watch again.
“It’d be boring for you, anyway,” their mother added. “All the adults talking business.”
“But it’s Ynaldi! She’s my favorite harpist.”
At that, their mother cocked her head, expression comically bewildered. “She is?”
“Yes!” they cried in exasperation.
Their father’s cane cracked against the marble floor, echoing like a gunshot. “Cylene, I’ve had quite enough of your dramatics for one day.”
“There really is no need to shout, sweetheart,” their mother rebuked. “How were we supposed to know you’d want to come?”
Because I’m your godsdamned child! Cya wanted to scream at them. Instead, they lowered their voice, practically begging as they said, “Please, can’t you just wait? I’ll go change. It won’t take but a minute.”
“But you’re covered in champagne, darling,” their mother tittered. “You need to bathe, and your hair is a right mess. If we wait for you, we’ll be late for cocktails, and you know that’s when the best networking happens.”
“But—”
“We’re already running late.” Opening the door for his wife, Cya’s father ushered her out into the late afternoon. “To the car, my jewel.”
Practically swooning at the endearment, their mother fluttered her fingers at Cya in farewell. “Kisses, darling.”
Cya followed them, stopping in the doorway as they clutched the empty champagne flute desperately. “Father, please—”
“Enough, Cylene! Your whining is tiresome,” their father snapped as he opened the car door for their mother. “Stop acting like a child.”
As he rounded the back of the car and climbed into the other side, their mother hesitated half-in, half-out of the sedan.
Leaning on the door, she offered Cya an apologetic smile.
“We can’t wait for you to get presentable or else we’ll be late, and you know that’s bad for business.
It’s a very important night for your father.
Honestly, you’re being a bit selfish, don’t you think, sweetheart? ”
Defeated, Cya ducked their head. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll talk tonight. Or, well, we’ll be getting back late, and tomorrow, we’re leaving for the Hamptons, so next week? I’ll tell you all about it then.” She beamed in self-satisfaction, and Cya could do nothing but nod. “Good girl.”
And with that, the car door shut, the engine purred to life, and the sedan pulled out of the driveway, wheels spitting gravel.
Cya stood in the open doorway until the April air turned their champagne-drenched clothing icy.
They must have gotten some on their face too, because their cheeks were wet and cold.
With a sniffle, they wiped at the spilled alcohol with the dry end of their scarf and shuffled back into the entry hall.
They glanced down at the crystal flute in their hand, at the near-perfect, red imprint of their mother’s lips left behind on the glass. Their chest felt hollowed out, like one of those orange vegetables humans gutted and carved to celebrate Ol’ Hollow’s Eve.
Tilting their head, they raised their arm straight out in front of them, glass dangling from their fingertips.
They watched the waning sunshine catch in the crystal, casting rainbow prisms over the wall.
They spread their fingers just enough to release the champagne flute, letting it plummet to the floor.
The crystal shattered against the marble, and it was bright, and it was clear.
Cya watched the pieces scatter, little pinpricks of light, and smirked.