Page 81 of In the Light of the Moon
“Mona,” I gritted, Sylvie’s embarrassment mixing with my own irritation. Ramona was a little shit, and my mate didn’t deserve to be teased for us enjoying each other.
Ramona spun in her seat to face me, “What, big brother of mine? Don’t be mad that the walls are thin here.”
Before I could snap a retort, my mother came breezing in, already dressed for the day in a dark blue sweater and jeans. Her hair was neat, and her makeup was clearly done. When she rounded the corner and took in Ramona’s disheveled presence, she ran her narrowed eyes up and down my sister’s form, “Would it kill you to not look a mess, Ramona? Your lack of consideration for your appearance is off-putting.”
My sister blanched, glancing quickly at Sylvie, then me, then the floor before rolling her eyes. “We’re not in public,mother. I just woke up.”
Meredith just threw her hair over her shoulder and sat at the table, “Calm that rat’s nest, Ramona.”
I felt the flare of my sister’s own embarrassment and aggravation, but she didn’t have some sort of witty comeback for our mother. Instead, she sat as far away from Meredith as possible when we all convened at the table.
The unspoken expectation for me to contribute to the conversation was an anvil on my shoulders, but Sylvie did as she’d promised. Any time there was a lull, or my mother looked to me as if she was going to ask a question or take a jab, Sylvie swooped in.
As soon as everyone slowed down eating, I shot up from my seat and proceeded to clear the table. What I didn’t expect was for Ramona to do the same. Before Sylvie could start helping, Ramona took her plate and empty mug, along with her own, and joined me in the kitchen.
Her shoulders were high, the tension in her back telling. Ramona and I were unalike in many ways, and I’d had enough time around her to pair her expressions and body movements to the truth of her emotions in her scent.
I didn’t say anything, because I knew that when she got like this, it would only make it worse. So, I cleaned and kept half of my attention on Sylvie who was discussing the day’s plans with my mother. Instead of giving into Meredith’s skepticism, Sylvie trudged forward, being her kind and sweet self. Gods, how much I loved her.
“Where do you want me to put this?” I focused back in on Ramona, finding her holding a half-dirty skillet in the air with suds still clinging to the back of it. My dry comment was on the tip of my tongue, riding along with the distress at thethoughtof her letting the dirty dishes touch the clean cupboards.
But, the vulnerable uncertainty in her eye made me stop, and I just sighed. Teaching my sixteen-year-old sister howto properly wash dishes should have been ridiculous, but she clearly didn’t know what she was doing. I supposed having a chef in the home all one’s life would do that to you.
I pointed out the proper dish towel for drying and the cupboard where the skillets went before slowly washing the dish. I didn’t chastise or outwardly correct, just let her see the process and what I was doing. Making a show of checking for any stray pieces of food before giving it a final rinse. After drying and putting the skillet away, I snuck a glance and saw Ramona taking extra time to carefully wash a platter. She was a little heavy-handed with the dish soap, but I was proud of myself for fighting the urge to inspect every dish she washed.
And if I made a mental note of where she put everything to take a look when she wasn’t in the room, that was my prerogative.
Our rhythm was far clumsier than mine and Sylvie’s, but we were eventually able to get the kitchen clean enough for my standards. When Ramona turned around, her sleep shirt was absolutely soaked, but the tension in her shoulders was gone.
“Son, do you have a lighter?” my mother barged in as if she could sense the ease between my sister and I. She was digging around in a handbag, unlit cigarette sticking out of her mouth.
Without a word, I opened a drawer in the kitchen and offered her one. It was the kind for lighting candles, but it would do.
My mother eyed it suspiciously, but was obviously too in need for a nicotine fix to put up a fight. She took the lighter and tried to offer me a cigarette in exchange.
Meredith had smoked all my life, and it was the one habit I’d picked up from her. Our runs together and our cigarette breaks were the only times we were amicable with one another. Where my mother didn’t cut. I remembered the years she was pregnant and then breastfeeding my sister being particularly difficult because I lost both reprieves for a while.
I shook my head, and it took Meredith a few awkward moments to realize that I really wasn’t going to smoke with her. Sitting in the biting air with a cigarette and a cup of coffee sounded almost like the best thing in the world.
Almost.
After looking quite perplexed, Meredith shrugged and headed toward the front door. Over her shoulder, she called, “Sylvie suggested we see where you work then walk around downtown until lunch. I’m ready to go whenever you all are.”
With her outside, the three of us stood in the kitchen for a moment, breathing in the looser air that my mother had been taking up without trying at all. Sylvie set the tea kettle on the stove and took down our travel mugs without a word. “You want some hot chocolate for the road, Ramona? Or tea?”
“Um, yeah. Whichever.” My sister twisted the damp towel she was still holding, and I watched her curiously. I rarely ever saw her nervous. Irritated, yes. Snide, often. But we both seemed to have inherited our mother’s arrogance, because I wasn’t used to the scent coming off of her. “And…” she huffed and threw the towel down on the counter, and I couldn’t help swooping in to drape it evenly on the drying rack where it belonged. “I’m sorry. About poking fun at you earlier. Sylvie.”
My brows threatened to fly to the back of my head, which was probably the wrong thing to do, because my sister took one look at my face, huffed again, and said, “Whatever,” before she stomped back toward the guest rooms.
Sylvie and I turned toward each other, and her face mimicked mine. It was going to be a long weekend.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Sylvie
Ramona stuck by my side while we walked through downtown, admiring the holiday lights lining and hanging over the streets. Decorations were bright, and there were a few performers on the corners playing holiday music while vendor booths lined the blocked-off road.
The holiday market was a tradition I hadn’t been able to partake in before, and it hadn’t really been on my radar until I frantically searched for things to do in town to keep Orion’s family occupied. Thankfully, it was their last night, and we were set to take them to the airport tomorrow.
