Page 62 of Not Your Romeo
“Seriously, though. We inherit more than genes from our parents.”
“Mhm.” Ziggy murmured, pecking my shoulder affectionately, before he began to testify. “She has her mother’s social flare. Octavia was the center of the room. Her beauty, and the way she laughed. There was an energy about her that could be infectious at times.”
“It’s true, you’re a little social butterfly. Look at you cheerleading and tumbling. You were even in one of those dance teams when you were little and the girl’s club.” Henny rubbed her back.
“She’s not gone, baby. You carry her with you, always, and you’ll pass her on when you have children of your own. You’ll probably teach them some of her traditions, the same as she taught you. Maybe you’ll tell her stories or treat them to her favorite recipes.” I kept rocking and talking, not even knowing what I was saying.
I just wanted her to know that it wasn’t the end of the world, even if it felt that way.
“You know what I do when I miss my mom?” I stroked her hair again, and she lifted her head and shook it gently. “I paint her favorite places.”
Rumi’s gaze dropped and I felt like the world’s biggest dumbass. Painting was my outlet, I’d forgotten that Rumi said they were travel buddies until the words fell from my lips. It was too late to shove them back in.
“I knew we weren’t going to make it,” she quietly whispered.
“Hey,” I raised my voice without meaning to. “Paint it for her. Come over, you can take me there on canvas, and if you like the results, you can send it with her.”
She swallowed hard, and for a minute, I thought maybe I’d made things worse, but then she slowly nodded. “The funeral is the day after tomorrow, can it be done by then?”
I shifted and eyed Henny. “Can Rumi stay at our house tonight?”
“I–” He swung his gaze toward Ziggy who raised a shoulder and bobbled his head. “That actually works out great. I needed to work tonight and–”
“He was gonna leave me with the bar flies,” Rumi announced, her voice carrying stiffer judgement than any court had ever passed, despite her flat tone.
“Bar– What?” I squinted, only to groan and bring a hand to my head.
“Sandy and Mandy.” Rumi injected as much disgust as she could manage into the two names.
“Candy and Dandy,” Henny hissed, shooting an apologetic look to Griz and his girls.
“You were?” I don’t even know why I thought it was my business, and judging from the way Ziggy cleared his throat, he was probably wondering, too.
“I– didn’t have anyone to watch her,” he admitted under his breath, when Rumi wandered toward the bar and fetched her backpack.
“I’m not going back to campus after everything that’s happened. I mean, I’ll take finals or whatever, but after that– I’m going online. So– anytime the kid needs company, fucking bring her over. Don’t leave her with people she isn’t comfortable with, it sucks.” I reached out and snared one arm around him in a pseudo hug that stunned Henny to stiffness. I felt a quick thump-thump against my back and broke out into a giggle I couldn’t help.
“Did you really just–?” I pulled back and stared at him, my arm frozen in that hook for a moment, before I relaxed it.
“What?” He laughed.
“You fucking thumped me like we were at a goddamn church potluck. Don’t you fake kick it with me. You hug me for real or tell me to fuck off, Henny.”
His eyes widened like I’d called him out on something sacred, but when I lifted my chin and smiled, he laughed and shook his head.
“Get out of here, would ya.” He jerked me into a hug, when I shifted to pass and whispered into my ear, “Thank you.”
Before I could process his words, he’d shove-steered me safely to Zig’s arms like he was handling precious cargo.
Chapter Thirty-One
Where is the Sauce
Ziggy
It was kind of weird. If I didn't know any better, I’d think taking care of Rumi kind of gave Ro a new purpose. She was twice as determined to stay positive and busy. They talked constantly, and that painting stuff didn’t stop at Florida coastlines.
When I came out to see why I was still sleeping alone at one in the morning, they had a scenic calendar sprawled out on the table between them. Each of them with a paintbrush in hand, moving color around canvas while idly speaking about their mothers.
