Mrs. Yvon covers her mouth, equal parts “Iknewit” and “sir, you didn’tdarewith that little girl” reflecting in her eyes.
“I want to make itveryclear that there’s nothing romantic between us.” Tangle of limbs. Her scent still clinging to my brain. “That is to say, nothing happened, and I don’t want anyone to act like something did. She was in a rough place last night and needed a place to sleep. I was the only friend with the means.” That’s all I can say to rationalize it to myself. Any other reason, or my being her first choice for comfort, will send me into a spiral that I can’t allow right now.
Giorgio’s lips purse. “Ah. Is she all right?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Yvon wrings her hands, all fantasies of romance tied back up. “When you sayrough place, you don’t mean she washarmed, right?”
My fist clenches. If she was, I don’t know what I’ll do. She’ll have an apartment somewhere by tomorrow. I’ll go move her things in myself. Screw it. I won’t ever let her be inthatkind of situation. As if emotional abuse isn’t worse. Shaking my head, Imutter, “Not physically.”
Giorgio nods, like he knows the story all too well. “I’ll set another place and make some more eggs.”
“I’ll handle things with the others so there aren’t any unwelcome whispers.”
“I appreciate it.”
Relieved and content with that, I go back upstairs to pick up my sugar glider. She lets me in after the first knock, and I find her seated on my bed in the sweater dress I brought her last night. Tan and plain with only a thick black belt around the middle to try and hide the fact my mother was a broader woman, it’s a far cry from what Calypso usually wears.
I watch her deft fingers work in her first wet braid as I approach. “It’s all clear.”
“They won’t be planning any gunshot weddings then?” she asks.
I let an easy smile come to my lips. “Not this time.” Moving to sit beside her, I gather the rest of her hair, combing through it with my fingers.
“What are you—”
“It’s not obvious?” I divide the section into three and begin braiding. Merrily. Like it’s absolutely a normal thing to do. The strange part is that it feels normal. We’re honestly past personal boundaries anyway, aren’t we?
When I’m done, she passes me the clip, and once it’s secure, I flick the long tail.
“I knew it,” she mutters, her expression soft. “You’re addicted to them.”
Standing, I huff. “Well, it’s not like I could be more obvious.”
Together, we make it down the stairs to a table set for two. It’s such a simple sight. Two plates piled with eggs and bacon. A dish of cut fruit. Toast. Orange juice. It isn’t exactly an extravagant breakfast, but the two settings are what get me.
Calypso surveys the spread like it’s liquid gold, then she looks at me. “Which is your seat?”
I nod at my place, on the right side of the ever-empty head, and she pulls out the chair across from it, settling in, too bright for all the tears I saw last night.
This girl.
She embraces the little things.
Yet again, I wonder how the world looks from her eyes and just how wonderful it might be to peer through that lens if this is what she looks like after a storm.
Calypso
~~~~~~~~~~~~
We’re halfway through the year. I forgot. About everything. Since I don’t do schoolwork at the same pace as everyone else, I somehow managed to forget this semester’s finals are upon us and winter break is encroaching.
A whole half month off. A whole half month at home. Without Lex.
I’m hardly listening to whatever the professor is saying, my mind endlessly drawn back to the way our bodies found each other last night, in spite of the thick comforter he used to separate us. Because he’s a gentleman.
As if.
Wouldn’t a gentleman have pulled away immediately?
