Page 79 of Florescentia

He scowled as he pushed away from the counter, then rounded the corner and disappeared into the other room. Even as he walked, the small Peculiars hidden about fled from his vicinity.

My mother came beside me to gather napkins.

“How have you—”

“Who is that?” She turned her head up.

“I told you, he’s a cousin—”

“Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax don’t have any nephews.” She leaned her hip against the table, turning her shoulders toward me to interrogate. “You’re going to tell me who you brought inside my home.”

My shoulders grew more tense. Just a single angry glare from my mother was enough to make my body instinctually want to curl up like a prawn.

“Why did you lie to me?” Her dark brow raised, her eyes green and sharp like a cat’s. She wanted to be patient, or look like she was, but her nail tapping on her crossed arms wasn’t giving me that impression.

I lowered my voice. “It’s complicated.”

“Who is he,” she asked again, “to you?”

How do I explain a thing like him?

“A friend,” I finally said. “He’s a friend.”

My mother’s chest visibly heaved as she looked back toward the doorway, her finger still tapping against the metal arm.

“I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea—”

She raised her hand to dismiss the excuse. “No more lies.”

“I’m sorry,” I pleaded with her, “he’s been helping me.”

Her brow arched.

“He’s been mentoring me,” I explained, “spiritually. After everything . . .”

Her face immediately softened, her guard dropped. “Oh, Lucy.”

“He is helping,” I insisted, though I didn’t specify much about how. It was best I didn’t.

Her brow twitched as she looked back at me. Though she nodded in understanding. “He looks . . .” She trailed off.

“I know,” I sighed, “uncanny resemblance.”

She laughed. “Is that why you keep him around? Your friend?” There was an accusatory nature, but her eyes were glassy.

“No,” I whispered. “Coincidence.”

Her lip trembled, and I wrapped my arms around her. “I miss him too. I’m sorry.”

Tensions were high, and I felt for the first time that my mother was being honest about the emotional strain. She’d lost a son-in-law, and maybe that was why everything was all the harder. She knew it might soon be time to do this all over again. Not now, but not very far in the future.

“Well, if you need him to reach any tall places . . .” I suggested.

She laughed. “Does he clean too?”

“Maybe under duress,” I joked, “but he may eat all your food.”

“He’s hungry?” she gasped. “I should have made more for lunch.” She was already fleeing from me and checking the pantry.