A matter of heart, p.11
A Matter of Heart, page 11
I shake my head, yet . . . the words pour out anyway. Like I have no control after all. “She’s in South America. On assignment.”
He sits down next to me and takes my hand. Callie excuses herself, saying she wants to go find Kate for an update on Kellan. After she leaves, he says, “I know.”
I say what’s nearly crushing my insides. “She didn’t come back to see me.”
Gently—“I know.”
“My dad . . .” I can’t even finish. It hurts too much. Stupid hope. How I hate it at times.
Jonah kisses me and then wraps his arms around my trembling shoulders. He says for the third time, this time tinted with sadness, “I know.”
He is so lucky, I can’t help but think.
Envy is such an ugly emotion to possess, especially when it’s felt toward a person you truly only want the best for.
Shortly before dinner, a text comes through on Jonah’s phone. Thunderclouds erupt around him as he stares down at the message. “I need to step into the other room to make a call,” he tells me. His eyes briefly flick over toward where Callie is sitting, next to Kellan, before settling back on me. “Will you be okay?”
“Seriously, Jonah?” Exasperation flashes in her eyes. “What do you think’s gonna happen when you leave? That I’ll lead her to my gingerbread house in the forest and bake her into a pie?” She pretends to hold a plate and fork. “Mmm . . . Creators are tasty. Much better than temperamental Emotionals, that’s for sure.”
I actually have to choke back a snort of laughter. Jonah, though, finds no humor in this and tells her so.
“You’re so uptight nowadays,” Callie shoots at him. “I swear, the Council has sucked all the fun out of you.”
Has it? I wonder. But no—Jonah’s always been serious. Responsible beyond his years.
“Should I be more like Kellan?” he throws back. “All fun, all the time?”
She rolls her eyes, but they soften as she glances down at Kellan’s sleeping face. “You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just . . . you two are such extremes nowadays. Total opposites. It’s sad to see.” Her eyes meet mine for the briefest of seconds—defiance, a touch of guilt, and a smidge of pity all reflecting out of them—before her focus returns to Jonah. “Just go,” she says when he doesn’t say anything. “I’ll make sure that neither of them gets even a paper cut.”
“I’m trusting you . . .” he finally says; while the ending is open, it’s patently clear what words he wanted to say.
Callie’s eyes widen and then narrow sharply in anger. “I’m sorry that one incredibly stupid mistake on my behalf seems to have eradicated an entire lifetime’s worth of trust between us, Jonah.”
Whoa. WHOA. This is a slippery slope I do not want any of us to maneuver tonight. “We’ll be fine,” I cut in, jumping off the window seat to come over to where Jonah is standing. I slip my arm around his waist and squeeze.
What I really want to say to him is: It took two to tango, buddy. She’s not the only one to blame for that broken trust, is she? But that would be utterly hypocritical of me, considering I have no place to talk, having just locked lips with Kellan recently myself.
Callie is staring at me in surprise, like she’s shocked I came to her defense. Jonah’s phone beeps again, and I urge him to go answer it. He’s reluctant, but he finally goes.
Silence, thick and uncomfortable, settles around us. She’s the first to wade through by thanking me for defusing the bomb she nearly set off. There’s a hint of wonder to her husky voice.
I scratch at my scalp and look anywhere but right at her. “It wasn’t . . .” I trail off, unsure of what to really say. I end up shrugging.
She’s still staring at me, though. “I know,” she says. “About you and Kellan.”
I cough; my head itches viciously. Caleb, utterly amused, murmurs, This is better than watching Faerie daytime TV.
“About your Connection,” she clarifies, even though it wasn’t necessary. “He told me. How you’ve got Connections to both of them, but picked Jonah.”
The coughing transitions to choking. Oh, good lords. Maybe sending Jonah out of the room was a bad idea after all. Because, obviously, Creators are tasty to snack on!
She leaps out of her seat to pound on my back. Once I stop coughing, she gets me a cup of water. “You better not choke. You heard the guy. My ass is on the line here.”
“I’m fine,” I wheeze.
“I didn’t mean to shock you with all that.” She shoves me over to one of the chairs at the table, sitting across from me. “You’re probably thinking I want to blackmail you or something.”
My horror must show, because she quickly stresses, “I don’t!” before sighing. “Chloe, I ought to warn you that I’m known for having very poor tact. I guess I was just giving you a heads up that I know. Especially since he hasn’t told anybody else, other than Mom.”
“Oh,” is all I can think of saying.
She looks over at Kellan. “Can I be honest with you?”
I take another sip of water. “Is there a time you haven’t been?”
She chuckles, no doubt remembering the last time we were together, when she pretty much forced herself upon me so I could hear the truth about what went down between her and Jonah. “Touché. Look, I guess what I want to say is . . . they’re my friends, too. My family. Even Jonah, even now when it’s impossible for the two of us to be in a room together without it being painfully awkward. And . . . I love them, you know?”
Yeah, I do. And I’m surprisingly non-threatened by this confession.
“I’m not going away,” she continues, her green eyes meeting mine. “Neither are you. And even if Jonah and I never get past what happened, we’ll always be linked because of Mom and Kellan. There’ll always be holidays, and birthdays, and dinners, and thousands of other events big and small over the rest of our lifetimes. So . . .” She lets loose a puff of air that makes her hair float like a halo around her face. “This.” A hand is waved in between us. “We can do this, right?”
She’s sincere. I don’t doubt it in the least.
“Yeah,” I tell her. And I mean it.
Callie and Jonah are arguing. Again.
In fact, they seem to argue a lot. No—not argue. Bicker. They bicker incessantly, over what TV show or movie to watch, over sports teams (which I find confusing, considering they grew up together and ought to like the same local teams), over food . . . over, well, just about everything.
It’s sort of hilarious, actually.
Right now, they’re bickering over some friends of theirs from high school back in Maine as we sit around the table, eating dinner (Jell-o for me; some unfairly tasty looking stuff Astrid brought in during a quick visit half an hour ago for them). From what I can piece together, there’s a guy (Kai, I think?) and girl (definitely Maggie) who have run hot and cold over the past several years and are currently on a break. Jonah thinks this is inevitable, that the two of them are best served to be friends in the long run. Callie, outraged over this “insensitivity” to their friends’ plights, is insistent that they will work through this latest mess. “Oh, c’mon!” Jonah groans. “Cal. Seriously? They broke up this time because of sushi.” He shakes his head. “Because, you know, sushi is a real relationship killer.”
As a matter of fact, the two of them are eating sushi right now, which makes the conversation even more comical to listen to.
Callie smacks her hands on the table, sending drops of soy sauce scattering from an open packet. “Kai is being an ass and you know it. Why do you always defend him?”
“I am not defending him.” Jonah’s chopsticks jut toward her. “I’m just saying, that if Maggie’s gonna bring about World War III due to,”—he holds up a California roll—“uncooked fish—”
“Oh my GODS,” she hollers, smacking her hands against the table again. Water sloshes out of my cup. “Do you hear yourself?”
“The better question is, who can’t hear you two?” comes a scratchy voice from across the room. We all go still before our chairs nearly clatter to the floor on cue and in succession.
Kellan is awake, and he’s staring at us with that fabulous half-quirked smile of his.
“KELLAN!” Callie shrieks before promptly bursting into tears. She rushes to his bed and throws her arms around him.
“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice muffled through her hair. “You and Maggie, both off your rockers over Japanese food. Am I right, bro?”
Jonah is grinning like an idiot, so incredibly happy and relieved at the same time. I am, too, but I suddenly feel like the fifth wheel, even though there are only four of us in the room. I hang back some when Jonah goes over to hug his brother once Callie relinquishes her hold.
He’s awake, seemingly fine. Like he’d just been napping and not in a coma. And it’s just so surreal that I’m completely taken aback by it all. Yet, nobody else seems to be, not even Kellan.
“I should’ve known that you’d wake up to weigh in on the Great Breakup of Kai and Maggie, take thirty-seven,” Jonah is telling him. And the three of them laugh—Jonah and Callie much louder than Kellan’s tired, scratchy chuckle—but it’s really lovely to hear.
I have no idea what to say. Or do. So I stay where I am, at the end of the bed.
Kellan coughs quietly and glances down at his chest. “Oh, I guess the Shamans took my Team Kai shirt when I was admitted. Damn, it could have come in handy. Silent support and all.”
Callie turns toward me, still clutching Kellan’s hands. “You think he kids. We actually do have shirts that say Team Maggie and Team Kai. We had them made . . . when was it?” She glances across the bed at Jonah. “Junior year?” He nods and she grins, focus back on me. “I think even Karl has one.”
I clear my throat. “Wow. That’s . . .?” But I don’t know really how to follow that up. Especially since Kellan meets my eyes for the smallest of moments before looking away. The room goes silent—the laughter and joy from just minutes before gone like they’d never been there in the first place.
Ladies and Gentlemen—may I introduce you to Chloe Lilywhite, Mood Killer.
Jonah suddenly says, “I thought it best—” before his mouth snaps shut in anger. He runs his hands through his hair, sending the already messy strands in even more directions before simultaneously sighing deeply and rolling his eyes. Then, if looks could maim, he pins his brother to the bed with a ferocious stare that Kellan shoots back immediately.
“Well,” Callie says, unbothered in the least. “While you two duke it out, I’m going to go call Mom and let her know you’re awake, Kel.” She grabs her purse from the chair by Kellan’s bed. “Maybe I’ll go track down Aunt Kate while I’m at it. Play nice, boys.” She gives me a wink and then saunters out into the hallway.
Kellan finally speaks to me. “Would you mind going into another room, C, so my brother and I can talk?”
Before I can say anything, Jonah grabs hold of my arm and drags me closer to where he’s standing. “She stays.”
Kellan won’t look at me anymore. He turns his head away from the both of us and stares at windows on the opposite wall. Jonah’s hands clench in and out of fists before he takes a deep breath, eyes briefly closing. “We’re going to talk about this, whether you—” Deep sigh. “I think—” Eye rolling. “Since you mention it, I—”
Have I mentioned how much I detest when they talk to each other like this? It’s maddening, not to mention unfair. Especially since I know they’re talking about me.
His hand flexing like crazy, Jonah turns to me and says, “I know it’s unbearably rude, but Kellan and I are going to discuss a few things right now, and he’s requesting I do so our way so as—” Kellan’s head whips back around, eyes incredulous and murderous at the same time. Jonah lets out a bark of laughter. “Like I said: I’m not going to keep this from her.”
“I should go to the other room,” I offer weakly. The Jell-o is clamoring to come back up.
“No.” Jonah grabs my hand and squeezes it. “This includes you. Just let us—” His attention snaps back to Kellan, and then they’re silent for a good long time.
Fighting about me. Most likely about why I’m here in this room. Or how Jonah knows we kissed in the cave, or . . . or . . . or gods, I don’t even want to think about it. I don’t want them to argue, not now, not so shortly after Kellan has woken up from a coma.
I don’t want to cry, but I’m perilously close to when I beg, “Don’t fight. Please don’t fight. Not because of me. Not again.”
Jonah murmurs my name softly, reaching for me.
I point at him. My finger is shaky. “You were . . . trapped. Attacked by the Elders.” And then I wave the same finger back and forth between Kellan and me. “And we were attacked, too. Stuck in a cave. All of us . . .we were all . . .” My whole body trembles. I just can’t go there. “But we’re alive, and . . . and . . . I don’t want there to be fighting. Please.”
Kellan struggles to sit up in his bed. It’s his turn to say my name, with a question and pity and concern all wrapped through two syllables.
I hatehatehate crying. But I’m crying now.
“Are you sure?” Kellan asks me quietly. He’s upright now, watching me carefully, which is absurd because being an Emotional means not having to rely on my facials cues at all.
But I know what he’s asking. What he means. I tell him, “I’m sure.”
“We can do this,” Jonah says, just as quietly as his brother. His hand reaches for mine; it’s trembling, too.
I squeeze it and whisper, “We can.”
It’s Kellan’s turn. He makes us wait, but in the end, he nods, too. And the three of us stand there, uncomfortable yet relieved, I think.
It’s a mostly good feeling.
Astrid and Callie bring breakfast the next morning: croissants, coffee with thick, rich cream, and apricot pastries so light and flaky, they look like they can float right off the hospital’s china plates. This prompts Kellan and me to scowl at his cups of Jell-o and my dry toast while everyone else eats like royalty.
“I’m disappointed that Ewan hasn’t come by yet,” Astrid says, buttering one half of a croissant and slathering it with a pinkish berry jam from the Gnomish plane. “We had words about this, you know. Just last night.”
“Why bother?” Kellan sets his spoon down and motions for the croissant. To my surprise, Astrid hands it over.
“You’re not supposed to eat that!” I hiss.
Pure bliss settles across his face with a bite. “Croissants are better than Jell-o. You can’t argue that.”
I don’t, especially when Astrid hands me the other half, prepared just as tastily as Kellan’s. Goodbye dry toast. Hello tastiness! “To answer your question, Kellan,” she says, “I bother because, no matter what, he is still your father.”
“If he hasn’t changed his ways in fourteen years, I highly doubt he’s going to try now,” Jonah says, loading his own croissant with jam.
And yet, isn’t that what I keep hoping will happen with my own parents? With my mom, even just as recently as yesterday? Why is it Jonah and Kellan seem to be able to accept this from their father, and I can’t?
I think I’d like to, actually. I’d like to not care so much, to not build up hopes only to have them crash down in fiery disappointments around me more often than not. But I can’t do it. I can’t let go of my faith that someday, somehow, my mom and I will connect in a way we’re supposed to.
I can’t write her off yet. I’m not ready.
An exasperated sigh escapes from Astrid’s lips along with a gently lobbed admonishment back toward the twins. Then her attention shifts to me. “I also talked to your father last night, Chloe.”
My eyes are owl-wide as I swallow a much-to-large bite. The Gnomish jam is super tart, which probably makes me not only wide eyed but pucker lipped, too.
“Bet you didn’t know Mom is a meddler,” Callie murmurs from behind her coffee cup. Astrid glares at her daughter while the boys try to hide their amusement with coordinated coughs.
“Encouraging a man to come see his daughter in the hospital in not meddling,” the Council’s senior Seer insists.
“Was it truly encouragement?” Kellan asks. He taps a finger against his temple, cocking his head in fake confusion. “Or was it more along the lines of threatening?”
Astrid’s children burst into laughter, but Jonah sobers quickly, reaching under the table to take my hand. Because, obviously, my father needing to be threatened to come to see his daughter shows just how crummy of a father he is. And of how little he actually thinks of me.
I doubt he’s called. At least my mom has, even if she’s in Chile hunting a stupid plant obviously more important than me.
The smile drops off of Kellan’s face, too. “Sorry,” he says to Astrid, but I know it’s really meant more for me than her.
“As I was trying to say,” Astrid continues, obviously unbothered by her children making fun of her, “I spoke to Noel, too, but I was informed that he’s in a series of meetings all day and doesn’t think he will be able to come by the hospital.”
I break off a corner of the croissant and crumble it beneath my fingers. I don’t know really what to say here. Jonah knows how lousy my parents are; Kellan, too. Astrid heard a little bit from me about this last year during our session. But how much does she really know? And what about Callie? I’m not sure if I’m ready to open myself up that wide yet, even if these people here are all . . . what, exactly? Just Jonah’s family? My new family? Or, my soon-to-be family? And yet, a type of family unit I’m totally unfamiliar with. So I offer a simple, “He works a lot.”
Thankfully, Jonah quickly shifts the conversation away from my family’s failings to something much more palatable. But my appetite is gone, even though moments before I’d been starving.
