by Zoe Chant
“Juicy,” Charlotte replied, and their mother swatted a towel in her direction.
“Dinner is in ten minutes. Haven’t you got something to do?”
“Yup,” Charlotte said, and she disappeared out the door she’d come in.
“What’s for supper?” Heather asked cautiously.
“Fried chicken, mac n cheese, candied yams, collard greens, and how long have you been friends?”
Heather had been slipping a carrot off of a plate of vegetable pieces, and she dropped it on the floor. Vesta was on it in a moment.
“No!” Heather protested to both her mother and her dog. “He’s just crashing on my floor for a while, Mama. Drop it, Vesta. Drop it!”
Vesta fled with her prize, and hid beneath the table. Heather crouched down to wrest the carrot from her and her mother gave Rez a long, considering look. “You a Methodist?” she asked suspiciously.
Rez dredged his memory. “I am couch surfing,” he said desperately. “We met at the Ren Faire. I am Catholic.” By habit, he ended with, “My lady.”
She sniffed in reply. “Could be worse,” she said grudgingly. “You can call me June. Or Mama June, I see you suffering.”
Something began to claxon violently, and Rez automatically reached for a sword he didn’t have. “Biscuits,” Heather’s mother said, turning it off and reaching for heavy mittens. A door in one of her technology boxes opened with steaming heat and she removed a hot sheet of baked nuggets on it.
“Can we set the table for you, Mama?” Heather asked, standing triumphant with her gnawed carrot.
“Bless you, yes. Your sister’s good for nothing at this age.”
Heather dragged Rez into the next room, and handed him a pile of placemats. He ordered them around the table while she collected silverware and then showed him how to lay it out, naming each utensil as she went.
“I do know forks and spoons,” Rez said, wondering if he should feel insulted. “Your knives are very dull.”
Then the food began to appear. There were baskets of biscuits, piles of fried fowl legs, a steaming, creamy dish covered in cheese, a bowl of dark greens, a plate of vegetables, a small dish of round dark fruits in some kind of brine, and a bowl of small yellow kernels in cream sprinkled with green herbs. Great pats of rich butter were added to the table, and dark and white spices in glass jars with holes in the lid.
Rez stared in wonder. He had suspected that Heather’s world was rich, but now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been in a land so fortunate. “This is magnificent,” he told Heather’s mother honestly. “Your generosity is great.”
She looked pleased, and pointed him to the seat next to her. “Call your sister,” she told Heather.
Heather went to the doorway and hollered, “Charlotte!”
“Lord, sweetie, I could have done that myself,” Mama said crossly.
Rez knew that Heather didn’t want to risk leaving him alone with her mother and appreciated the act.
Charlotte came slouching to the table and took a seat across from Rez. He eyed the food, but paused. They were clearly waiting for something.
Mama took the seat at the head of the table and folded her hands before her. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Rez followed suit as Heather and Charlotte did, keeping his eyes to slits so he could observe the ritual.
“Jesus, we ask that you bless this food you’ve graciously given us, and ask you look over our family and our new friends, and keep Charlotte from rolling her eyes during prayer in Jesus’ name, Amen.”
Charlotte and Heather both murmured, “Amen,” and Rez did the same.
“Now eat,” Mama said.
And he did.
Chapter 12
Heather gradually relaxed through the meal. She had forgotten that the one sure way to gain her mother’s approval was to enjoy her food, and Rez did so with the earnest dedication of a man who had been starved for years.
There were prying questions during the meal, but far less than Heather expected, and they were all harmlessly deflected with more appreciation for the offerings on the table. Charlotte offered snarky observations and picked at her food while their mother chided her half-heartedly for ingratitude.
Rez’s plate was heaped with gnawed chicken bones by the time that Charlotte grudgingly gathered their plates.
“I made caramel cake,” Mama said as she stood.
Heather groaned. “I could not stuff in another bite, Mama. Have mercy.”
“Mercy is children who respect their mother,” she complained in return. “Rez, would you like a slice of my caramel cake?”
“I do not know what that is, Mama June,” Rez said honestly.
“Oh, honey!” Sometimes Heather thought her mother should have been an actress instead of a dental hygienist. “Oh, honey, that’s tragic. Well, I guarantee they haven’t got anything like my caramel cake in that Morocco. Let me get you a slice.”
“I have enjoyed this meal enormously,” Rez told Heather as Mama left. “How do I reward her for this? Do we pay, as with the transportation?”
“Pay? Not on your life. That would insult her. All you do is appreciate it and eat yourself comatose. That’s what family meals here are like.”
Rez seemed to approve of that, and also of the layered caramel cake that appeared in front of him.
Heather was forced to eat her own slice as well, lamenting that she wasn’t going to be able to lace up her Ren Faire garb. “Where are you putting it?” she asked Rez. “I didn’t think there was room in those pants for anything else.”
When she heard her own words, her ears lit up with heat, Charlotte spit crumbs on the table laughing, and Mama scolded her.
After they cleared up, Heather offered to wash the dishes, and Rez swiftly added his willingness to help her. “You can dry,” Heather said, stacking the dessert plates. Mama retired to the living room to work on her knitting and Charlotte disappeared. Vesta was snoring on the couch, full from all the scraps she’d been fed.
Alone with Rez again, Heather was keenly aware of his magnetic presence, of the solid mass of him as he delicately dried plates. The kitchen was small, and they accidentally brushed against each other several times as she pointed out where and how to put the dishes away.
“Oops,” Heather said, dropping a clump of bubbles on his foot as she jerked back from his touch.
Charlotte had the terrible timing to come in just then, but she ignored them to go to the door and peer out at Mama. When she turned back, Heather and Rez were as far apart in the kitchen as they could manage and she eyed them suspiciously.
“Mama’s got a boyfriend,” she announced, and Heather nearly dropped her plate.
“What do you mean, she’s got a boyfriend?” Heather hissed. That would explain why Mama hadn’t been quite as nosy as she’d expected. “Who is it?”
“The guy at the printing shop who’s been doing the church bulletins. He’s started attending church with us on Sundays, and I caught him leaving the house at three yesterday morning.” Charlotte looked positively triumphant.
“Mr. Wright from Print Co? He’s so...”
“White?” Charlotte guessed.
“I was going to say bald. Is it serious?” Heather asked. Bubbles were drying on the plate she was holding and she turned to rinse them off. Was nothing in her life sacred? First naked fae knights appeared in her apartment, and now her mother was dating?
“He’s going to the Good Book Club with her,” Charlotte said smugly.
It was serious.
Heather turned to wash another plate, keenly aware of Rez’s regard.
“I take it this is an alarming turn of events?” he said gently.
“Mama raised the three of us alone after Dad died. I guess I’m just surprised. I’m…glad for her.”
“It isn’t easy...to be alone.”
Heather looked up into his earnest face, all her breath sucked away.
Charlotte cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Speaking of awkward,” she said,
and then she retreated back to her room.
“I like your family,” Rez said, almost shyly. “The closest to family I have...had...were my shieldmates.”
“We’ll start looking for them,” Heather promised. “Soon.” She considered. “Could you…wait here a sec?”
“I can finish these dishes,” Rez said with a nod.
Heather dried her hands on a towel and went out into the living room.
The television was on, but turned down low, and the comfortable clack, clack, clack of Mama’s knitting made everything feel perfectly normal for the first time in days.
But everything wasn’t normal. Everything was as far from normal as Heather had ever imagined it could be.
“Guess Charlotte told you about Mr. Wright,” Mama said.
“You could have invited him for dinner,” Heather said. She picked up Vesta and curled up at the other end of the couch with her feet underneath her. It was a familiar place, safe and happy. She and Mama had learned to knit together on this very couch when she was Charlotte’s age, and it had gotten them through a lot of tough conversations.
“Wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that,” Mama confessed, and Heather felt a little like the world was upside down.
“I’d like it,” she said softly. “Mama, you deserve a nice guy who makes you happy. I guess I just never thought you...wanted one.”
“I never did,” Mama said. “I had you girls to keep me company, and church to keep me busy. I wasn’t looking, and I never expected it.”
She continued to look at her knitting, as if she had to watch her fingers even though Heather knew she didn’t.
“Why Mr. Wright?” Heather asked reluctantly.
“Why not, honey? He’s a good man with a good heart and a great ass.”
“Mama!” Heather had to bury her laughter into one of the couch pillows.
“Speaking of great asses...”
“We’re not like that, Mama, I swear. He’s just staying on my floor for a while.”
That caused her to stop knitting. “I saw the way you look at each other,” she said severely. “And you brought him to dinner.”
“He didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Heather protested.
Mama gave a skeptical snort and resumed her winding and clacking. “Say what you will, honey.”
For a moment, they sat quietly together, then both spoke at once: “It’s okay.”
They laughed, and Mama repeated herself. “It’s okay, Heather. I know that times aren’t like they were, and if you found someone that makes you happy, that’s a blessing.”
Heather’s chest felt several sizes too small. “We just met,” she said quietly.
“Sometimes, you just know,” Mama said firmly.
Heather held Vesta too close and she wriggled for freedom, bouncing off the couch to return to the kitchen and lick the floor as soon as she was released.
“You, too, Mama,” Heather said at last. “I mean, it’s okay. You should invite Mr. Wright for dinner next week.”
Whatever she might have answered was cut short by a tremendous crash from the kitchen and Vesta raced out with her tail between her legs, shaking in fear.
“Forgive me,” Rez greeted her at the kitchen door. “I thought I might sharpen some knives, and I fear I have damaged your drawer.” Cutlery was spread across the kitchen floor. Charlotte had appeared at the far door and she scowled at everyone.
“Goodness gracious,” Mama said. “You didn’t break anything. It just falls out if you pull it too far. You two get this picked up, now.”
Charlotte vanished, as if she smelled chores.
Heather and Rez picked up the silverware and reassembled the drawer as Mama went back to her television and knitting. Heather caught herself watching Rez out of the corner of her eye, thoughtful and cautiously excited.
It wasn’t just that he was an eyeful of candy, as if he’d stepped fully assembled from her sweatiest fantasies. It wasn’t just that he was interesting and hopelessly lost in her world. Heather had dated unique guys before, and that was usually their only positive quality.
But Rez was sweet, too, and polite, and brave. She couldn’t help remembering how he’d snarled at Marcus over the landlord’s rudeness, how he’d boarded a giant roaring bus because Heather said it was safe, even though he was clearly dubious. When he listened, Heather felt like he was really listening, not just waiting for his chance to talk.
That, and the sight of him set her body on fire.
Sometimes, you just know.
Heather found the last spoon under the kitchen sink and showed Rez how to put the drawer back into the slot.
“I’m sorry for the disruption,” Rez said mournfully, and Heather’s heart thawed a little more.
“It’s fine,” she said, thinking about his larger disruption in her staid little life. She was standing very close to him, and she wondered if she was brave enough to kiss him in her mother’s kitchen. “It’s fine. I’m glad.”
She wasn’t that brave.
“Glad?” Rez asked, puzzled.
“Never mind,” Heather said, smiling up at him. “The last bus back is at seven, so we should get going.”
Chapter 13
Rez woke early the following morning in Heather’s strange quarters, and stared at the ceiling a long time.
He didn’t understand why he missed the feeling of having her in his arms. How could he miss something he’d never had? He missed his shieldmates, and a world where things made sense, and his sword, as he should. But somehow, he also missed Heather. Had he dreamed of her?
From the bedroom down the hall came a sound of beeping, a muffled curse, and a muted thump.
After a few moments, Heather emerged from the bedroom. Vesta followed her slowly, yawning and stretching each leg one at a time.
“Rise and shine, Lancelot,” Heather said, stumbling into the bathroom. “We’re going to the Ren Faire this morning.”
Rez obediently rose, but wasn’t entirely certain how to shine, so he settled for getting out the cereal supplies as he’d seen her do the morning before.
“This is nice,” she said in gratitude and surprise when she emerged after a brief shower dressed completely differently than anything else he’d seen her in. She wore a lightweight underdress with a kirtle laced over it, and she had a cloth over her hair.
They ate together, and Heather halting explained her job.
“I work as a period re-enactor,” she said. “I do spinning demonstrations and sell handcrafted wool.”
“Is there another kind of wool?” Rez asked.
“Well, it can be made in a factory,” Heather said.
“Does wool not grow on sheep here?”
Heather rubbed her face. “Well, wool does, usually, but there are other kinds of yarn, acrylic and you know what, that’s not really the point. I’ve got a job that I do at the Ren Faire, and I’ll need to do it, and your job is to stay quiet and blend in. I think you’ll be really good at this. We’re going to borrow some garb from Allen, and all you have to do is be yourself.”
“I am better at being myself than other people,” Rez told her gravely. He loved the way her eyes crinkled with humor.
“You’re going to do fine,” she assured him.
He wasn’t as sure, particularly when her friend’s car pulled up in front of the apartment building.
“Thanks again!” Heather said, as they bent, one after another, to sit on the tiny bench in the battered-looking vehicle. “Allen, this is Rez. Rez, this is Allen. Allen runs the booth next to the fiber tent I work in. Rez is going to be helping me out today.”
“Nice to meet you!” Allen said jovially. “Buckle up!”
Heather pulled a harness from the side of the car and attached it over herself. Rez glanced back and found a similar device on his side. He figured out how to seamlessly pull it out after a few tries, and Heather reached over to show him to fasten it into place.
The car ride was significantly different than a
bus ride had been. It was harder to see things, and Rez felt uncomfortably stuck. It didn’t help that he had to fold himself into the narrow space, his knees jammed against the seat before him.
When they arrived at their destination, Allen made the machine stop roaring and opened his door. Heather got out on her own side, and Rez opened his door in the same fashion as she had, with a lever, but he was drawn back by the harness that was still constraining him when he tried to escape.
He tugged at the buckle but was unsuccessful in unlatching it. He was able to pull the straps loose enough that he could slip out underneath them, with some difficulty, and Allen was staring at him curiously as he made the final extraction. “My thanks for your conveyance,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster.
“Method actor?” Allen guessed.
Rez had no idea what that was, so he grinned and shrugged, which seemed to be a suitable reply.
Allen handed him a bag. “Here’s some garb that should fit you.”
Heather led them through a gate, showing her badge for passage, and took him to a facility like her bathroom, but with many stalls.
When he emerged, her gaze was approving and rather warmer than it had been when he went in.
“Yes, that will do just fine,” she agreed with Allen.
It was considerably more comfortable than the clothing she had bought him at the BigMart, more familiar in shape and style.
“My lord,” Allen said, bowing.
Rez automatically returned the gesture.
They walked down dusty aisles of a faire that was just beginning to awaken. Merchants were opening tents and uncovering wares.
Rez was awed by the quality of the merchandise. There was delicate pottery and clothing of such fine weave and stitching that he had to look to find the tiny threads. There were blown glass figures that gave him pause, remembering the ornament he’d been imprisoned in, and he searched in vain for something that might be one of his shieldmates.
Allen went ahead of them while he paused with Heather, and by the time they arrived at his tent, he had opened up the front.