Broken Wings

by L-J Baker

  “Third Day?” Flora said. “Suit what?”

  “I’ll make sure your father doesn’t have any appointments. He wishes to meet your budmate as much as I do.”

  Rye scowled. Her wet wings folded defensively.

  “No,” Flora said. “Third Day is not convenient. I –”

  “The Second Day after?” Mrs. Withe said. “It can’t be First Day, because I have one of my charity meetings.”

  “No, Mother, I can’t make it,” Flora said. “We can’t make it. Please don’t bother looking through your diary. When the day comes that I want to introduce you all, I’ll give you plenty of warning.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Withe said. “Oh, I see. You don’t want us to meet your budmate. It can only be because you are ashamed of her.”

  “I am not ashamed of her!” Flora said.

  “She has a name, does she?” Mrs. Withe said. “This very special person in your life whom your parents will never meet?”

  “Her name is Rye.” Flora sounded like she spoke through gritted teeth. “Rye Woods.”

  Rye bit her lip.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Withe said. “One of the Rosevale Woods? That’s not nearly as bad as I feared. One of your father’s cousins married –”

  “No,” Flora said. “You don’t know her family. She comes from – from up north.”

  “Not Upriver? Though that’s becoming a little more respectable now.”

  “Not Upriver,” Flora said. “Farther north. Much farther.”

  Rye scowled and rested a hand on the door as if Flora might feel her warning touch.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Withe said. “Then I suppose she’s from one of those big farming families in the hills?”

  “Does it matter who her family is?” Flora asked. “Or where she comes from? Why don’t you ask me if I’m happy?”

  “Don’t be absurd, darling. Have lunch with me tomorrow. We can make the arrangements for meeting your budmate then.”

  “All right. Fine. Tomorrow. We’ll talk.”

  Rye didn’t hear them leave the room, but she did hear voices muffled as though they came from beyond the bedroom. A door slammed.

  Rye chewed her lip. She had not given any serious thought to the possibility of meeting Flora’s parents. Mrs. Withe was not going to be pleased to learn that her daughter was seeing a poor builder’s labourer. And from what Rye had heard, Mrs. Withe was not the sort to be tactful about it.

  Flora yanked the door open. “I need a drink.”

  Rye followed Flora into the lounge. Flora flopped full-length on a couch with her hands over her face. Rye poured a shot of bark spirits with a dill twist. Flora gulped down half.

  “Steady,” Rye said.

  “Well, you’ve just witnessed the perfect portrait of Hazel Withe. Panic not, lover, I’ll put her off. You won’t have to have dinner with them. The Holy Elm knows I’d rather stick forks into my eyes than do that to you. To either of us.”

  Rye smiled and stroked Flora’s arm. Flora looked fragile and her mood brittle enough to shatter. “This wasn’t exactly what you needed right now, was it?”

  “I suppose you’ll want to flee. You know what they say about daughters turning into their mothers.”

  “I don’t know what your mother looks like. I didn’t see her.”

  “She looks exactly as she sounds, only with more hairspray.”

  Rye smiled. Flora knocked back the remainder of her drink.

  “Branch, Trunk, and Root,” Flora said. “I bet your mother is nothing like that.”

  Rye frowned down at her fingers stroking Flora’s hand. “No. No, she was different. But not in a nice way.”

  “I can’t believe that she just walked in. Oh.” Flora pulled a key card from her robe pocket. “This is for you. I took it off Mother. I’ve been meaning to get you one made.”

  Rye lifted her frown to Flora’s face. “Your house key? Are you sure?”

  “Of course.” Flora put the card in Rye’s hand and kissed her. “I’d have keyed your mobile into the security codes weeks ago if you had one.”

  Rye frowned at the key card. She had not expected that.

  Flora slipped her arms around Rye and sagged against her. “Oh, Elm. If only I’d worn a hat.”

  Rye held Flora and stroked her back. “This bud thing is pretty important, isn’t it?”

  “This is the first time I’ve had them. I had no idea how bad it was going to be.”

  “But I didn’t think I was your first.”

  “You’re not my first girlfriend. But you are my first buds. They’re part of changes my body is undergoing. Not having had them before, I had a brain blank on keeping them hidden. Other dryads notice them. Avidly. And they leap to a whole forest-full of conclusions.”

  “Like what?”

  “That I’m serious about someone.” Flora sniffed. “Which means you need to cover them if you want to keep your relationship secret.”

  “Oh.” Rye stroked Flora’s back and frowned at Flora’s hair. “But what are they? What does getting them mean?”

  Flora’s fingers gripped the front of Rye’s robe. “I’ve been dreading you asking that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to scare you off.”

  Rye pulled her arms tight around Flora and kissed the top of her head. “Tell me.”

  “My hormones are running rampant.” Flora’s fingers mangled more of Rye’s robe. Her shaky voice was tight with tears. “I want to live in the same tree with you. I want to have your babies. But it will pass. I promise. I went to a doctor yesterday. She gave me a course of sap. It hasn’t kicked in yet. But me being so miserable is going to be enough to drive you away and that… that will be an end to it all.”

  Rye felt telltale wetness against her neck. “Not a chance. Oh, babe. I’m sorry.”

  Flora sobbed. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Rye said.

  Flora’s head snapped up. Her brown eyes, glistening with tears, were wide with surprise. “You do?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  Flora’s tears spilled out and she clung to Rye. She wept, noisily and jerkily, as if sadness were tearing her body apart. It was like Holly used to cry when she was a little girl. Rye held Flora, rocked her, and kissed her hair.

  I love you, too. Rye hadn’t consciously formed the thought before. But she did love Flora. She was more to Rye than just great sex. Rye was rearranging her life to accommodate her relationship with Flora. She really would have gone to that charity event with Flora.

  When Flora calmed, Rye fetched tissues. She brushed the hair out of Flora’s face and kissed her temple.

  “Look, it’s nearly lunch time,” Rye said. “Why don’t I fix you something to eat? You’ve probably been living on junk all week, haven’t you?”

  While Flora ate, Rye dressed. When she returned to the kitchen, Flora looked calm but pale and heart-breakingly lost. Flora put on a brave smile.

  “Will you call me tonight?” Flora asked.

  “I wish I could stay with you. I hate leaving you like this.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’ll pass as soon as the sap starts to work. It helps that you were here. And what you said. Now, go home. Holly will be missing you.”

  Rye returned Flora’s kiss and did not want to let go. “Come with me.”

  “What?”

  “Come home with me. You can have dinner with us. It won’t be anything fancy. Just our normal dinner.”

  “I’d love to. But what about Holly? Are you ready to tell her about us?”

  “Didn’t you say that you’d been talking to people about apprenticeships and scholarships? You could discuss that with her. That’d be a good reason for you to come over.”

  “I shouldn’t,” Flora said. “I know you’re doing this to be nice to me. But I shall anyway. Oh, Elm, I don’t want to be without you today.”

  Chapter Eleven

  You haven’t finished that already?” Mr. Nuttal said. Rye leaned the brush against th
e wall and wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of a grimy hand. “I’m hoping to get away early tonight, if you don’t mind. There’s a transit carpet I’d like to catch in fifteen minutes.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. That looks spanking. You got a date?”

  “Um.”

  “I always knew when Hop was keen to be off to see his girls,” he said. “The boy took after me. Quite the ladies’ man in my youth. Before I met Mrs. Nuttal, of course.”

  Rye smiled.

  “You can wash up in the bathroom through there, you know. Get yourself a little more presentable.”

  “Um. Thanks.”

  Rye went to wash her arms and face. She could always shower at Flora’s, but it would be nice not to show up looking like something scraped from the bottom of a rubbish dump.

  Mr. Nuttal followed her to the rear door and let her out.

  “Good night,” Rye said. “Give my regards to Mrs. Nuttal.”

  “I shall. And good luck with your lady friend.”

  Rye froze. The door clanged shut, leaving her frowning in the early twilight. Lady friend? How had he guessed she was gay? She wasn’t that obvious, was she? If he guessed, would Holly?

  At the security gate at the base of Flora’s tree, Rye dug out her key card. Even though Flora knew she was coming, Rye felt uncomfortable unlocking the gate, riding the elevating carpet up, and stepping into Flora’s apartment.

  “Flora? It’s just me.”

  Rye set her bag of groceries on the kitchen table. She saw a couple of packages wrapped in shiny paper sitting on the table. Flora hadn’t said anything about going to a party. Flora’s own birthday was a few weeks away.

  “Flora? Babe?”

  Rye hung her jacket on the back of a chair and kicked off her work boots. She wanted to experiment with one of the dishes she intended preparing for Ms. Elmwood’s dinner. Holly going to her friend’s house to do a homework project and having dinner there was the perfect opportunity for Rye to use Flora’s kitchen.

  Rye began scrubbing mint roots.

  Flora breezed in, dropped the sheaf of papers she was carrying on the table, and wrapped her arms around Rye for a kiss. “Hmm. Mint?”

  “Mint roots. With a willow bark and fennel sauce.”

  “Yummy.” Flora grabbed one of the washed roots before Rye could stop her. She nibbled. “I could eat these things all day.”

  “Not these, you won’t.” Rye picked Flora up and carried her around the counter to deposit her on a chair at the table. “Be good.”

  Flora held Rye to a long, smoochy kiss before releasing her. “Elm, do you know how wonderful it is just to walk in here and see you cooking? Almost like a normal couple. I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day. I found it impossible to concentrate, so I dedicated my afternoon to doing things for you. You wouldn’t believe the bounce I got out of scouring every place I know for these.”

  Flora slid the stack of coloured papers closer to Rye. The top sheet looked official with a fancy design in the top corner.

  “They’re information and application forms,” Flora said. “I think they cover every art scholarship and prize offered at the high school and apprentice level in the country. I haven’t looked through them all, but I know there are several that Holly stands a very good chance of getting.”

  “Wow. Thanks. She’ll be thrilled to get these.”

  Flora beamed. Rye leafed through a couple of the forms, and was more than happy to sit and supply the kiss of thanks that Flora suggested. Flora trailed her fingers over Rye’s face as if committing her expression to the memory of touch.

  “I’m so pleased with myself for pleasing you,” Flora said.

  Rye smiled, kissed her again, and rose to return to her mint roots. Flora grabbed her sleeve.

  “I haven’t finished yet. I told you I’ve been a busy girl.” Flora pushed the two shiny packages close to Rye. “These are for you.”

  Rye frowned. “Me? What are they?”

  “The usual method of discovery is to tear the wrapping off.”

  Rye’s frown deepened. Flora smiled at her in such a way that, despite deep misgivings, Rye reached for the flatter package.

  “I had to guess the size,” Flora said.

  Rye tugged the ribbon loose and peeled the wrapping paper apart. She exposed pristine white cloth.

  “Try it on,” Flora said.

  Rye scowled as she lifted the cloth. She held a chef’s kitchen top.

  “For you to wear when you go to Letty Elmwood’s,” Flora said. “I’m sure she’ll find that much more impressive than the dish cloth tucked into your pants. Sexy though that is. And I did have rather wicked thoughts about you making love to me while wearing it.”

  “Um.” Rye set the jacket back on the table.

  “What’s wrong? Too small? I tried to get a big one so that it’s loose across your back and doesn’t show your wings.”

  “I can’t take this.”

  “Can’t? Why not? It’s not just the look of the thing, though you shouldn’t underestimate that where people like Letty are concerned. I’m sure it’s very practical.”

  Rye jammed her fists into her pockets. “Um. Thanks. I appreciate the thought. But I can’t take it. I… I can’t afford it.”

  “What? No. It’s a gift.” Flora rose and put her arms around Rye’s neck. “Because I’m proud of you. And because I want to see you make a huge success of this dinner.” Flora pointed to the second present. “Now, this one really is practical. I know you need these. You’ve said so.”

  Rye eyed the package with apprehension rising toward dread.

  “Don’t worry,” Flora said, “I didn’t pick them myself. I asked someone who knows what they’re talking about. If they’re wrong, we can exchange them. Well? Aren’t you going to look?”

  “Um.”

  Rye didn’t want to touch it, but Flora’s excitement urged her. She reluctantly reached for the package and ripped the paper to reveal a set of knives in a wooden block. The block had a fancy E burned into the wood. Rye sucked in breath. Her hand moved as if drawn by irresistible magic. Her fingers curved around a handle. The boning knife felt like it had been made for her hand. The brand name Eveningmoor was etched along the top of the blade.

  “Fey,” Rye whispered. “Almighty King and Queen of the Fey.”

  The block held a dozen more knives of different sizes, a pair of poultry shears, and a sharpening steel. Rye slid the boning knife back and pulled out the others in turn.

  “Carver. Utility. Paring knife. Wow.”

  “Are they okay?” Flora said.

  “Shit. Eveningmoor. Look at it. Feel it. This is incredible. These will slice and cut anything. And take an edge sharper than sin.”

  “From the look on your face, I think I did okay.”

  “These are amazing.” Rye slid the knife she held back into the block. “Not that the ones you have are bad. But these are Eveningmoor.”

  “You wouldn’t expect me to know the difference? They’re all just cutty things to me. But these aren’t mine. They’re for you, lover. You don’t have any good ones at home. Well, now you do.”

  Rye stared at her. Flora beamed and slid her arms around Rye’s waist to give her a hug.

  “You have no idea how pleased I’m feeling with myself right now,” Flora said.

  “Um.” Rye glanced at the knife block. She could not deny an envious pull. “Look. I really can’t –”

  Flora clamped a hand over Rye’s mouth. “Don’t say it. Please. Rye, don’t spoil it.”

  Rye kissed Flora’s fingers and gently but firmly pulled them from her lips. “I don’t know how much these cost, but I do know that they were extremely expensive.”

  “It’s a gift. The cost is my problem. If I don’t mind, why should you?”

  Rye chewed her lip and scowled at the knife set.

  “I want to make you happy,” Flora said. “I want to please you. I want to do things to make your life easier and more fun. Ca
n’t I do that for the woman I love?”

  “You don’t have to buy me things to make me love you.”

  Flora spread her hands. “Rye! You can’t really believe that’s what I’m trying to do?”

  Rye shook her head. Flora slipped her arms around her.

  “You are the most difficult person I’ve ever given anything to,” Flora said. “I love you. I was so happy to be able to please you. I’m trying not to feel hurt that you’ve suggested I’m buying your affections. That doesn’t reflect to either of our credit, does it?”

  Rye sighed and couldn’t look her in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you not want them? Would they not make your life easier? Would they not please you to have, almost as much as it would please me to give them to you?”

  “Um.” Rye lifted her arms around Flora’s waist. “The knives are amazing. As Holly would say, they melted my mind.”

  “Yeah? You’d like to use them? Try them out?”

  Rye squirmed. “Yeah.”

  Flora smiled. “Why don’t you do it?”

  “Look, I always pay my way. If Holly or I want something, I provide it. It’s always been that way. It’s the way I am.”

  Flora laid a hand on Rye’s chest. “Lover, I bought these to please you. As gifts. It’s another way I’m telling you that I love you. Is that so bad?”

  “I don’t get into debt to anyone. I won’t owe anything to anyone. I can’t take those because I can’t give you things back.”

  “But you do. You come here and feed me. You’re doing it this evening.”

  “That’s different. It’s not enough.”

  Flora shook her head. “Are you in the habit of cooking dinner for random women? Or do you only do this for me because I’m a little bit special? That you want to be with me and make me happy?”

  “Maybe.”

  Flora kissed her. “I love you. Now, make me happy by letting me give you something that will please you. And make my tongue and tummy happy by giving me the most delicious mint roots.”

  Rye did not want to take the top and knives. Cooking dinner was not even close to a balanced exchange, no matter what Flora said. But Flora was so happy, and this was a big deal for her. Rye didn’t want to upset her. Being loved and in love had some really tough bits in amongst all the great stuff.