Chapter Five
~
Our home is an odd design. As much an office buildin’ as a residence, two wings split by a palatial, what the family calls the lobby. Not a livin’ room. More a free, grand space to gather, greet, dine. Though there are private nooks in the bay windows lookin’ out over the village lake. One in particular is a favorite of mine. I have a dandy, private bedroom of my own in the residential wing of course. But I’ve spent more of my life curled in that nook readin’ than anythin’ else.
Enterin’, I headed for that nook, but opted to check in. Not truly late, but—okay, maybe I just needed to look at someone who loves me, would never manipulate or use me.
Oddly, Papa sat at the kitchen work table five feet away from Mama. Wore a dark power suit, jacket still flowin’ over his ogre-thick shoulders, nose pointed at the tablet layin’ in front of him. Must have entertained foreign dignitaries in the other wing today. Maybe why Uncle was here, instead of on the North Plain.
Papa just doesn’t look like Papa when he’s not wearin’ his traditional khakis and bright red OW polo.
“Hey,” Mama called. “Hope ya’re hungry.”
My eyes teared a bit, my chest tightened. My sweet, sweet Chez Zia. She had only glanced up, was facin’ down again at whatever sizzled in her enormous friar, so I hurried to blink the tears away.
Papa didn’t look up, but raised his hand shoulder height for me to grab. He gripped my hand tight. Ouch. Should I tell him I had a war injury? I leaned into him, pressed my nub of a tusk into his forehead. A new threat of tears erupted—for missin’ the ogre-troll tusks our kind use for familiar greetin’s.
Some thin’s just can’t be gotten over.
He gave me another hearty grip, before twistin’ to give me a peck on the cheek.
“What’s wrong,” Mama gushed.
Uh oh. She caught my ragin’ emotions in that catchers mitt of hers.
“Nothin’,” I chirped.
“Watch the pan,” she commanded, obtusely at Papa, and waved me to follow her. Back down the hall and into the lobby, I followed Mama as though I’m still her four-year-old toddler. She led me directly to my favorite cubby. Oh she knows me so well. How to set me at ease, where to take me where I can’t avoid sincerity, my rock.
After we both plunked down on the comfy bench seat, she grabbed both of my hands in hers, captured my eyes with hers.
“Ya can relax,” I told her. “Just in my emotional cycle.” That has always effectively worked about forty-percent in the average settin’. Bein’ a hen is a great excuse. Most times.
“Wish both of yall had gone to school here,” she said in her soft voice. “I miss ya so much. Ya’re growin’ up way too fast. Seventeen. Blast a dozen dragons, wish ya two weren’t so stinkin’ bright. Don’t want ya growin’ up at all. Ya should still be in high school. Not graduate school.”
Tears washed down her cheeks. Maybe this was more about her than me. What a relief. ’Cause suddenly I couldn’t imagine why my emotions had skyrocketed the last hour. I shook my hands out of her grip and reached out for a hug. We pulled each other hard together, our faces pressed into each other’s shoulder. Maybe even a sob snuck out of her.
I told her to shut up. “Ya’re annoyin’ me. Are ya sure ya’re not really ogrish?”
“Poor thin’. Daughter of a practical troll with the emotions of an ogre.”
“It’s true. Hard bein’ yar daughter,” I said.
Neither of us had to laugh at the old joke. We just pulled the other a little tighter. This time she allowed me the refrain. “Ya’re gonna break me in two, hen.”
We sat up and studied each other. I love her green eyes. Match Papa’s. Why did Hale and I get our smoldering coal irises? At least I got her rich, golden mane. Her dreads did well camouflagin’ her growin’ gray hue.
Mama cleared her throat. “Anythin’ ya need to tell me?”
I thought about it. No explain’ where my emotions came from. So, “No. Not really. Just bein’ yar emotional daughter.”
“That’s always been such a bane,” she said.
I couldn’t help but smile, despite us bein’ a broken record.
“Ya good now?” She asked.
My mind was blank for an answer. I wanted to ignore our traditional, cliche-filled banter. But nothin’ better came to me. “Been reminded I’ve got the bestest mama in the whole world.”
“Second best,” she chimed. “I’ve got that honor.”
Geez. We could just record one of these and replay it, never have to relive the turmoil. But the routine is so right for us. Maybe because Papa’s a complete ass when it comes to displayin’ emotion, sharin’ heartfelt thoughts. With him and Hale, we developed an odd sense of fortification against their cold stone cliff faces.
She cleared her throat again. And waited.
“It’s supposed to be a secret,” I said.
“If it comes out,” she said, “I might want to kill yar uncle.”
My chest tightened. Or was it my throat.
“I know,” she said. “I startle ya with my observation skills.”
She let my mind spin a twenty-count before she continued.
“But. Consider ya might actually enjoy yar trip west. It’s truly an honor. Good experience. And will give a lot of cousins a chance to look at the beauty that can come from a troll-ogre romance.”
My face had to be flamin’.
The term village idiots struck me. We’re the village—somethin’s. But even thinkin’ of ourselves as the village half-breeds felt like a knife in the ribs.
~
Hale
~
After parkin’ my old truck in the garage, I was stridin’ toward the lobby when another vehicle turned off the circle, into our long drive. I stopped and waited. Despite the gatherin’ gloom of early evenin’, I didn’t have to get a good look at the vehicle, I could hear it was an EV. Ogre Motors hasn’t built many of the blasted thin’s, thankfully, so I could guess who it was.
Aunt Nuel struggled out of the tight thin’ a five-count after the headlights switched off. I was still shakin’ my head as she neared.“I don’t need any of yar comments,” she said, and grinned.
Grandpa Bliar would love to trade her EV in for a hydrogen. He’s been buildin’ them in his garage the last ten years. Half out of spite, I think.
“Ya wanna know why I’m here, huh?” she asked.
Yeah. And of course she knew I wouldn’t ask.
“As though I didn’t hear.”
I waited.
“Both Darshee and Wizper called me, gritchin’ about my stupid bull.” She giggled, what we call a giggle. It’s a rumble a human can’t replicate, which doesn’t sound a bit like a real, human giggle.
I waited.
“I can’t stop that bull from his schemes,” she said. “But in truth, I think the hoedown will be good for ya two. Ya’re both more mature, intellectual than any bull and hen three times yar age. And ya know everyone wants to meet ya, for obvious reasons.”
I considered shruggin’, but didn’t. I couldn’t actually appreciate the obvious reasons. We aren’t zoo critters. After she held me in a tight gaze for a moment, I motioned toward the front door. Figgered she’d get the invitation.
“Thanks, but I don’t need yar papa’s negative vibes this evenin’. I’ve had a bad enough afternoon as it is.” They are so opposite in every thought and desire.
So why was she here? Really to sell the hoedown? No. I waited.
She pressed her hand to her chest, then gestured my way. “We all love ya. Tell yar sister that.” She turned and strode back to her silly car. Someone needed to talk her into a real vehicle.
After its hum continued out on the circle, I turned for the door. Bele would want to talk about it. How could I avoid that? Never will understand her need to express her feelin’s. Gag me. I don’t need to express myself. Takes no extra synapses to analyze my own emotions. Why can’t everyone else do a little internalizin’? Why do they have to wear everythin’ on their sleeve? Papa and I are the only two reasonable folk in the world.
The automatic lights had dimmed in the lobby, and the hall toward the offices was even darker. So there were no evenin’ emergencies energizin’ the local IT nerds. Lights directly above me simmered up as I stepped away from the door, headin’ for the residential side, but Bele’s, “Hey,” from her safe place made me stop abruptly.
“That was Aunt Nuel?” she continued.
I nodded. Could she tell that, in this light?
“Mama will be glad ya made it home for dinner.”
It smelled as though I was very timely. Mama loves spices. Her concession. The hen’s an angel for shiftin’ to the ogre diet, not forcin’ a troll one on us. She’s insisted we taste her bugs and centipedes, but I’ll take a grilled hunk of beef any day over that.
“Papa’s still in a tie,” she said.
Gave that some thought. Wasn’t sure what she intended with the statement. So he wore a suit today. Not entertainin’ his regular gaggle. Did that mean he’d be a bit stressed out? In a mood?
Papa’s always in a mood. Irritation is his normal self. I smiled. Most everyone would probably say the same thin’ about me. Despite—I’m the most emotionally free bull I’ve ever met. Don’t know why my face seems so snarly. Puts folk off so much.
“Are ya truly against goin’ to the hoedown?” she asked.
I had strode across the dark lobby and sat down softly next to her. Think I startled her just a tad. We big-ole ogres, trolls, don’t make a lot of noise in our bare feet. I took her right hand which lay in her lap, and bent it slowly up and down. Felt a little stiff, so maybe a little swollen, but no vibration suggestin’ a break. She gave me the tiniest ouch-face.
“If ya are, I’ll raise a fuss. I’ll drive Uncle nuts until he gets us out of it. But for my part—Mama implies we ought to go.”
“What do ya think a year in the North would be like?”
She sucked in a hard breath, choked a bit on spit, I think. I can occasionally startle a person, openin’ my mouth.
“I’ve made a couple friends at the medical school,” she said softly after she recovered.
So. Was that enough to draw her back to TIT next semester?
“Not sayin’ I can’t make friends up North,” she said. “Aunt Nuel has told me a lot about what it was like livin’ up North.” She paused a long bit. “Her sorority days at university were her best years. Still has fast friends.” She paused again. “Ya suppose ya’d be willin’ to try a fraternity?”
If I was much for laughin’, I would have.
“That made ya smile,” she said.
It did? Hm.
“I’ve read there are a lot of humans on the spectrum,” she said.
Psh.
“There are actually support groups, in the universities.”
Really? We need support groups? I don’t know why I’d need support from anyone like me. Or anyone else. Imagine a gaggle of autistics sittin’ in a circle, no one sayin’ a word. Be hilarious.
“Might be nice steppin’ away from a block of granite now and then.”
My mind spun. What could possibly be nice about that?
“Aunt Nuel says a week doesn’t go by she doesn’t speak to her closest sorority sister, who finagled her introduction to Uncle Ike.”
I snorted. Don’t know why. Was not holdin’ in a laugh. I don’t laugh.
~
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