~

Chapter Thirty-five

~

I believe Zia hated to stir from under the sheepskin even more than me, but she said she needed to get to the kitchen. That she was late. “No,” she hissed. “Ya don’t need to walk me there. We been up whisperin’ all night. Ya get in yar bed and get a couple hours of sleep.”

I opened my mouth to argue but she pressed her mouth against mine, and an instant later our tusks ground together, her lips pullin’ at mine. We had maybe tentatively experimented at that earlier in the morning, but this meant something more. At least to me. I was kissin’ the most beautiful troll hen in a thousand miles, in the world, and she acted like it meant something to her too.

She was five steps away before I realized the kiss was over and I rushed to see her to the door. The cold that rushed in with her leavin’ woke me to the facts. Not that the temperature had fallen considerably last night, but that my life had inordinately changed.

I would not live without this hen.

Which any fool could realize is problematic. Within the councils, my neighbors, not that I cared much about ’em, but my clan. How would they take this? An uncomfortable word would be bandied about by the mean, but also those I accepted as mainstream-to-liberal yesterday. Unnatural. There’d be worse words, but that one would be the one we’re truly up against.

Or could she just be havin’ a—couldn’t think of a word—flippancy? I might be misreadin’ this. I’m not experienced with the opposite sex in any way. I’ve never even read a romancy-like novel before. I read IT manuals. Maybe I should pull back, let her lead, see if she’s honestly experiencin’ any kind of emotions like me.

But me comin’ ’cross aloof, couldn’t that send her the wrong signal?

I needed to get out of my own head. ’Cause there weren’t gonna be any functionin’ synapses of mine smart enough to figger this out.

I don’t do emotions. Even facial expressions befuddle me.

I’m destined to do the wrong thing. I tick the world off by just how I look at folk. My ability to relate to folk ranks up there with—I don’t do anything well except technology. That makes sense to me.

I walked back to the kitchen and grabbed my phone from the counter. I needed some expert advice in the worst way.

I pressed end before it rang. I hope. Ike is the absolute last person to ask about relationships. There’s Darshee and Wizper, now Nuel. Dozens of interests before them, and even more in college. A handful in high school. He isn’t one for overthinkin’ about what he has. Not that he’s only good at livin’ in the moment.

I considered a hard second or five. A freshness, best word that expressed the sense floodin’ my chest. So I had to have come across the right person to call.

Papa answered on the fifth ring.

“I need advice,” I said.

“Morning to ya too. Don’t worry about it being the butt crack of dawn. Yar grandpa ensures we’re all up early to check on the stock. Besides, the sun rises earlier here than on the Plain where ya are.”

“I’m at the Hamlet, Black Lake Hamlet,” I said.

“Gettin’ cold up there now, huh? I’d heard ya’re talkin’ Trollish these days? Ya wanna tell me why? And don’t tell me ya’re practicin’ it like ya told my fool brother. Not that he believed it. Ain’t that stupid-gullible.”

“I think I’m in love, Papa.”

There was about ten seconds of quiet. He and Mama prolly never expected to hear those words from me. “Happens to us all at least once in a lifetime, if the gods grant it to be so. When do I get to meet the hen. Hen, right?”

He had doubts? Or was that humor? I never know. It’s frustratin’. “Troll hen.”

I waited. And waited. My face began to pucker up and my chest tightened.

“Then that’s one lucky troll hen, I’d say.”

I waited.

“So I thought ya said ya needed some advice?” My papa picks odd moments to tread funny. If that’s what he was doing. Maybe he felt as though he’s standin’ at the end of a firin’ range, where nothin’ he said could turn out well. Have my siblings ever gone to him for advice?

I waited.

“I’ll be honest with ya, son. I already talked to yar uncle, yar sister, yar brother, three of yar cousins, and the Black Lake Council leader. Yar call wasn’t a surprise to me. Hearin’ it from ya still smacked me in the mouth. I guess the situation hasn’t even really straightened out in my mind yet. If ya know what I mean.”

“What? Why’s everyone talkin’ to ya about this? Just happened to me.”

He said, “Ya’ve always been the last one to know what ya’re feelin’ about any particular thing. Yar mama could tell me a week in advance before ya made the tiniest decision. When ya were twelve she knew ya weren’t gonna go to TIT a year before ya figgered it out.”

“I’ve always been difficult. I’m sorry.”

I think I heard a gaggin’ sound. A cough? “Mama coughin’? Is she okay?”

I waited.

“Weren’t yar mama. Ya never have had to apologize for nothing. Ya’re a unique soul, and I’ve always appreciated that about ya. May have driven me nuts now and then, maybe more often than that, but I never didn’t love ya from here to the moon.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “About the other.”

“The other?” he asked.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said.

Papa maybe sighed. “What can I tell ya?”

“Will it, ya know, hurt the family?”

I waited. And waited. The long pause didn’t sound good.

Finally he spoke. “I will kill anyone who speaks poorly of ya, son. And if it’s a family member, they won’t be family to me going forward. Does that state it black and white enough to ya?”

A couple silent sobs exploded in my chest. Felt a little like gettin’ hit by one of those troll-sized dodge balls I hated in PE—full of sand not air.

“How—how do I go forward with her family, Papa?”

“Take her lead, son. It’s her family. She knows ’em. They love her. If they ever learn to love ya, it’ll have to be at their pace.”

“How—do I even know—that she loves me back?” That was a difficult question to get out, even though I’d stuck with Trollish.

“She don’t have to tell ya in words.”

That made no sense to me. “Uh—remember who ya’re talkin’ too.”

“Best I can tell ya, is follow yar heart.”

That was nothing but a meaningless cliche, and I’m pretty sure Papa knew it. Maybe I should try Ike after all.

~

Nuel

~

I’m not one to rise early. To meet Darshee and Wizper for a pre-dawn run is agony for me. I’m more apt to take a run midday instead of taking lunch, or an afternoon jog. Looking out the window through the heavy frost at a still-pitch eastern sky and being wide awake irritated me to no end.

Actually, I had slept well. Never been a great sleeper. Papa’s pet name for me was Wiggle Worm. My sheets and blankets were apt to be tied in knots in the morning, or spread across my bedroom floor, while I hugged my pillow like a life jacket and I floated miles offshore.

Since I dreamed of Ezra’s pained face, I woke with her on my mind, and decided to hunt her down in the kitchen. I dressed in a rush, as rush-like as my shoulder allowed, and trudged downstairs. I beat her to the kitchen, so while I waited I got an urn of coffee going at the buffet. She gave me a look when she arrived like I was a goblin come to raid the place of knickknacks.

We shared a hug and walked into the kitchen together wordlessly, as she plied off a fluffy jacket, knitted hat, and snow boots. Actually surprised me she wore footwear this morning. Never had seen her not barefoot as Nature intended for ogre kind.

“Temperature dropped last night,” she said, I guess answering my look. “If ya’re gonna take up space in my kitchen ya better be prepared to help. One-handed or not. Got bread to bake, biscuit and pastry dough to prepare for the day, carcasses to baste.”

I wasn’t sure what basting carcasses is about but I told her to give me an apron. She tied it around my back for me. Ninety minutes later I slid my first-ever pans of dough, thirty of ’em, into the six-foot by twenty-foot bread oven. Had no clue there’s so much to do before dough can get shoved into an oven.

I was helping Ezra prep pastries when Marge arrived. “Expected you to be here,” she said.

That struck me odd. She told me not to crinkle my brow up at her. I assume that’s a thing humans see in us we don’t notice in ourselves.

“The Hamlet’s facing the biggest crisis since the last plague hit these parts. Hens everywhere will be fluttering and cackling.”

Ezra snarled, “Callin’ it a crisis is an overstatement, don’t ya spose? Besides, ya’ve only been here five years. Ya don’t know what ya’re talkin’ about on either account.”

Marge hung up her own passel of over-clothes and stowed snow boots. Hadn’t she just strolled over from the dorm?

“Stayed over with a friend,” she explained, a bit snippy. “And the jaw working has already begun. Had seven different conversations with Kriz relatives before midnight. Heard oh-my-god a dozen times.”

Ezra strode near her and thrust a long finger in her face. “Don’t start. Not with me. I don’t want to hear it. It’s no one’s business in this kitchen.”

Marge smiled and looked my way. “Then you might as well leave, if there ain’t gonna be any cackling in here.”

“I’ll smack ya to next Wednesday, woman,” Ezra snarled.

A laugh, sounded like a surprised hound, gushed from Marge’s face. “Ya ogres talk so stinking mean and aggressive. I’ll smack you to next Wednesday. Really? You want to talk about it as much as we do.”

“Do not,” Ezra snarled. I guess we ogres do like to try to sound mean.

“Do too,” Marge said. “And I heard Kriz’ papa already threatened to disown and ostracize any fool that criticizes his littlest darling.”

“Marge Dottering. I swear I’ll beat ya to a pulp if ya continue talkin’ in a condescendin’ manner about my kin.”

The woman rolled her eyes, and her head. “Relax, hen. I know you’re concerned about your cousin, and Zia.” She pointed her finger now at Ezra. “Best way to get through this is honest conversation, and not avoidance.”

“Conversation. What ya mean,” Ezra groused, “is hen talk. And I—”

“Chill yourself down, hen. Take a walk in the cold if need be.” Marge smiled. A comely one. “I barely know your cousin, but respect the clan. And I do love Zia like a sister. As I know you do too. So don’t accuse me of trying to muck things up.”

I wasn’t sure what muck up meant. But it didn’t sound lady like.

“What are ya concerned about?” Ezra asked.

What was she lookin’ at me for? I hadn’t said anything. And I continued to keep my mouth shut, hoping Ezra would get past the moment, or Marge would make my day by flapping her lips some more. But they both continued to glare at me.

“Uh. Spoke with Ike.”

“Me too,” Ezra said.

“He doesn’t see anything to make a big fuss about.”

“Well there you go,” Marge said. “The hero of ogre kind has spoken.”

That moment, I was with Ezra. We should smack her to Wednesday.

The door swung open and Zia strolled in, tusks sparkling, lips smiling, singing softly in Trollish. As though she was a thief scoping out the good silverware, we watched her hang her jacket. I think her song was about a happy miner digging a special cavern for the love of his life.

She paused long enough to greet us, then went back to her singing, and prepping whatever she was prepping. Not like I know my way around a kitchen. I can pick out an oven, two out of ten times. Best give me a network and I’ll lock it down tight. I still had no clue why Ezra is stirring crushed pineapple into cream cheese.

“You look happy,” Marge said to Zia.

She smiled stupidly, rolled her head back a tad for a moment, and continued her singing.

~