I think Liliana looks beautiful.
The beige and pink frills of her skirt move across the seat when she crosses her legs, white crocheted leg warmers that match her sweater wrinkling in the process. Her off-the-shoulder top shows a pink tinge on her skin, and I hope she hasn’t been walking around all day without something to keep her warm.
“You’re late, Grant.”
“I know.”
The words don’t make her stare any less menacing, but it keeps her eyes on me, and I’ll take that as a win.
I get so lost in the vision that is Liliana Kahale, I don't register the emptiness of my hand. Clementine hasn’t ventured far, though. She walks up to Liliana and taps her on the knee.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Liliana.” She sounds and looks unsure, glancing between the two of us. Clementine’s features have adopted most of her mother’s genes, including her darker skin and deep brown eyes, but I hope she can see the resemblance.
Silence stretches for two seconds too long, and I move closer to them, resting my hand on my niece’s head. “Go ahead, introduce yourself.”
Like Liliana, Clem glances between us, pouting in confusion but eventually saying, “I’m Clementine. I’m this years old.”
She holds up both hands, pointer and middle fingers extended to look like she’s posing with peace signs for a photo, and I just about melt into the floor. There’s a crack of a smile from Liliana too, appearing beneath the annoyance and skepticism.
Small hands pull on the wool of my cardigan, and I squat down to reach her eye level.
“Who?” Clem asks again, pointing her hand straight at Liliana, although Heath has told her pointing is rude. Then, before I can answer, she adds, “I want ice cream.”
“No ice cream.” She huffs, and I remind myself to stay strong against the cuteness. “She told you her name.”
“Liliana.” Clem repeats.
When I look up at Liliana, her forehead is scrunched in confusion. I intend to explain what’s going on, and why my niece is tagging along, when my phone rings. I quickly encourage Clementine to tell Liliana why I’m her favorite uncle and I step aside to hurriedly answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Son!”
My father’s voice is too cheery. So cheery it makes my stomach churn. This is the first and last time I’ll be careless enough to answer my phone without checking caller ID.
“This isn’t a good time.” No time is a good time when he’s involved.
“I recall your…” Keller loudly clears his throat. I tug the device away from my ear while grimacing. “So-called school project.”
“Yes,” I deadpan. “It’s Thursday. I’m busy.”
“Well, I have a business proposition for you.” A business proposition? That’s the worst way someone could start a conversation with me. Before the refusal can come from my throat, he continues. “Some international connections of mine are in town for dinner and networking. I’ll have one of my drivers grab you in about twenty minutes. You’ll be the special guest of the night to introduce yourself.”
My face twists. From the corner of my eye, I spot Clem in the seat next to Liliana, the two of them fiddling with her never-ending pen collection. I can’t imagine leaving a night with those girls in favor of anything, especially not my father’s business get-togethers.
Isn’t one of his cherished family dinners tonight, anyways?
“I’m busy,” I repeat myself. This time, I don’t give my father the opportunity to speak before me. “Really busy. My project partner is waiting for me, and we can’t put off our night any longer.”
“Son, I need you to understand something.”
“Grant!”
I don’t think Liliana meant for her voice to project as loudly as it does, but her call of my name is amplified by the empty café. She waves me over, pointing at Clem holding up a paper of mindless scribbles and lines.
I can’t stand wasting any more seconds on this phone call.
