She makes a smallhmmsound that could be approval or denial, depending on how I’d like to take it.
“Not that I’d have any idea what to choose,” I say, laughing a little as I try to make a joke out of it. “Wardrobe design is definitely not my strong suit.”
I deliver the last word with a bit of emphasis, hoping she’ll laugh.
Or turn around. I’ll take anything at this point, even a slap in the face.
“Clearly,” she answers, turning and regarding me with her cool gray eyes.
Like cracked ice reflecting light. No warmth.
“Ah—”
“This wasn’t really a formal event, anyway,” she says, turning back to look out the window. “So it doesn’t matter what suit you wear.”
“But it matters if I use cutlery?”
She turns back around, and this time, there’s a flash of emotion in her eyes, like a bolt of white-hot lightning splitting the sky.
“Like I said, you can eat with your fingers at every meal if you like—but don’t be expecting to put your filthy hands on me afterwards.”
“Even if I wash them?” I keep an upwards lilt to my voice, hoping she’ll finally laugh.
Please laugh, Grace. Please.
She makes a little scoff and turns back to the window. My heart plummets, and my tongue feels like a twisted knot in my mouth. Even if I could think of something to say, my body simply won’t allow it right now.
She doesn’t like my jokes. What else is there?
As we approach the turn-off, the sun begins to slant through the trees, signaling the end of the day.
“I was hoping to get to town before dark,” I mutter absently.
“We should,” Grace says. “It isn’t too far now.”
She spoke to me! Fuck, how can I keep this going?
“Oh, you know the site?”
“Yeah, a little. I used to hike a lot when I was younger, and I found the abandoned town really fun. I used to—”
She stops talking abruptly, and when she looks at me, her eyes are wide, almost panicked.
“Used to what?” I ask, very softly, like I’m talking to a scared horse.
Easy. Easy girl. Just trust me. I won’t hurt you.
“Never mind,” she replies, turning back around.
This time, her silence feels like a living barrier, something I’d need more than my voice to break through. The weird feeling I get from her suddenly increases, and I don’t even want to talk to her anymore.
She’s so strange. I’ve never known anyone like her, ever. She freaks me out, that’s for sure.
The shadows lengthen towards us as we drive towards the setting sun, and Grace looks into her lap, playing with her fingers. That’s when I notice all the little flowers in her hair dying, the petals coming apart and fluttering into her lap like a tiny snowfall.
“They’re dying,” I say without thinking.
She laughs softly. “Of course they are. They’ve been cut.”
