"Yes, he does. He treats her very well."
She didn't want to hear anymore, Silva decided. Ris had given voice to the part that mattered . . . still, she couldn't keep her hurt at bay. She trembled all the way back to her desk, replaying the brief exchange and the yawning silence from her friends. Hurt that neither Ris nor Lurielle seemed willing to term her relationship with Tate asserious, whether it was to Tannar oranyone else.And here you are as usual, going out of your way to be helpful for other people.
Everyone thinks you're a little girl playing house. Breaking rules because you can get away with it, before you go running back to Mommy.It was too close to what Tate himself had told her, that she needed to go home, back to her mother and a life that didn’t include him.Well, you’re not. They’re all wrong.You need to start putting him in thirst trap poses and postingthatonline. Let's see if Tannar still wants to ask questions then.
Tannar and Edzin were gone when she returned to the break room a few minutes later, but Silva found that the damage was done.
She no longer felt particularly sociable, and she wondered if it was purely a consequence of her hurt feelings or if her prolonged isolation away from the office and her work friends had something to do with it as well. After all, she wasn't convinced that absence made the heart grow fonder.Only forgetful.Her conversation thread with Lurielle was buried so deep in her text messages, Silva knew she’d need to scroll to find it, an indication of how long it had been since Lurielle had contacted her unprompted. No one had called her for happy hour plans in weeks, and she highly doubted that they’d simply stopped the Gildersnood tradition. Most people operated on a policy out of sight, out of mind, Silva reminded herself, and it wasn't as if she had been aching to come back to work to see any of them, either.
Besides, she had worries of her own, not that she’d be sharing them with anyone here.
"Silva, I haven't seen you in forever!" Dynah squealed, having joined the table during Silva's brief absence, replacing the two goblins.
"Yeah, I've seen you more in the past two weeks than I have in three months," Ris observed, the cat that had apparently gottenhold of her tongue for the brief moment when Tannar asked his question having scurried off. "Are you back full-time again?"
Silva gave Dynah her sweetest smile, ignoring Ris's question for the moment. "I haven't seen you either! I thought maybe Gildersnood had closed!” Her laugh was like the tinkle of a bell, sharpened after a lifetime of the Elvish club and polished at sorority. “I passed them this morning and it didn’t look empty, so I’m not sure! But I just wanted to make sure I got Lurielle this notebook. She and I have been like ships passing . . . Like I said, this has florists, the number of some all-purpose halls caterers. All the important stuff." Ris’s question hung unanswered as she flipped the book open, showing Lurielle the index at the front.
She was no longer in the mood to share with her friends, and she certainly wasn't interested in sharing her relationship woes. It wasn't as if she was back in the office by choice. Silva didn't want to admit that Tate simply hadn't given her the opportunity, and she’d rather chew glass than talk about that now.None of them cared before . . . why would you tell them now? It’s not like you’re in a serious relationship.
She had spent more time at her actual workplace in the past two weeks than she had in the previous several months. Since early summer, she’d been taking advantage of the hybrid work policy, spending as much time as she could in Greenbridge Glen.
But ever since the night of Tate’s party, when she’d drunk too much and banged her head, everything had changed.
“Dove, I’ve got new tables coming in and the floor’s being refinished. It’s going to be too loud for you to focus on work and too dusty besides.”
“That’s okay,” she’d assured him, stretching up on her toes and kissing his cheek. “I can just go into work for a few days. As long as you’re not going to miss me too much.”
He’d turned, hooking an arm around her waist, catching her lips with his, kissing her deeply enough that her toes had curled.She’d left Greenbridge Glen with a happy hum in her heart, and thought nothing of his reasoning to send her away.
Instead of going into the office, Silva had decided to spend that week working from her own little apartment. She had begun going through her meager finances, knowing she was only playing at independence if she continued allowing her parents to subsidize her existence.
Silva knew she was luckier than most. She didn't carry any debt of her own. Her parents had paid for her education, paid off her credit card bills every month, and bought her car when she'd moved back to Cambric Creek. She had no student debt or heavy loans, the way many of her co-workers and acquaintances did, but her tasteful little apartment was well beyond her independent means.You'll need to move closer to the University.Off-campus housing was by no means inexpensive, but it would be easier on her budget than staying where she was, in this development of chic little walkups and rowhouses, popular with young executives.You might even need to find a roommate.
There was another solution, of course. She could move in with Tate. Find a job in Starling Heights, one that perhaps paid better, pick up some freelance work.Thatwas the dream, but it was not something she would bring up first.Which means it'll never happen, because you’ll turn to dust before he makes the first move with anything. Silva knew if she made even a half-hearted suggestion, Tate would act immediately, twisting himself like a contortionist to ensure her needs were met, that she was happy and comfortable. If she were to suggest moving in with him permanently, the apartment over the Plundered Pixie would be transformed overnight into a space for her . . . butshedidn’t want to be the one to make that suggestion.
The following week, he claimed there was an incident between two of the Orcish motorcycle clubs at the Tuesday night leagueand fretted over her safety, insisting he’d feel better if she was out of harm's way entirely. When she’d shown up that Friday morning, deciding the danger had surely passed by then, he’d blinked rapidly as she crossed through the bar from the front door, but had said nothing to make her think she was unwelcome, opening his arms when she’d reached him. If she noticed that the bar was packed and there seemed to be no animosity amongst the assembled orcs, lingering or otherwise, she kept it to herself.
It was that same night that Ris and Ainsley had unexpectedly come in, prompting Tate’s even more unexpected confidence about his ill-fated attempt to meet his father.
You’re going to hold him and comfort him and ask him nine million questions as soon as he comes to bed.
But she’d never gotten the chance.
Shortly after she'd waved to Ris from the sidewalk, the ancient dishwasher wheezed for the final time and gave her last groan, expelling what seemed to be an ocean of sudsy water across the back room floor. The water soon made it to the main barroom, the orcs inside evacuating in a panic as if they were all afraid of drowning. She'd attempted to be as helpful as she could, bailing out water with a little pail, but by the time two of the boys from the bistro had arrived as reinforcements and Tate and Rukh had watertight blockades set up, keeping the flood contained to the tiled backroom, Tate had suggested through gritted teeth that she go to bed. He never came upstairs that night and was still dealing with the flood the following morning, and she left with an unhappy wave and a peck on his cheek.
If it hadn't been such a mess, she might've thought he'd done it on purpose.
Then he was having painting done, claiming the chemical fumes would be too harsh for her to sleep in his bed.
“You’ve already been concussed on my watch, dove. I’ll not have you huffing paint fumes on top of it. You’re likely to go tumbling down the stairs this time.”
She’d gone into the office that week, catching up with Dynah and laughing with Ris, attempting to avoid Tannar as much as possible, but Lurielle had been swamped with a team project, and they’d never had a chance to sit together.
“You basically have two sets of decisions to make,” she went on now, as if wedding planning were the only thought in her head, “logistics and aesthetics. A caterer and a venue. If you book a hall, the caterer will be onsite, which takes care of both in one go . . . but your choices will be limited without a long lead time.”
Silva couldn’t help feeling as though she were slowly being discarded, like a tatty toy he’d grown tired of playing with. The mere thought felt like a colossal betrayal. She had been sure they had turned a corner, their little domestic routine feeling more real than any of the relationships she had pantomimed her way through in the past. The night of his party, his hand had stayed in hers for much of the evening, making it abundantly clear to all and sundry that they were together, they were real, that there was nothing to hide. She was free to be Silva of the Nighttime without splintering herself, and they were happy.
Then why is he doing this? Why is he pulling away? Why now?
