Her face lit up again. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to bring them some saltwater candies. Something small!”
“You don’t have to convince me; it is on Silas’s dime,” I laughed.
“Do you think he will lend me some extra for it?”
“He will do what I tell him. Just tell him I said yes.” I drew a cigarette from my purse. “Go on! I saw him by the fountain next to the fruit vendor.”
She nodded excitedly and disappeared into the flowing crowd.
I pulled out a match, striking it several times before it lit, and dragged a breath through the smoky taste. Not much chased the stiffness from my bones nowadays; I took what I could get.
I passed by Phoebe and John, who were both hunched over a list of ingredients they would need as they traded recipes. As I passed, John spotted me from the corner of his eye.
“Alina!” he called, bidding Phoebe a quick pardon before I approached. He tucked his hands in his pockets, his pipe leisurely hanging off the corner of his mouth. “What has you looking so stoic today—does the market not excite you?”
“It is... loud.” I breathed in before plucking the cigarette from my mouth, blowing outward.
“I think the problem is that you haven’t seen the good vendors yet,” he laughed, looping his arm through mine as we walked. “Cheer up.”
“It is hard to be cheerful right now, you know that.” I relaxed my head against his shoulder.
“That is why you must try. Even pretending helps once in a while.”
“I am tired of pretending. It feels like I am pretending so much that I am never myself.”
“You know that I understand you.” He led me through the many tables, leaning over so I could hear him through the crowd. “When Elisabeth passed, it was useless to pretend. I thought there was no one to pretend for. Nothing I did would matter. But then I realized the one that needed that facade most of all was myself. To convince myself it was fine, that I was fine. You will too.”
“I feel guilty that I haven’t visited my father,” I spoke into the shoulder of his jacket. “I don’t think he’d appreciate his grave being ill-kept.”
“Look here.” He brought me aside, placing his gloved hands on my face.
I shouldn’t cry; the tears would freeze on my skin, but my lip was already trembling.
“He would be proud of you, Crow,” John assured me. “Now, no more tears, you’ll catch a cold.” He wiped the tears with his thumbs. “Did you see the oranges? Let’s go look at them.”
I managed a simple smile and nodded, looping our arms again as we continued to stroll. I blinked the last of my tears away, swallowing them as if to will the emotions away.
Holidays were not my favorite; there was too much noise, too many expectations, so many things to manage at once. I was lucky I had Phoebe and John to help, or else I fear I would have drowned from social expectation.
As we approached the fruit stands, I spotted Luka with the girls, swapping papers and laughing with one another. He was holding someone’s basket, complete with small ribbons. He hung off the side of the group like some tall, awkward lamprey; reluctantly participating, hardly present.
Phoebe and Silas were standing stiffly by the fruits, not speaking in typical sibling fashion. The two side by side were comical, a bright fluttery butterfly like Phoebe next to the intruding shadow that was Silas. They silently passed a cigarette, maybe the stress was getting to Phoebe too, if she resorted to stealing a huff or two.
When we walked up, Phoebe hurriedly gave the cigarette back to Silas, making him look at what caused such haste.
His eyes narrowed when they landed on me. The nagging in the back of my head told me he could smell the tears, or at least see that my eyes were red. However the case, I did not want it acknowledged.
“Phoebe, walk with me?” I took her hand, and she posed no protest.
“A treat for us.” Phoebe smirked, producing an orange from her pocket.
“Ah, it makes the whole trip worth it,” I laughed.
“Who did you get for gifts?” She picked at the skin of the orange, holding a slice of the plump fruit.
“I thought it was supposed to be a secret.” I raised my brow and plucked the slice from her fingers, popping it into my mouth. “Who do you think I got?”
She laughed it off, a little annoyed at the lack of an answer, or the fact that I didn’t want to tell her. She seemed to be carefully reading my expression in the same way I was reading hers.
