The three of us sit there in silence. I would not describe the mood around the table as tense, precisely, but it’s definitelysomething. Because when Briar comes in through the back door, flinging it open as if she expected that no one would be in the kitchen, she stops dead when she sees us.
I find studying her to be an excellent diversion from an oracle who’s at odds with her cards, so I take my time with it. Tonight’s punk-girl-goes-slightly-goth-but-lives-in-Oregon-so-is-also-crunchy ensemble involves that same hat tugged down low, her dark hair hanging down out of it and not in braids this time, and a dark flannel thrown over her skirt, ripped leggings, and combat boots.
I decide she’s adorable with her nose piercings and quite a few others placed in other strategic places on her lips and tongue and eyebrows, despitewhat I always thought was true about fae. And fae-adjacent folks. Namely that one or another variety of fae has an aversion to metal. Though I might have gotten that from a book.
Briar blinks at us. “Um. Hi?”
I watch the way she lifts her hand up to her neck, as if she’s pressing her fingers into her throat—though she actually rests her fingers a little bit lower.
“Oh, hey,” I say, and smile at her. This makes her blink again, and her fingers near her clavicle twitch.
“It’s been a minute,” Winter chimes in, which seems to confuse Briar more.
Savi looks back and forth between Winter and me like we’ve started to sprout fungi from our heads. I am forced to conclude that we suck at the wholeattempting to be friendsthing. Winter must look away, because she focuses on her plate again.
Briar shuffles around the now-awkwardly-quiet kitchen. Earlier in the week she asked me about my mother. About Ty, who she called my boyfriend, which is not inaccurate and yet hilarious. Tonight she doesn’t ask anything—probably because we made it weird. She slams some pots and pans around, then doesn’t use them. She opens and closes the cupboard doors, but doesn’t take anything out.
Finally, Briar rushes over to the fourth available seat at the table and sits down with a hunk of bread. Not Winter’s bread. This bread looks extremely healthy and brown, with seeds.
I have never seen Briar eat anything that didn’t have sugar in it.
We all stare at it. She looks down at it too, and once again, I’m certain I can see some color on her cheeks.
“It’s actually my birthday,” she belts out into the silence.
For a moment, no one says anything.
Then we all do. At the same time.
“Happy birthday,” Savi practically sings, inclining her head as she does. “How wonderful.”
Winter shakes her head. “You seem thrilled about that?”
“Kudos,” I manage to get out.
We all talk over each other, and Briar looks as if she can’t decide whether to be mortified or horrified, but this tracks. This is awkward people doing awkward shit, and it’s easy to just roll with that. I can pretend I don’t notice awkwardness. That’s basically how I survive pack gatherings.
“I don’t usually celebrate my birthday,” she says when the rest of us have subsided back into the silence. Briar makes a face. “I think birthdays are lame.”
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
Savi eyes me. Winter keeps her gaze trained on Briar.
Briar glares down at her hunk of bread, then crosses her arms as if it gave her some lip. With that many seeds and a distinct resemblance to bran, I suspect it very well might have.
“You three are the closest thing I have to friends.” Briar bites this out without looking at any one of us directly, though her cheeks get even redder. “I’m not saying that I want to be besties or anything weird, but, it being my birthday and all, I thought maybe we could ...”
No one feeds in the next word for her. I’m not sure any of us can move, and anyway, I know that I have no idea where she’s going with this. It could be anywhere at all. Does she want cake and a bit of singing? Is she after a little of that hair-braiding? A few cage matches?
I can believe any of that and none of that when it comes to Briar.
We all stare at her, waiting.
Briar clears her throat. “Go out,” she manages to say, as if she’s throwing the words from her mouth and really, they’re made of marbles. “Maybe we could go out.”
“Go out?” Winter echoes, as if she’s never heard the term.
“Of the house?” Savi asks, and I suppose it’s possible thatshereally hasn’t heard the term before.
