Page 28 of Born for Lace

“The only reason?” I ask, pressing for a nicer response.

“Yep,” he grumbles, turning back to his net.

I swallow my silly sense of rejection and focus on the woven rope between my fingers. “Anyway, I wasn’t talking to strangers. I just wanted the bottle, and you were petty about it.”

He coughs another raspy laugh. “Petty?”

“Yes.” I nod, lifting my chin. “Today, I’ll have”—I scan the small metal vessel, from broken pots, to webbed lines, fish, and general rubbish until I see an old hand vanity with a cracked mirror. “I’ll take the mirror then as a trade. This is not a friendship, merely an exchange.”

“Take it.”

“Good.” I nod stiffly.

Taking hold of a pot, I begin to untangle it, thinking. A month is a long time to just sit around. Spero sleeps so much, and my room is so small it takes minutes to clean each day, so I need a Purpose. It feels utterly unnatural to exist without one. Risking a look at Tide, I watch him huff and grumble as he counts the fish. I know I’ve forced myself on him. It never occurred to me that he may truly want to be alone. I saw his bitterness as a façade, perhaps I read him wrong.

Or maybe I just need to try harder? It just seems… human to be social, but then, humanity is slipping away from our species, year by year. Still, I am Common and find myself desperate to engage.

I have never had tomakefriends before, not once. I was given my Collective and my Ward. I didn’t choose any of my companions, which has left me without the skills needed to form a friend-type relationship. I’d be happier here with someone to talk to, to confide in. It feels desperate and odd—forcing myself on people—but I don’t want to be alone.

I thought maybe Tomar would be around more, but he only drops things at my door, offers tiny conversation a few times, and then leaves.

“So, Tide, you’ve been around a long time,” I chirp, still keeping my tone bubbly. A groan of annoyance leaves him, almost tangible, but I decide to find it amusing instead of hurtful. “How do you make a… a friend-type relationship?”

“A what?”

I smile softly. “A friend.”

“Do I look like I know?”

“No,” I say. I stare back at the pots and sigh. “I guess not. If I find out, I’ll let you in on the secret.”

He laughs at that, a rattly old sound that almost causes a coughing fit. There is no way he is as bitter and dark as he makes out to be, not with a great laugh like that.

After a few hours, Spero starts to bumble at my chest. I grab the hand mirror and stand. “See-you tomorrow, Tide.”

This time he stops me before I leave the boat by saying. “You’re doing fine.”

His words have meaning, his tone gentle, and both warm my heart. “Fine at what?”

“You pay attention, and you offer something.” He doesn’t look at me as he works. “You did fine in making a friend. Some people don’t want it, remember that. I don’t want it. Some people just ain’t made of the right stuff for friendship. I ain’t.”

“How do I know who is?”

“You don’t, so you’ll probably end up gettin’ rejected, hurt, and that’ll shape ya. I’d hate to see that happen.”

He likes us, Spero.

“See-you tomorrow, Tide,” I say again, my tone sing-song and teasing, earning me a grunt from the old man in the boat.

My not-a-friend friend.

ChapterEight

Dahlia

One week later

Nights are hard and sleepless with Spero, but The House is always alive. Soft beats come from the ruby-hued room on the lower level, footsteps echo, doors open and shut, and giggles ensue.

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