Page 15 of Stutter

“That’s my girl.”

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The walk to the café consists of consistently stopping every five minutes for Raven to look at the displays the shopkeepers are putting up for the upcoming holidays, or because she simply wants to window shop. I don’t care. I stop with her, holding her hand while taking in every smile and commemorating it. Even with all the darkness, she still looks at everything with a childlike wonder, and I can’t help but try to see it through her eyes. Her last four holidays were spent at Lorne Wood Falls Mental Institution, for God’s sake.

But a thought darkens me - what were her holidays like in the asylum?

I’ll have to ask Damon when we get home.

The bookshop café, ironically namedLivres d’Adam Pour Belle–Adam’s Books for Belle(which I found out is the Beast’s actual name which is dumb because he looks like a Tristan) opens just as we get there, quaint, quiet and it smells so fucking delicious I almost order everything from the menu which makes my girl laugh silently beside me when the waiter’s eyes go wide. He comes back with to-go cups of espressos, encouraging us to look around while our enormous order is being made.

Raven gets up excitedly, taking my hand and I of course, indulge her. Because, my god, my heart hurts when she smiles. The waiter hands me a woven basket lined with fabric to put anything she wants inside. I want her to get whatever she wants. I want to replace all of the books that were destroyed in the fire. All the ones she didn’t get to read and the ones she did.

We walk the first floor of the shop, until a worker tells us the English tourist section is in the far back wall. I take in the few French titles she’s placed in the basket already and make a note to myself to go through her phone later when she’s asleep to look up her Pinterest and see if she’s marked any books down she wants. Our waiter finds us as she places another book in the basket to tell us our breakfast is ready and served at our table, eyes widening again when he sees the twelve books in the basket.

Various croissants, breads, butter, jams, omelettes, and more espresso line the table set for two, and when she sits across from me, I move my chair to sit beside her. She grabs a brioche bread, slices it in half, butters it, folds her omelette and makes… a fuckingsandwich.

“Brilliant.” I whisper. She does the same to mine, then cuts and parts the sandwich in half. Then, she fixes my espresso with cream and sugar to my liking because of course, she’s paid attention and gets it right every time. And soon, we’re simply eating, enjoying our espressos and the ambiance the quiet shop provides. Outside on the street, more and more lights are turning on in the shop windows, lighting up the Christmas displays. Some minimal, some full of glittering tinsel, toys, lights, and Christmas trees with large, glittering ornaments to small, matte ones.

People are beginning to wander as we take it all in. The difference between here, and out there, where it’s getting busy, is incredible. Every now and then someone comes in to order and then leaves without so much as glancing in our direction. For sure wanting to stay away from the gawking American tourists. But my girl’s not gawking. My girl is soaking it up. The way she holds the mug close to her lips once she’s done eating, inhaling the scent of the coffee with a small smile on her lips.

So content with the simple things.

She catches me staring and grins. Her hand comes up to her face and she swipes her fingers along in a circle. It’s one word. An easy one.

Beautiful.

And I nod, flicking my middle finger from my thumb and mimic her soft movements.Very beautiful.I sign back.

She blushes and goes back to staring out at the street, at the people rushing by, people coming in and leaving, taking little bits and nibbles from her croissant, for sure not wanting to waste it.

I’m so busy staring at her, I barely hear my phone buzz from my back pocket. I pull it out only to see my mom’s face and I answer the FaceTime call.

“Hey mom.”

“Hello, good morning darling. It’s so good to see you. Where’s our lovely girl?”

“She’s right here.” I place the phone on the table and Raven scoots in closer, greeting my mother, Elena.

They have an entire conversation in sign language, since my mother’s gotten a lot better at it while we were visiting in London, wanting to excel at being able to talk to my future wife and the mother of her grandchildren because honestly, we don’t know if Raven will be able to ever talk properly. But I don’t care. I like her little motions and glares and all the little sounds shecanmake.

I catch the waiter and the staff behind the glass counter holding pastries watching in fascination. My mother must have made a joke because Raven tilts her head back, curls cascading behind her shoulders, laughing silently, glee on her face and I love it. I love how easily my mother has accepted her. How carefree Raven is away from her family. Away from the structures of our society, away from the worries of the Syndicate.

She hasn’t had a nightmare or a sleepwalking episode the entire time we’ve been in Europe. I just hope it keeps up.

“Jonas!”

I blink rapidly, Raven tapping me on the shoulder and I look down at the phone. I haven’t heard a word she’s said.

“Son, I’ve been saying your name for five minutes.”

“Oh, sorry mom.”

“Jonas I have answers.”

I grip the phone immediately, taking it off FaceTime and kiss Raven on the temple. “Go get more books, baby. I just have to talk to her really fast and I’ll be back, okay?”

She shrugs and I hand her my wallet. The whole thing. She can have it all. I know she has her own. But she’ll never use hers when she’s with me.

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