Page 11 of Red Flag, Green Light

“What should I call you?”

Sweetheart, dearest, darling, beloved… I’m not picky. “Mars?” Because that is my name, and therefore a perfectly reasonable request to have made. Look at me, healthy relationship icon.

For unknown reasons, Ceres’s nose scrunches, pulling at a tiny birthmark on her right cheek.

Huh.

I had not known my name was quitethatoffensive. One thing I’ve always loved about Ceres is how painfully expressive she is. There is nothing more spectacular than watching her read a book. She’s never met the term “inside thought.” I can tell exactly what is happening with every turn of a page.

Unfortunately, right now, I wish she’d control her volume.

“What’s wrong with my name?” I ask.

Her scrunched nose force relaxes, and she fiddles with her fingers as she refuses to meet my eyes. “Nothing.”

“It’s very clear you hate it. Why?”

“I don’t hate it. It’s a lovely name. Roman god of war. Roman god of agriculture. Roman god of thunder. Quite the group on this side of the street. Almost like there was a prerequisite to moving in.Must have Roman mythology namewas in the fine print. I’d blame an HOA’s outlandish rules, except we don’t have one.”

Back up. How did Jovey get a seat in this conversation?

Ceres continues, lip puckering, “Not weird atallthat, according to the myths, you’re your brother’sson.”

I have never once thought of that. I’d like to never think of it again.

Leave it to Sara to be annoyed by such a minute detail. Very logical, my Sara. She likes when things make sense. And itreally doesn’t make sense that our parents named us like this. Except, of course: “I think we’re named after the planets, not the gods.” We will ignore the fact my mother’s name wasCybele. A goddess. And not a planet. There’s no connection.

…it is possible I’m the one who decided I was named after the planet, not the god of war.

Ceres,mygoddess, says, “So you’re named after the planets, which were named after the gods?”

My mouth opens. I close it.

Ceres frees a breath. “Exactly.”

Exactly indeed…

I prompt, “You’re awfully calm, given the circumstances. A random man shows up in your house unannounced, and you make him lemonade before telling him that youthinkyou’re going to call the police, then you drop the matter upon request.” I set my glass down beside a slew of potted plants arranged with precision on the coffee table between us. “Your self-preservation instincts seem, how do you say…? Lacking.”

Unperturbed, she rises, retrieves a crocheted coaster from an end table also overflowing with indoor plants, and puts my glass of leftover ice upon it. “I don’t normally have company. How am I supposed to know how to behave in this situation?”

“Suffice to say, I am not company. I’m a trespasser.”

She settles back into her chair, watching me. “Should I call the police, then?”

“No, see. You absolutely should have already called the police.”

A divot forms beneath her bottom lip when she pouts. “You’re making no sense, Mars, and I really do have quite a bit of work to do…so if you’re done saying what you came to and you’ve finished your lemonade, I hope it’s an appropriate time to ask you to leave.”

My stomachflutters. Breath hitching, I swallow the uniquesensations.Mars. She did it. She used my name. And she didn’t even sound disgusted.

While I’m caught within torrents of adoration, she lifts her phone from her flowy skirt pocket.

She begins to type something in.

“Are you texting 911?” I ask.

“I’m contacting your brother. So he can come get you.”

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