Page 28 of Pride
Apparently, Alice was his mate. She was supposed to be by his side, but she needed to know what that entailed. There were all these expectations, and neither of them knew what they wanted or needed. Parker sighed, already looking like he’d given up.
“Blue,” Alice blurted. “My favorite color is blue.”
“Why?”
“I guess it’s like the sky. Like freedom.”
Such a vague answer, and easier on her privacy compared to explaining what the song was about, yet Parker’s face went ashen. He looked at Alice as though he’d seen a ghost.
12
“Parker? Did I say something wrong?”
She’d said her favorite color was blue. Like the sky. Like freedom. Such a simple thing to say, and yet it hurtled him back through the years, into the past, into the lab he’d grown up in. He was Pride, and Daisy was Despair. He was seven, and she was eight.
“Wake up, Pigeon,” Despair whispered, using her nickname for him. “Come quickly.”
Dark hair, dark eyes, but a white-toothed smile was all he could see as his eyes opened. Despair’s hands were on his shoulders, shaking him.
“Stop calling me that.”
“But you still eat like a pigeon,” she giggled.
“And it’s really dark.”
Her smile widened. “Isn’t that exciting?”
“Why?” He wanted to bury under the covers.
“Because when it’s darkest, we know the sun is almost here.”
Pride sat up, rubbing his eyes. She was right. A thrill tumbled inside him, tingling his senses. His heart thumped, and he matched Despair’s smile, eager for what their secret morning had in store for them.
“Let’s go,” he whispered, and threw off his covers.
They crept past the old nun softly snoring on a chair with her knitting needles falling out of her hands. They went outside the sleeping quarters and onto the rooftop balcony with high garden walls that blocked everything from sight except for the sky, an ominous blanket with holes that let the starlight shine through. They went straight to the middle of the courtyard and laid down next to each other, trying not to shiver as they placed bits and pieces of food from their pockets around and over each other. Then they laid back and stared at the dark sky.
They waited.
And they waited.
They may have shivered, but it was worth it.
The holes in the sky-blanket disappeared. It turned into shades of purple and pink and blue.
Sometimes they saw darker shapes flittering. And if they were really still, if they pretended not to breathe, then sometimes those shapes hopped and fluttered over the walls of their rooftop courtyard and pecked and nibbled at the scraps of food around the children. Sometimes those pigeons grew in numbers until they covered everything. And when the sky turned blue, when the sun had come up, Despair would look at Pride through the feathers and the pigeon feet.
“Ready?” she mouthed.
He nodded.
Her eyes sparkled. “One.”
“Two,” he whispered.
“Three!” they shouted together, so loud they frightened the birds. Suddenly they were surrounded by flapping wings, cooing and warbling, and their own giggling squeals of excitement as feathers kissed their faces.
Above them the sky was blue, as it always was. As they’d always known.
