Page 92 of Grim
“Are you ashamed of what happened between us, Ms. Chamberlain?”
I meet his energy with confidence of my own. “No, I am not.”
“Good. Neither am I. So, don’t turn all meek on me when you mention it, if you mention it. Though I’m not entirely sure there’s a need to mention it at all, if I’m honest. We have loads to do before your official crossover.”
“Do you not want to talk about it?” I ask, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice. Unsure what I’m even truly asking.
He clears his throat, as if he’s trying to stall before giving me an answer. “We’ve got bigger issues that concern us presently, Rue. Tell me about this dress.” The pivot is sharp, surgical.
I can see by the steely look of his eyes that there’s no sense in pursuing that topic right now, so I press on with a story from my childhood I’ve had very few opportunities to tell.
“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a theater girl. Shakespeare, musicals, the whole thing. I used to dream about it every night. From Roxie Hart to Rosalind, I wanted to play them all.” I pause, swallowing past the tightness climbing my throat. “ButFatehad other plans, evidently. I didn’t ‘look like a leading lady.’” I air-quote the refrain heard from countless directors and mean classmates alike.
Kane scowls, but makes no move to speak; in fact, he makes no move at all. He stares at me, still as a statue, eyes locked on my mouth.
Before I can continue, the family clock intones the top of another hour. Kane and I stare at each other silently.
I have never been more aware of the passage of time, I think to myself during the aural backdrop of the metronomic gong.
After the tenth tone, I return to my story. “In my mind, I knew. Culture and time dictate a community’s sense of beauty and expectation. A Renaissance queen would be laughed off of a Miami beach, but in her own era, gorgeous. Try explaining that to Mr. Gladwell or any of the kids at Crestview High. Anyway, the point was moot in the end. My sophomore year, doctors advised against pursuing activities that would put undue strain on my heart, so that was that. The only gown I ever gotto wear came from a hospital.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. I force a small laugh, brushing it off like it doesn’t still carve into me.
Kane exhales slowly and deliberately. “That’s awful, Rue. People can be the worst kind sometimes.”
I smile softly at his simple but effective distillation, then press on to my conclusion. “My dad started buying me dresses. Said I’d always be his princess, and if I couldn’t be Juliet on a stage, I could still be her in our backyard.”
My throat clogs. I feel Kane’s stare, heavy and raw.
“Rue …” he says softly.
There’s something in the way he says my name that makes everything inside me splinter a little more. I lift my chin and give him a smile that feels a little too sharp at the edges.
“Anyway, that was my dad. Always meeting me where I was. Always giving me space and encouragement to dream.” After another lengthy silence, I ask, “So, do you want to see it? The dress?”
“No,” Kane answers, taking me by surprise.
“You don’t want to see it? Make sure it’s suitable for a party in the OtherWorld?”
“No,” he says, his voice a gavel. “If your father got it for you, that’s good enough for me.”
“Okay.” I blush. Then a new thought occurs to me, and a small smile creeps onto my face. “However, I do have one problem …” I say, dragging out the word.
“What? I don’t like that look.”
“I don’t have any shoes.”
“You don’t have any shoes?” he repeats.
“Let’s not do this again, Grim. No, I do not have shoes appropriate for an event of this magnitude.”
“There must be something you have here.”
“Unless you want me to wear my hippity-hoppity flipp—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” he cuts me off forcefully, which has me giggling under my breath. His next sentence comes out extremely quickly. “Where does one procure footwear in this town?”
“The mall, Grim.”
He stiffens. “We are not going to the mall,” he declares adamantly.
