Page 57 of Hale Yes
She scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip. “What?”
“Tonight I want you to be the big, beautiful, strong elephant that you are.”
Nicolette bursts into laughter. “I never thought being called an elephant would be the sweetest compliment I’ve ever heard.” I wait for her promise, and she finally relents, crossing her fingers and tapping her chest. “I do solemnly swear I will be the elephant.”
My grin is so wide it makes my cheeks hurt. “Good. Not that you need it, but I’ll be there for backup. I’ll give you a signal if I think you need a reminder to embrace your inner pachyderm.”
Her head tilts in apprehension. “What kind of signal? You’re not going to trumpet like an elephant are you?”
I think about it for a second. “What if I tap my nose?”
“Hmmm, that’s a lot more subtle, but I guess it will work.” She fusses with her hair again before stopping herself. “Can you distract me? Tell me something about yourself I don’t already know.”
The words leave my mouth before I can lasso them into submission. “I have synesthesia.”
Nicolette’s eyes pop into wide spheres, almost bulging from her head, and I rub my fingers over my lips as if I can erase what I just said.
“The phenomenon where you have sensory crossover? What kind do you have? Ooh, do you perceive shapes when you smell certain things? Or see colors when you’re listening to music?”
My disquiet over blurting out my secret slowly recedes. She seems fascinated and not… disturbed by my bizarre condition.
“Mine is face-color synesthesia.”
Nicolette’s mouth drops open. “That is amazing, Helix. So you see colors when you look at someone’s face? Is it constant?”
The rigidity of my spine slowly unwinds, and I relax into my seat. “I don’t see it with everyone, and it’s not distracting or anything. It doesn’t completely cover their face, but it’s more of a sensitivity to their… God, I hate saying this because it sounds weird, but… their auras.”
Her head shakes almost manically from side to side. “No, Helix, please don’t say it’s weird. It’s not common, but it is a documented phenomenon. I heard Beyoncé and Pharrell Williams are sound-to-color synesthetes. And Marilyn Monroe apparently had taste-to-color synesthesia.”
I nod. “I’ve heard Beyoncé has chromesthesia, but I didn’t know about the others. I’ll have to read up on that.”
“You should. I proofread a thesis for a guy I went to grad school with. He was getting his PhD in neuroscience, and he did it on synesthesia. It was intriguing stuff. He believes it develops in childhood when kids are being exposed to abstract concepts.” She nudges me with the toe of her shoe. “What age did you first notice it?”
Surprisingly, I’m starting to feel perfectly comfortable talking to Nicolette about this. “The earliest memory I have of itis when I was about five. I told my mom she looked orange like sunshine and Phoenix looked blue like the sky. She didn’t seem to think anything of it and just hugged me. Told me that was sweet.”
Nicolette leans forward, her elbows resting on her thighs. “Does your twin have it too?”
“Not that I know of. I tried to bring it up to him when we were little, but he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.” My shoulders lift in a self-conscious shrug. “I’ve never told anyone else.”
Her smile is positively glowing. “Really? Thank you so much for trusting me with it, Helix. That means a lot to me.”
Dear god, am I blushing?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The DICK-CON one situation
Helix
I don’t like these people.
The dad? Well, I’m reserving judgment on Albert Bell for now, but the rest of them can go to hell. At least the father came out and greeted us when we drove up. He seemed genuinely thrilled to see his daughter again, though the tentative hug shared with Nicolette was awkward at best.
The others? They barely acknowledged us when we walked in, other than the sister eyeing me up and down. I also changed clothes on the plane, donning navy pants, a pale-blue button-down shirt, and brown Brioni loafers. Yeah, Remington got me hooked on them when we switched shoes all those years ago at Phoenix’s bachelor party, and now I wear them almost exclusively.
I’m using all my good manners at the dinner table though, just like my mother did her best to teach us boys when we were little.
“The meatballs are delicious, Mrs. Bell,” I say politely.
