Page 69 of Sustain

Strange Girl

Mackenzie

I smooth my sweater, wishing I'd had time to change into something a bit more refined than jeans and a boot splattered with old mud. My leg brace doesn’t add any flair to my appearance either. Maybe it was foolish of me to come here after all. The brace creaks as I shift my weight, tapping my fingers anxiously on my thigh.

"It'll be fine, you look beautiful as always," Ian murmurs, covering my hand gently with his own to still its nervous motion.

Hayley and June had conked out on the car ride here from Heathrow, miniature jet setters that they are. Now Ian lifts their slight, sleeping forms easily, our odd transatlantic menagerie trailing up the garden steps behind his broad back to face the ‘monster’ within.

Before we make it fully up the walk, the bright red door swings abruptly open. A petite woman with peppery blonde hair peers over us cooly. "Well, here you are at last..."

Ian immediately stiffens under her sweeping, silent criticism before letting a deep sigh escape him. Without warning he pivots slightly on the step below to face me directly, eyes earnest.

"Let’s grab dinner around the corner after this. Just the two of us? I'd like that..." His gentle smile floods me with warmth against the sudden chill. "Right then, Mum," he says striding forward, "Allow me to introduce Mackenzie Roberts."

My palms grow slick, but my determination rises. If Ian can brave the fires, well, so can I.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Summer,” I say boldly holding out one of my damp hands to shake hers. One thing I’ve learned in the music business is to never let them see you sweat. You might actually be sweating like a stuck pig, but never let it show that it’s affecting you in any way. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I leave that comment where it is for her to interpret as she likes. To be honest, what I’ve heard, I don’t particularly care for. But as is the case with strangers you hear about before meeting, you don’t know what you don’t know. And I have no idea why Ian’s mother ticks the way she does.

There are reasons for everything.

The girls are nappingin the guest room, and an awkward silence hangs heavy as Mrs. Summer's assessing gaze rakes me up and down. I resist the urge to fidget under scrutiny, grasping mentally for any topic to cut the thick tension between all of us.

My eyes catch on a curio cabinet in the corner of the sitting room showcasing various animal figurines. I drift closer without thinking.

Is that a Lladró nautilus shell?

"These are exquisite," I breathe, leaning in to admire the meticulous sculpting of a sea turtle piece. "My mom used tocollect these Spanish porcelain works when I was young. The craftsmanship is like none other."

I sense Ian's mom surveying this interaction from the doorway as I continue gently handling various figurines. The act reminds me painfully of times doing just this same thing with my own mother, marveling over new additions to her collection. A collection I now keep in my apartment.

Finally, Mrs. Summer clears her throat delicately. I glance over to see her features have softened marginally. "You have an eye for quality then," she acknowledges somewhat reluctantly. "Ian failed to mention your mother was also an admirer of fine arts."

I carefully set down a coral reef scene. "She had wonderful taste. I think she'd approve of your curation here. She gave me this ring," I say, stepping over to show her. “It’s actually a heliconia flower, but she thought it looked like raven feathers, like the band, Murderous Crows, that I manage.”

She arches an eyebrow as she takes my hand to examine the ring. I can’t tell if she’s really taking in the meaning behind it or checking for its authenticity. Surprisingly, she says, “It’s lovely. And it does look like a row of bird feathers, doesn’t it? How charming.”

Behind me, Ian lets out an audible exhale. I quirk a faint, brief smile his way before turning my full charm back on the tougher audience member who I think is finally warming up. "I'd love it if you told me the story behind some of your pieces."

The battle is far from won, but perhaps the ice has cracked enough now for us to get to know one another.

fifty-two

. . .

Oh My Love

Ian

I hover just outside the sitting room doorway, my pulse stilling as I take in the unbelievable sight before me. Mackenzie is laughing softly beside my mother over her Lladró collection that has been more shrine than decoration in this house for ages.

Mum has always treasured those sculptures, but God forbid grubby young hands like mine get anywhere near that crystal case when I was a boy. She rarely even handled them herself outside the occasional light dusting. Yet now, delicate coral reefs and flowers materialize gently in my taciturn mother's hands as she drinks in Mackenzie's admiration.

It's like peering through some portal to an alternate dimension. Ease and geniality have somehow replaced the arctic chill we both braced for on the way here. They truly bond over the figurines' craftsmanship and the stories behind certain purchases. Stories I’ve never heard before. But then, I never asked either, so that’s on me.

Mackenzie's knowledge impresses Mum in return as she shares her own stories and those of her mother’s collection. I shake my head slowly, the corner of my mouth quirking up. My spectacular girl, able to thaw even this Ice Queen.

---