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“Kasserole?” Castor echos, humor in his tone.
“Hush,” I hiss. “Just a few more minutes, Dad!” Lowering my voice again, I whisper, “Listen. I’m not afraid of you. I know better than to make agreements with strangers who can just appear in my bathroom. If you’re not bad like Willow and Alana say, please leave me alone.”
He hums. “I’m not bad like Willow and Alana say; I’m worse.”
“Well, that’s just fantastic.”
“Sarcasm. The ease of it is probably among the few things I envy humans for having.” Castor clasps his hands together before himself in the long black sleeves of his robe. “I am a man of chances, child. Have you supplied me with your final answer?”
“If there’s something specific you need my unknown abilities for, ask me in more detail if I decide to come into them on my own. Depending on the roots of your request, I may not be unwilling to help you.”
“Diplomatic. It is as though you’ve spent time in fae courts… Very well. For this moment, I shall consider your kindness and openness valuable. We will meet again.” In the very next moment, he vanishes, leaving behind nothing but a few grains of stone on the bathroom floor.
Rushing through my morning routine, I hurry to the dining room table before Dad has to call me again.
“Morning!” I force my smile, because I’m a strong independent woman who doesn’t need to listen to Pollux’s rules…or worry my parents.
Mostly that second one.
I don’t need to worry my parents.
“Morning, Kasserole.” Dad kisses my forehead as he sets out a pan of eggs and a pan of fried potatoes with veggie sausage.
My mother, from her seat, laces her fingers together beneath her chin and grins. “How nice of you to join us today.”
“Hm?” I push my hair back and refrain from straightening the silverware beside my plate. The fork is crooked. And the spoon is with the knife. Even though he’s abusing her. What a perfectly sane thing to irritate me.
“It seems like you’ve been gone a lot this break. Nearly all day yesterday.” Her eyes sparkle. “Certainly it would have nothing to do with Meda’s father, right?”
“Have you married him yet?” Dad asks as he settles into his chair.
I laugh to cover up the internal screaming. “Real cute, you two.”
As though summoned, my wedding kitten drags himself out of my room and to my ankles so he can beg a morsel from the table. I can’t unfeel the way my heart jumps in response to his presence and all he stands for even though I pretend I’m perfectly fine while I serve myself some eggs. The contradictions between my nonchalant outside self and my shrieking inside self are glaring this morning.
True, I never agreed to put Pollux’s rules into practice, but realizing exactly how often they would alter the way I act has me tasting sour with every bite and wanting to…cry. A little. At least.
It’s my final day off.
Maybe I should stress crochet something.
Maybe I should stress crochet something for Pollux.
Like…an angry bee.
So he knows I’m not happy with this situation, but I also inexplicably want him to have something cozy to cuddle. Maybe I should stress crochet an angry bumblebee and appear without warning on his doorstep, frowning, because how dare he imply the smile I’ve worked decades on should be outlawed?
The rude monster.
The rude, beautiful monster.
Who pins me to clouds…
And says dreadful, wonderful things…
That make me feel…some kind of way.
To be certain, I’m not touch-starved. It’s just nice to be touched by someone who isn’t one of my relatives and who doesn’t have sticky fingers.
