Page 247 of Wrong Pucking Player

“I can hardly call you my Little Bird anymore! Look how tall and graceful you’re growing to be!” Asteria had proclaimed, looking me over.

I mumbled my thanks, though I knew Asteria’s words to be a lie. I’d shot up nearly three inches in only a few months, and I was all angles and knobbly knees with frizzy hair and a mouthful of braces. I’d never felt less graceful in my life, and if I resembled a bird at all, it was surely the drabbest, most awkward of flamingos.

I shuffled forward for my hug as usual, feeling unaccountably shy until I breathed in the familiar scent of her and felt my diffidence melt away. She pulled me back and took my face between her hands, staring down into my face with an inscrutable expression.

“A blessed tenth year to you, my darling,” she whispered.

“You know, Mom, usually people just say, ‘happy birthday,’” my mother suggested.

“When have I ever been interested in what other people usually do?” Asteria retorted with a jingling wave of her hand.

I must have been shooting a covetous look at the source of the jingling, for Asteria’s face broke into a wide smile. “Ah, wondering already what the birthday gift will be, I see.”

I had the good grace to flush as I shook my head vigorously. “No, I was just…”

“Ah, your tenth year is a special milestone. It requires a special gift, don’t you think?” she interjected.

My heart performed a little flip inside my chest. “A special gift?”

“Mom…” my own mother’s voice carried a sharp warning in it. I scented the danger at once, but Asteria chose to ignore it.

“That’s right. A very special gift indeed, and it’s not hanging around my neck or my wrist this time. Would you like to guess what it is?”

I stood there stupidly, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. The truth was that my mind could not conceive of what Asteria would consider a special gift. Everyone else I knew got gift cards or cash from their grandparents. Somehow, I knew there would be nothing of that sort tucked away in Asteria’s sweeping collection of trailing skirts or dangling pouches. And so I just shrugged helplessly.

“No? Well, why don’t you have a little peek in here, then, and see if you can figure it out,” Asteria whispered conspiratorially.

I caught one glimpse of my mother’s furious face before Asteria turned me from her and beckoned me to open a patchwork bag she carried on her hip. I tugged at the drawstring and pulled the mouth wide, peering down into it. At first, I didn’t understand what I was looking at until Asteria reached down into the bag and pulled out a fluffy black ball that blinked bemusedly up at me from sleepy, grass-green eyes.

“No way!” I gasped as she deposited the kitten into my trembling hands. She was warm and thrumming with life, and the moment I scooped her to my chest, she began to purr contentedly.

“Mom, I need to talk to you.Now.”

Even Asteria couldn’t ignore the storm now brewing in my mother’s words. She looked up and smiled coolly. “Of course, Kerridwen. I’m always happy to talk to you; surely you know that.”

“Do not call me Kerridwen.”

“That’s your name.”

“And it’s ridiculous, which is why I go by Kerri,” my mother replied. She turned to me. “Wren, take that kitten to your room, please.”

“Can I keep her?” I begged breathlessly, clutching the still purring kitten to my chest. “Please, Mom, I’ll take such good care of her, you’ll never have to—”

“We’ll talk about it later. Do as I say, please, and take her to your room.”

I did as I was bid, my heart pounding painfully already at the thought of being separated from this thrumming ball of life cradled against my chest. I felt as though she had become inextricably part of me the moment Asteria had placed her in my hands. What would I do if my mother made Asteria take her away again? A sob lodged itself in my throat and sat there stubbornly. I had to know. I wouldn’t be able to breathe until I knew.

I walked all the way down the hallway, slapping my feet against the floorboards louder than was necessary. Then I opened my bedroom door and shut it again before creeping halfway back down the hallway to listen. The argument had already begun.

“…know that I don’t want to get her caught up in all of that, and you go and give her a… a…”

“It’s akitten. Lots of little girls have kittens, Kerridwen.”

“It’sKerri, and don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot! It’s not just a kitten. I’m your daughter. You think I don’t know when you’re up to something?”

“Kerri, you can’t keep her from this forever.”

“Watch me.”