Freaks in the City

by Maree Anderson

  Caro grinned. “Yeah. But if you dress a baby girl in blue, people are gonna think she’s a boy. And vice versa.”

  “And when they’re older,” Tyler said, “boys get teased and made fun of for wearing pink. If my mom had dressed me in pink as a kid, my life would have been a living hell. I’d probably be in therapy by now.”

  Jay didn’t understand the significance humans placed on colors. Why should a color provoke such unpleasant behavioral reactions?

  She must have given some indication of her confusion, for Caro wore an expression that suggested she was preparing for a lengthy explanation.

  “Colors can be labels,” Caro said. “Pink for girls. Blue for boys. Red can mean anger or signify an emergency. Purple can denote royalty. White’s for weddings. Black’s for funerals—”

  “In some Asian cultures white is the traditional color for mourning,” Jay said.

  “Okay, so I’m simplifying but you get the picture, right?”

  Jay nodded.

  “Most people have favorite colors, too. For example, mine is the same as yours. Purple.”

  “What makes you think purple is my favorite color?”

  “Your iThings and your eReader are all either purple or have purple covers.”

  “I can see why you would think that, however your deduction is faulty. I chose purple simply because a shop assistant once told me that purple was feminine and still stylish without being too girly, like pink.”

  Tyler let out a little snort that sounded smugly satisfied. “Sorry, sis. Seems you’re not so smart as you think you are.”

  “Okay then, smartass. What is Jay’s favorite color?”

  “Blue.”

  Jay knew Tyler was thinking of the robe he’d bought for her, and again, it was a logical assumption. In truth, she liked the robe because Tyler had bought it for her, and specifically chosen it to complement her eyes. The color had little to do with the pleasure she’d displayed upon receiving the gift.

  “So…. You don’t have a favorite color?”

  Again, Caro must have seen something in Jay’s expression that she hadn’t realize she’d revealed. How disconcerting to be so easily read. She was becoming more human by the day.

  “No. Color is simply a result of the absorption and scattering properties of various materials, and the varying incoming wavelengths of the light that illuminates those materials. It neither pleases nor displeases me.”

  Tyler pulled his hand from hers, and she realized she’d disappointed him—perhaps even wounded him. She had to fix this, had to make him understand what she’d felt upon receiving his gift had not been faked. “I wasn’t pretending,” she told him. “I love the robe because you thought about me when you chose it. The color doesn’t matter. If you’d bought me one that matched my hair, I’d have loved it just as much.”

  His answering smile and the warmth of his gaze told her he did understand. And she felt… relieved and thrilled and content all at the same time when he draped an arm about her shoulders and played with a lock of her hair. “I’d have had a hard time finding anything to match this,” he said. “The nearest thing in sleepwear would be boring old chocolate brown.”

  “There’s nothing boring about chocolate,” Jay said. She’d recently developed an appreciation for chocolate that bordered on greed—much to Tyler’s amusement.

  Caro was still chewing over Jay’s revelations. “Everyone has a favorite color,” she insisted. “It’s, like, an unwritten law or something. What do you feel when you look at certain colors? Don’t some please you more than others? And what about combinations of colors? I mean, I haven’t seen you mixing colors that make my eyes bleed, so it seems logical to assume you have some sort of internal process for selecting colors.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it before.”

  “You should,” Caro said. “Irrational likes and dislikes and all our weird little quirks are an important part of being human. They help you fit in.”

  “I don’t care for the taste of pickles,” Jay said. “I extract them from my burgers and give them to Tyler.”

  “Well, that’s a good start, I guess.”

  “But I find it wholly irrational that I don’t care for pickles. I can consume and extract nutrients from substances that would make a human very ill. Pickles provide nutrients. I should not have such an irrational dislike.”

  “Irrational is good,” Caro said. “Leave rational to geeks and scientists.”

  “Quit trying to change her, Caro. I happen to like her warts and all.” Tyler’s voice had an edge to it.

  “I assure you I don’t have any warts,” Jay said.

  “You’re impossible.” Caro sucked in a shaky breath before exhaling noisily—noisily enough that Jay considered monitoring her friend’s breathing rate to ensure her breathing was not impaired. Oh. Perhaps that breath was meant to be a snort to convey fond exasperation. Jay had not intended to be amusing. She’d merely wanted to make it very clear she did not have any warts.

  “Pot, meet Kettle,” Tyler said, referencing his sister’s comment about being impossible and provoking the appearance of Caro’s tongue again. “Gee. Attractive, much? Give it a rest, sis. It’s a wonder Jay puts up with you picking on her about this sort of stuff. If you were my BFF, I’d have told you to put a sock in it long before now.”

  “You don’t think I’m picking on you, do you, Jay?”

  Jay observed the dismay flitting across Caro’s face and hastened to reassure her. “Of course not. I find your observations useful. And as you have suggested, I will endeavor to ascertain which color or colors happen to please me the most.”

  “Betcha it’s purple,” Caro said. “No way would you have kept buying purple electronics if you didn’t like the color—even if it was an unconscious process that made you choose it.”

  Jay’s gaze flicked to Tyler, who was shaking his head in mock-despair. “No pressure, mind. Or planting ideas in her unconscious, or any underhanded tricks like that.”

  Jay grinned at him, and he grinned back. And as she gazed at his face—a face that had become so dear to her—it occurred to her that she would not have to conduct any experiments to ascertain her favorite color.

  She already had one. Her favorite color was brown—specifically the exact chocolate-brown shade of Tyler’s eyes.

  ~~~

  Michael had managed to coax Marissa from the sanctuary of their bedroom, and the instant they walked into the lounge, the easy banter between Tyler and his sister shriveled and died. The atmosphere became so drenched with tension Jay could almost feel it dancing across her skin.

  Marissa lowered herself into the easy chair kitty-corner to the three-seater couch that Tyler and Caro had chosen, and a portion of Jay’s brain wandered off on a tangent.

  Kitty-corner. Also known as catty-corner.

  The phrase tugged on her lips and made her want to smile. The English language was peppered with words derived from other languages that had been anglicized, and then evolved still further until they became… whimsical. The evolution of quatre to cater, and then to catty or kitty in conjunction with corner, was a perfect example of whimsy. In other circumstances she would have shared her thoughts, curious to learn what others thought. Here and now, such observations might be seen as a clumsy attempt to lighten the mood so she kept them to herself.

  When no one seemed inclined to break the increasingly awkward silence, she stood and rolled her shoulders as though easing tense muscles. Stretching would have caused her long-sleeved tee to ride up and show a strip of her bare belly. Rolling her shoulders was more decorous in current company. Then, to borrow one of Tyler’s favorite phrases when referring to his sister, Jay “made a production” of fishing her iPod from her pocket, clipping it to her the v-neck of her t-shirt, and fussing with the ear-buds. “Who wants coffee?”

  “I’d love one. Black, please.” Michael made an effort to smile at her. She noticed it didn’t reach his eyes but she appreciated the token gest
ure. It can’t have been easy for him, caught in the middle between wife and son, damned either way. If Tyler hadn’t been so adamant Jay accompany him things might not have come to a head so quickly.

  She turned her focus to Tyler and Caro. “Coffee or sodas for you two?”

  “Soda, please,” Tyler said. “Whatever’s in the fridge.”

  Caro wrinkled her nose and nibbled her lip—classic indicators of indecision. “Coffee. Milk and two sugars, please. It’s the only way I can stomach the stuff.”

  “Then why drink it?”

  “Soda’s for kids,” she said, her gaze sliding to Tyler, daring him to comment.

  “If you think drinking something you can’t stand the taste of makes you a grown-up—” Tyler emphasized “grown-up” with air quotes “—then go for it. Personally, I think it makes you a dumbass.” He half-turned toward his mother, his expression expectant, waiting for her to chide him for insulting his sister.

  Marissa didn’t react. Her gaze darted to Jay and then slid away. “I’ve gone off coffee—even the smell of it makes me nauseous. And I’m supposed to avoid caffeine.”

  “Perhaps you’d prefer an herbal tea, Mrs. Davidson.”

  “We’ve run out of herbal tea.”

  “I’ll see what I can rustle up.” Jay popped in the ear-buds, thumbed up the volume on Pink’s Greatest Hits album, and left the Davidson family to their forthcoming private family discussion. If they hadn’t cleared the air by the time she’d made coffee, she’d go for a run and check out her old neighborhood.

  A quick search of the pantry and cupboards revealed Marissa had been correct: there was no herbal tea. Jay searched for fresh ingredients to use as substitutes. Honey. A lemon from the fruit bowl. Ginger was good for nausea. Unfortunately there was none in the pantry, save for the ground spice variety. No ginger in the fridge, either. Finally, in side door of the upright freezer she got lucky and found frozen fresh ginger in a Ziploc bag. It was old, covered in ice particles, but it should do the trick. She broke off a knob and crushed it in her fist to separate the fibrous flesh before setting it to steep in a small pot of water on the range.

  Some pregnant women liked to eat little and often to stave off nausea. It was nearing midday so Jay decided to make sandwiches—a safe bet when one was a guest in someone else’s house. It wouldn’t do to whip up something more complex and earn Marissa’s ire for using ingredients she needed for the evening meal.

  Next, she searched out the coffee. The Davidsons favored instant freeze-dried coffee grounds, so mugs of coffee would be quick to prepare.

  By the time she set out a tray with mugs, milk, sugar, plates and paper napkins, and two plates piled high with a variety of sandwiches, a mere nine minutes had passed since she’d exited the lounge. Pink had segued to Adam Lambert. Currently she was listening to Whataya Want From Me. Mmm. How apt. The lyrics could have been written specifically for her and Tyler.

  She adjusted the position of a mug, moving its handle to line up with the other two, and then went still. Even over the loud music she would still be able to hear anyone approach. No one would surprise her and be shocked to see her standing inhumanly motionless. There was no reason to pretend to be anything other than what she was right now.

  Tyler’s comments about how it’d be easier if she wasn’t independently wealthy, and was forced to work like he did, slipped through her mind. Perhaps she should re-enroll in a college and take some classes—just for appearances. But it seemed a waste of time and energy when the lecturers and tutors couldn’t teach her anything she didn’t already know or couldn’t research for herself.

  The term she’d spent at Appleton with Tyler had proven how easy it was to slip up and give off a vibe of being different, “other”. She’d been technically excellent at every “art” form she’d undertaken, but had lacked the indefinable something that marked the truly talented. Some tutors had been content with her skill level. One or two had tried to push her to take risks, to “loosen up” and “let go”. It was as well she had departed Appleton before her inexplicable shortcomings had drawn too much attention.

  If she wanted to stretch herself, to understand Tyler and what motivated him to consider her offers of financial aid a blow to his masculine pride, then perhaps employment would be the answer. Perhaps she should get a job.

  A blink of an eyelid, and Jay snapped from complete stillness to movement. She grabbed a mug from the tray, switched off the element on the range, removed the pot, and sieved the ginger concoction through her cupped fingers into the mug. The pulp she discarded in the trash. Next she added lemon juice and a dollop of honey to sweeten the mix. She boiled the kettle and made coffee for Michael and Caro, and grabbed two colas from the fridge.

  A total of twenty-seven minutes had passed since she’d departed the living room. Well, twenty-seven-point-six to be precise, but this planned absence did not require that degree of precision.

  She scooped up the two plates, balancing one on the flat palm of her hand, and the other on her inner forearm as she’d seen experienced wait staff do. The tray was solid wood with handles cut into the raised sides. Loaded up, it was too heavy and far too unwieldy for a human to carry in one hand. Jay ignored the handles. She slipped her fingers beneath the bottom of the tray and hooked her thumb over the side’s raised lip. She hefted it and turned to the man who’d been standing in the doorway, quietly observing her.

  “I’m impressed,” she said.

  “Why’s that?” Michael Davidson asked.

  “I thought your family would require more time to discuss your issues. Unplanned additions to an already well-established family unit, and sons with non-human girlfriends, are not uncomplicated topics.”

  His gaze flicked to her ear-buds. She noted the moment he concluded any loud music that might be blaring in her ears would not affect her ability to engage in a proper conversation—the merest tightening of the muscles in his jaw. She could have pulled out the ear-buds, pretended she hadn’t heard him. But there was little reason to play human for Michael. He’d spent five years learning everything he could about her, so he could bring her in and turn her over to Evan Caine. Michael would never forget what she was.

  “My wife and son have come to a mutual agreement,” he said.

  “Good.”

  He advanced toward her and Jay stood motionless. She could detect no signs that he meant to harm her—no elevated heartbeat, no flexing or tightening of muscles. He would be foolish to try and she was one hundred percent certain he knew it.

  He reached out to pluck the plates from her forearm and hand. “Aren’t you going to ask what the agreement is?”

  Jay transferred the tray to a double-handed grip. “Tyler will tell me if he deems it necessary to do so.”

  “You’re very trusting.”

  “I trust Tyler to do whatever is right for him.”

  “What if he’s decided what’s right is for him not to see you anymore?”

  “Then that’s his decision and I will have to abide by it.”

  Michael snorted, the gesture so Tyler-like that Jay smiled. If Tyler aspired to be like his father, that would be a good thing.

  “You’d just walk away? No covert surveillance from afar? After everything you’ve done for Tyler—and our family—I find that very hard to believe.”

  “Believe whatever you like,” Jay told him. “I can’t stop you.”

  “You paid Tyler’s tuition at Wasserman.”

  Jay reacted to the abrupt subject change with a slow blink.

  “He spun me some BS about scholarships and interest free loans but I know it was you.”

  “Yes. He’s not pleased with me for doing that. We’re still discussing it.”

  “Idiot,” Michael said.

  It wasn’t clear who he referred to in this instance. Jay needed clarification to enable her to respond appropriately. “Me or Tyler?”

  Michael grinned. “Tyler. Don’t sweat it, Jay. Marissa was exactly the same way when we got en
gaged. I bought this house outright for her as an engagement gift. The discussion got rather heated but she came around. Eventually. Once she realized I’d come about the money legitimately and wasn’t involved with anything illegal.”

  Jay accessed the appropriate data. In its day, this house would have been pricey—far too pricey for a young man to purchase outright with cash. “The severance package you negotiated from the USAF must have been substantial.”

  His reaction was the barest tightening of the muscles around his eyes. “Of course you know about my youthful indiscretions.”

  “Of course. Does Marissa?”

  “Originally I’d told her I cashed in some shares to buy the house but I had to come clean and tell her everything. She was never going to accept me strolling back into her life after five years if I didn’t trust her with the whole truth.”

  Jay did the brow-raising thing again. It was such a useful little gesture. “The whole truth?”

  “Enough of it.”

  “I understand.” Enough of the truth to satisfy Marissa’s demands to know why he’d walked out on her. Enough to regain a measure of her trust, but not enough to endanger her. “May I ask a favor? A small one.”

  “Ah, sure.”

  There was a question in his voice, so Jay hastened to explain. “I would like to use your computer to check the online situations vacant in my area.” She could have accessed the data remotely, but this was a good excuse to absent herself for another period of time. And to play with Michael’s laptop.

  “Tyler’s looking for another job?”

  “No. I am.”

  “Jay—”

  “I’m doing it for him. It’s something I need to do. And I would like you not to mention it to him. Please.”

  Michael’s gaze roamed her face. “I understand.”

  And she thought there was a very high probability that he did. “Is your laptop password protected?”

  He gave her an adult’s version of “Well, duh!” eyes. “Of course.”

  “Will you tell me the password?”