Free Ashes and Ice by Rochelle Maya Callen Page A

difference doesn’t seem to exist. And it makes me wary.
    “Connor, do you ever play?”
    I shake my head.
    “Hmm, yet another thing I will have to teach you.”
    “Yep—so let’s go and let these guys get back to their game.” I try steering her away from the table.
    “I’m Jesse.” He doesn’t shift his gaze away from his cards. It almost looks like he is blushing.
    “Wade.” Wade tips his hat forward and smiles at Jade.
    “I’m Harry, darling.” Harry says. “Now if our boy goes on misbehavin’ you just let us know ya’ hear?”
    “Oh, I will,” she says, punching my shoulder.
    “All right, movie time!” I say. The dining room suddenly seems stifling.
    I herd her upstairs, before stopping on the creaky step. “Hey, Harry, where’s Ma?”
    “Oh she went to New Orleans. She’ll be back late. She know you have company?”
    “Let the boy be, Harry. If his momma don’t know, then he’s up to no good. And if he’s up to no good, I’m proud as hell.” Wade winks at me.
    I feel as though I’ve been run over by a tractor. “Shut up, Wade. And yeah, Harry. She knows.” I dash upstairs, grateful that Jade seems preoccupied with all the photos hanging in the hallway.
    “This one’s you, right?” She traces the browning photo’s edges.
    “Uh, no. That’s my dad when he was, I dunno, seven.” I do know. I know every detail about when that photo was taken. I remember when Grandma hunched over laughing with gumbo on the stove as she told the story. And like everything that had something to do with dad, it was precious to me.
    She looks at me, suddenly serious. “You look just like him, you know.”
    “People say that.”
    We are silent for a minute.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “What for?”
    “I’m sorry that he’s not—with you—anymore.”
    I’m taken back. “I, uh, well, you know, it was, a while—”
    “Don’t do that.”
    “What?”
    “Lie.” She steps closer to the picture, studying it, and then looks at me. “People always say things to cover up how they really feel. Like they don’t want to burden anyone by being too happy, too surprised, too stressed, too… sad.” Her eyes are gentle. I’m not sure if it’s because of the softness in her eyes or how I feel that she can pull tears right out from me. My heart skips a beat. I swallow the dryness in my throat. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I touch the photo. “I miss him. It’s still hard. On everyone—you know.”
    She nods and rests her hand on my shoulder.
    Silence—but it’s a rich silence. Like we are both crying or humming or laughing, but we’re not.
    “Which room is yours?” Her voice stirs inside me. My room? Oh yeah! I start to open the door and then wonder: is it messy? Did it stink? I must’ve hesitated long enough for her to notice. “Ya know, we could hang out downstairs—”
    JESSE-JADE-WADE-HARRY. No thanks. I open the door and gasp when it’s practically sparkling… picked up, swept, mopped. What the hell? And then my mom’s bright face flashes in my mind. Surely, this was her attempt to make a good first impression.
    “Wow, you’re a clean freak.”
    “No. It’s just a special occasion.”
    “Oh really? What occasion?”
    “Company.”
    “Mmmm, I like it. I’m the special occasion. Nice.” She walks in and I freeze in the doorway for a second. Beautiful girl in my room. It takes a moment to click and, when it does, it gives me warm goose bumps—nervous and excited at the same time.
    ***
    “Have you ever been in love?”
    I spill my popcorn on my lap. “I, uh, what?” I say, swiping off the kernels. The question catches me off guard.
    “You know, in love.”
    “No. No, I haven’t.” I shift on the couch, needing more space between us. “What about you?”
    “Nah.” She flicks her hand toward me as if she is brushing away nonsense, but the hard look in her eyes says something different.
    “Why?”
    She points to the TV screen and the couple making out there. “Figured