Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 35
~

Papa told me Thomas had shared dinner with Ezra and her folk. Didn’t quite know how to take it, so I hid any emotion—or tried to. Needed the information to settle a bit in my head. Papa didn’t claim any judgment, either.

Among ogres, a bull wouldn’t sit at the same table of his intended until the matin’ plan was solidified and the hen’s papa had thoroughly embraced the suitor, who had land and stock, the animal or company kind, to prove he could support the hen.

Thomas was gonna raise a whole new stink in the broader community. Every cousin and their pet burro had prolly already heard. Tongues would be waggin’ harder than an orc’s caught in a lie.

“I’m gonna be stuck here for at least two more days,” I said. Didn’t intend to change subjects. I think my mind was suggestin’ to me that I was required to fix something, and couldn’t from a hospital bed.

Papa nodded. “Yar luck the past week, best ya be hidden away. Should ask the constables if they’d keep ya behind bars for the duration.”

Duration of what? I was thinkin’ up a sharp response but Papa kept gripin’ at me.

“Bad enough ya got smacked down in a roadhouse after bein’ here a single, full day—which prolly loosened up your synapses for the concussion two days later. Yar brain sack oughta stay locked away for the rest of the summer.”

“My brain sack will be just fine,” as long as important stuff don’t leak out of the hole they widened a couple nights ago. “But these surgeons are gonna kill me. The meaner one, she said no glarin’ at a laptop or phone for a week. How am I gonna run OW? And don’t say Kriz.”

“Kriz has more business sense than five of ya. We’ll just keep him away from interactin’ much with yar folk, and OW will double in worth while ya’re locked down.”

I told him I’d never heard him say anything kind about Kriz. He gave me a glare. Grouched about how he’d been takin’ me and Kriz places since before the two of us were out of diapers. Irritated me for some reason to be reminded Kriz began takin’ himself to the toilet by the time he was six month old. But, it’s the only thing he did before me. Besides excel in trigonometry at three or four. Got through two years of calculus in four months. The jerk.

Well. Then there was the whole graduatin’ from high school while I was still in middle school—with him three years younger than me. The twit. It’s the one thing he uses to get under my skin.

Papa moved on, thankfully. Said my marketin’ guy had called him—don’t know why he was callin’ Papa. Immediately explained the bull called him because he’s afraid of Kriz. “Inked a really nice contract with the UK. The entire beauro-enterprise package.” Five distinct urban systems, worth double-digit-millions, not countin’ the service packages, and conversion support that went with the sale. I’d spent a year on that deal. And Kriz got to ink it. I could hate that bull.

“And he didn’t call me?” I screeched, loud enough to send my never forgotten headache into a higher orbit.

“We took yar phone from ya, fool. Remember, doctors orders. I told yar folk they were to pretend they didn’t have a teenage CEO for the time being.”

“I’m not a teenager,” I growled.

“No. Just act like a two-year-old. I’ll help Kriz out until ya can pick up a computer again.”

“Ya’ve never taken part—”

“Keep yar lips together,” he growled, pointin’ a thick finger at my face. “I won’t be makin’ any decisions, just creatin’ a channel of communication between yar team leads and Kriz.”

I simmered a bit in my sauce. Papa had never injected himself between me and my enterprises. I’ve asked his advice many a time, but he never gave me an answer. Just asked me a hundred questions. I guess that’s the best way to find a decision point on my own—sorta. He’s irritatin’, but wise.

“Ya may only consider Kriz yar enterprise architect,” he continued, “but he sees the world in a sharper focus than any of us have ever imagined. As surprisin’ as that is.”

There he went sayin’ something nice about Kriz again, even if shrouded on the backside.

“He even met with Crita and Uknol this morning, when he was driven in to sign the contracts. Didn’t irritate either hen to a degree they’d rip his head off. Crita said it was a pleasant get together.”

Pleasant? I doubted seriously grouchy-Crita used that adjective. Kriz? Sat with— I’d have to hear that from Crita herself. She musta been on her best behavior—Kriz too.

~ Ezra ~

Mama stuck her head inside the swingin’ door leadin’ to the kitchen, and asked if she could come in. I believe I heard Zarade growl just a bit, but she welcomed Mama in with a pasted-on smile. She turned to me after peekin’ at her watch, and told me I might as well turn in my apron. Yep. It was hours past the lunch rush.

I wiped my hands, gave Mama a wave, and turned to drop my apron in the hamper. I poured Mama and me a mug of tea, and led her out the side door. Stink, it always feels so cold outside after spendin’ hours in the hot kitchen. Even though the sun gushed, and the breeze barely waved the stems of this and that growin’ thing.

We settled on the bench, where we could watch the urchins putterin’ about in the Inn’s three-acre garden. I counted a dozen butterflies near enough to touch, before seein’ to the task of layin’ out my skirt just right. Noted Mama’s free hand flittered a bit, as she did the same.

Mama’s as much the family boss as any ogre hen, but I truly got my quiet ways from her. For her to come here, to a neutral space, so to speak, wasn’t an odd thing for her. Where most ogre hens would likely prefer their strongest battleline. And of course she was in no hurry to begin her assault. I’d give her all the time she needed to get to what was on her mind. As though I couldn’t imagine what that was gonna be.

We sipped at our tea long enough, my shoulders began to sag-relaxed after the urgency of the kitchen rush hours earlier.

“Papa say something ya wanna share with me, about Thomas?” I couldn’t continue the silence.

“I pressed upon him,” she said slowly, “the manner in which he’d proceed.”

I snorted. Papa is easygoing, but he’s still a bull. And a Birs.

“Yes, he’s a bull. But. Well. We don’t exactly have the normal relationship other mates have. Or typical personalities—which ya prolly figgered long ago.” She eased into a gentle smile. Avoided eye contact, as is her way. Papa’s too.

I waited, maybe irritated she read my mind. I hate when she does that. Never been overbearin’ with it, but she always filled in, when I felt conflicted. And I currently felt very, conflicted.

“I drove to the South Slope Shrine this morning to have a quiet chat with the gods,” she said.

She did what?

“The common expectation is, the gods will speak to ya more clearly, in a shrine or temple.”

She was draggin’ this on a little dramatical.

“But the beauty about the shrine, clears yar mind a bit. Maybe allows ya to hear yar own thoughts better. And maybe, if those thoughts are clear enough inside ya, if the gods disagree, maybe they’ll correct ya some when necessary.”

I took a long sip of tea. There are clans that get into the gods and shrines thing in a big way. But the Birs clan isn’t really one of em. Not that we don’t maintain the South Shore Shrine pristine, and all. But we, maybe, like to think the gods leave us to our own devices. Yeah. That’s a good way to say it. We’ll thank em for their gifts, but not so much expect their ongoin’ direction.

“Most in the ogre world are gonna consider an ogre-human relationship against nature, the gods even,” she finally said, joltin’ me from my thoughts. “But if the gods thought it was such a horrible thing, wouldn’t they give me some kind of sign?”

Didn’t think she really wanted me to answer that. Don’t think she woulda appreciated my take on her assumption.

“My mind, influenced by the gods I think, went from wantin’ to kill Thomas with my own hands, for the tongue waggin’ he’s bringin’. To the decision I eluded to.”

Uh. What decision?

“Yar papa will embrace Thomas if that is indeed the position ya get to.”

What?

“If the gods think matin’ with a human is unnatural, they woulda smacked me in the head with that this morning.”

“Mated! Wait! Smacked ya?” I murmured. “Ya think the gods, who never tell us nay or yea on any issue, are gonna pipe up on—” Didn’t know what to call it. She used the word, mated. Mated?

“Some scientists claim,” she said, “we’re from a single ancestry who intermingled for a millennia of millennia, before the various clans separated, and physically adjusted to our specific environments.”

“Those academians don’t get a lot of fundin’ I bet,” I suggested. “Ya’re swingin’ from relyin’ on the gods, to scientists a lota folks call quacks?”

“That fellow overseas who first said the world is round, was threatened with death, because it went against the common doctrine.”

“Thomas is a friend,” I said. “I’m not so desperate a spinster to be lookin’ for a human mate.”

“I’m not pushin’ ya to mate nobody,” she said, a bit of unexpected anger in her tone. “But I’m makin’ a social judgment for myself, and my family. And I don’t want ya to be pushin’ away a good bull, uh, man, because a bunch of racists say something is unnatural.”

After a moment, I clopped my mouth shut. Coulda come close to chippin’ a tooth or two. Maybe my mama has lost a step. I more readily accepted that, than she’s way before her time.

“Ya’d really accept a human as—”

“He’s from a clan with different beliefs, different physical attributes. I was raised among orcs, dwarfs, trolls, goblins, and daemans. Clearly, they look a lot different than yar garden variety ogre.”

“But they don’t, well, rarely cross mate.”

“Rarely,” she said. A huge understatement.

~