Luna takes a bite, and her eyes widen. “This is seriously good. Where did you learn to cook like this? You didn’t even refer to any cookbook.”
“Self-taught. Guess it just comes naturally to me.” I slip into my seat at the table and pop open my drink.
“Well, thanks for sharing your talent with me because, yum.” Luna takes a couple more bites. I dig into my meal, anxious to put something in my belly. “You know,” she says with her mouth partially full. “I could make you a proper pocketed apron. Sewn, not glued.
“Really? You would do that for me?” My back straightens.
“Definitely. You’ve already done so much for me and sewing is one thing at which I’m a little better than okay.” She shovels a big forkful of food into her mouth and nods.
“I would seriously love that. Thank you.” I run my tongue across my teeth to make sure no food is clinging in places where I don’t want it. “Where did you learn to sew?”
“My mom. Sewing has always sort of been her thing. She used to make my clothes when I was little.” Her lips puff into a half-hearted grin.
I slap my open palm to my forehead. “Oh, the horror. Mom-made clothes,” I say with a touch of theatrics.
“I know, right?” Her frown morphs into an expression of glee.
We finish our meal and work together at cleaning. Eliminating any mess from the preparation and devouring process. I wash the dishes, and she dries them. When I pass her the last fork, our fingers touch. My heart reacts like an athlete at the firing of a starting pistol. I look away and blink hard, shake my head.
A knock signals Michael’s arrival. I open the door, invite him inside.
“So, this is the girl?” He says, moving past me to inspect Luna.
“The one in need of a ride home?” I say. “Yes.”
“Thank you so much for doing this.” Luna sticks her hand out. Unlike most people meeting my brother for the first time, Luna hardly reacts to his facial disfigurement. “I’m Luna. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Michael takes her hand and shakes, smiles wide. “Pleasure’s mine, for sure.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “But I wasn’t so much indicating the girl in need of a ride home as I was the girl you ran off to meet the other day.” He makes reference of dropping me off in front of the diner the other day after the cake tasting.
I nod but don’t grant his comment a verbal response.
He glances from Luna to me, once more. “She’s like the calm to your crazy.” His hands move through the air, sliding softly downward to imitate the flow of her hair. Then his palms splay and jolt upward in reference to my many unmanageable curls.
“Funny.” I frown and narrow my gaze.
He grins. “I look forward to learning much about you on the ride,” he says to Luna. Her gaze blinks to me.
“He’s just playing with you,” I say and turn my gaze on him. “Mostly.”
“Yep. Yep.” He motions Luna toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Hey.” I grab Luna’s arm. “My brother might be able to help you figure that thing out, the one with your dad, if you feel comfortable talking to him.”
“Oh.” Her gaze snaps to Michael, then back to me. “Maybe.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Michael rushes Luna along with a quick hand wave. “Let’s get this party rolling.”
He helps her into the car and closes her door, then circles around to the driver’s side. “See ya around, lil’ sis.” He slides in behind the wheel, starts the car, and drives away. Luna stretches her arm out the window and waves. I watch them move down the street and around the corner.
The rest of the week goes by in a blur, with the exception of a small waxing moon spell I perform to help my courage level on all fields: Mom, Mom’s possible Caleb connection, and Luna… whatever is going on there, with her father and between us.
Every day after school, Luna and I talk on the phone for hours. Although, it hardly feels like much time passes at all. I tell her things I probably shouldn’t. I tell her about my mom’s condition and about my mom’s ex-boyfriend trying to burn my family alive. I even confess to her about my suspicions of my sister’s motherly way state.
She tells me about her life in Monticello, before New Orleans. She also tells me about the friends she left behind, Alana and Ryelee. I learn that Luna was homeschooled, so she didn’t have the same opportunity to make friends as I have had. The time I spent in class with friends and fellow classmates, she spent sitting at the kitchen table, with her mother as her guide and tutor.
Turns out, we both watch the television show Sabrina. We both adore all animals and would care for them all, if we could. I covet her long, straight hair, and she totally digs my crazy kinks. Purple is the preferred color for both of us, and we totally enjoy jamming to the bands No Doubt and Green Day. We have so much in common, it’s like our meeting was kismet.
I find myself counting the days, hours, and minutes until our planned, in-person meet up on Sunday. Come Sunday, I head out early, allowing plenty of time for me to make my destination. Traveling by bike, I take the ferry across the water and then pedal to the steps across from Jackson Square. The first to arrive, I take a seat and wait.
Luna arrives within ten minutes time. Her body posture is rigid and her smile, nervous.
“Hey.” I leap from my seat and rush forward, give her a hug. Her body is stiff. Awkward.
“Hey.” She steps back. “Glad you could come.”
“Are you?” I glance over her. “It
