Page 51 of Glitterati Omega

Ten

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upert spent the next two weeks tryingto convince Charli not to hand him narcotics like they were candy, without telling herwhy, and trying to find a better way to tell Winston than refusing a glass of wine and then saying “because I’m pregnant” when Winston questioned him. The wine offering and refusal had become an almost nightly ritual.

He tried (and failed) several times to break the news to Winston, but their conversations always wandered elsewhere. There had been the time in the library when Winston was readingWuthering Heights, and Rupert had tried to make a comment about one of the main characters dying after giving birth (he thought). Winston wanted to talk about how it was a horrible love story and how utterlyracisteveryone was (Rupert had never thought of that before, although he’d only muddled his way through until Catherine died, then given up because he was bored and the language was difficult).

Then there had been the football match, and someone had taken a crying child past them, but Winston was much more interested in talking about the yellow card that had just been handed out on the field. And finally, there had been a discussion about Rupert being very smart for getting his organs taken out, in which Rupert had only managed to get out part of the story about the procedure not being done and needing to go back. Winston had gone on a bit of a diatribe about how it was terribly rude of doctors not to let omegas make decisions about their own bodies—which Rupert had agreed about—such as having their reproductive organs removed before they had children, becausewhat if they changed their minds? That had been more common in the past, although Winston insisted it still happened much more than it ought to.

Rupert didn’t agree with that part, and he’d told Winston as much. “I’d giveanythingto have a baby,” he’d said (or something like it), and that had devolved into a discussion of how much work it was to have a child.

Rupert hadn’t quite worked out why Winston was so deadset against children; he seemed to like them well enough. Or perhaps they liked Winston. At any rate, he’d helped two boys retrieve a football while they were in the park one afternoon, and he’d made some recommendations to two young readers at the library (good recommendations too). And he’d bought candy for two children behind them in line at the supermarket.

It didn’t make much sense, and part of Rupert thought Winston might change his tune when he was told, but the other part of Rupert was very scared.

He resolved that he’d tell Winston on the flight from Cape Town to Durban, but there wasn’t an opportune moment there, because Rupert spent most of the flight feeling like he was dangerously close to tossing his biscuits if he so much as opened his mouth. Winston had rubbed his back and offered him Vomex, which he refused. He was still nauseated after they landed, so he was fairly silent on the ride out of Durban.

The ride was three hours across muddy, rutted roads, and Rupert did vomit at one point, which caused a bit of a commotion. Their driver apparently wanted to make them walk the rest of the way, but, Rupert later learned, Winston promised the man an entirely new van as compensation for Rupert upchucking on the upholstery. Rupert thought that was likely excessive, but then again, he hadn’t wanted to walk the rest of the way to the village where Winston had been born and raised, especially not when he realized how far it was. Walking would have taken forever.

It was a tiny, spread-out sort of thing, little white buildings dotting the rolling green fields. It didn’t look bad up close either, though, not like the villages Rupert had toured when he was a teenager on a school trip meant to “educate” them about how the “original” peoples of South Africa lived.

One thing was familiar, and that was the scent of barnyard—hay and cattle. The place reeked of it, and Rupert thought he might be sick again. He almost asked Winston how he could stand to be there, but that seemed rather rude. Besides, Rupert reasoned, his tummy was probably just off. Or maybe his nose was sensitive. He’d had both symptoms before.

Winston and the driver seemed to solidify their deal while Rupert stood there politely, realizing he didn’t understand a thing they were saying. He made a mental note to study Xhosa. Or Zulu. Bantu? Whatever it was. He didn’t actually know. That was probably terrible, he reasoned, given that he was dating Winston. Or, at least, he thought he might be dating Winston.

Maybe he should try his hand at all the languages of South Africa. But he’d also known a couple of omegas who’d taken classes and said they were difficult languages. He was bad enough at English, nearly flunking out of those classes.

Winston turned away from the driver at last and clapped Rupert on the shoulder. “Come,” he said, then seemed to almost skip away.

The house was cozy—mostly on account of being cluttered. Rupert didn’t think there was an inch of counter space available; there were plants hanging from the ceiling, drying, and the table was covered in stacks of plates and books and serving ware. Someone had been working on some sewing too.

“Hello,” Winston called, and there was a chorus of returning voices, before, finally, a tall, thin woman with her gray hair cropped right to her shapely head strode into the room, her hands on her hips.

“Mbulelo!” she exclaimed. “So there you are.”

“So here I am, Mama,” Winston replied.

She nodded a couple of times, then did a double-take at Rupert. “Who is this?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“A friend,” Winston replied cautiously.

“Mm,” she said, lifting her brows. She looked at Rupert. “Well, Friend, do you have a name?”

“Rupert,” he offered, “Rupert Cul—”

“Ab-ap-ap-ap-ah,” Winston said, giving him a sharp look.

“Just Rupert then.” He smiled.

“Mm,” she said, a slow exhale like smoke. She turned back to Winston, but Rupert recognized the glint in her eye.We’re going to talk about this laterwas what it said. “Well, you’re here to see Mandisa and her little one.”

“Yes,” Winston agreed.

“But it’s late, so you’ll see them tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

She paused again, pursing her lips. “You’re going to sleep on opposite sides of the room,” she declared, then walked off, bellowing for the other members of the household.