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My face heats. “I’m not—”
He gives me a humored look and I slam my mouth together.
“Stop torturing the boy.” Zelda enters the back of the bar, finger-combing her hair as she wraps it up into a big, messy bun on top of her head. Leaning over the register, she plucks out a pack of smokes.
“But he’s so fun to tease,” Micah says, shooting me another wink. He pours my drink into an even bigger glass, then adds a mixture of orange and cranberry juice. Fortunately, he doesn’t add more ice.
Zelda plucks a cigarette out of the carton with her teeth and turns to Micah who has a pink BIC lighter raised and already lit. She puffs a couple times, blowing ripples of smoke across the bar. Lowering the lighter, Micah bends down, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
They must sense me staring, because they both look over at me with small, matching smiles.
“So who’s this?”
Micah shrugs. “Won’t give me his—”
“Sky,” I blurt.
Zelda’s face lights up. She’s pretty, with big blue eyes smattered with glitter and smudged eyeliner around the edges. I’d say she’s probably in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. I’d clock Micah to be around the same age, though maybe a little older. He’s gorgeous too, with black hair down to his shoulders, eyes made up not unlike hers.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sky. Where you comin’ from?" she says. There’s an accent there I can’t place. New York? Brooklyn maybe? Now that I think about it, Micah’s is the same, though maybe not as strong.
“Indiana,” I whisper, but keep my eyes trained on Micah.
My knee starts to bob, and I feel that familiar buzzing starting to fill my brain. My fingers flex around the glass, and I shakily bring it to my lips, taking a sip. It’s just as sweet, if not sweeter, and still too cold. Where before it didn’t bug metoomuch, it’s now wreaking havoc on my taste buds.
Wincing, I set it down.
Micah says something, but I don’t hear what it is. The buzzing has been replaced with static that drowns everything else out.
Knowing it’ll only continue to get worse, I reach down and pull my phone from the side pocket on my bag. I go to unlock the screen, but I get nothing. It’s dead.
I blink.
How…
Glancing up at the two faces watching me with concern, I say thickly, “My phone’s dead.”
Micah frowns, and Zelda looks to him, then me, and says, “I think I have a charger in the ba—”
“What’s your name mean?” I rush out.
She stops, frozen, mouth parting.
My cheeks heat, and I force myself to sit taller, though I still avert my gaze. “I just…I have this thing. I kind of need to know what people’s names mean when I meet them. I know his, but I don’t know yours.” My chest aches at the words stumbling from my lips. I know how ridiculous I sound. How weird they probably think I am.
This hasn’t happened in a long time. But with the new surroundings, having to interact with strangers, and the stress of what just happened…seeing Nolan for the first time in three years…only to have what was left of my heart ripped out of my chest.
I squeeze my eyes shut, digging my nails into my palms. It’s just too much.
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
“Griselda,” Micah says over her. Loudly. Firmly. “That’s her full name.”
I peek open an eye and meet his steady gaze. He just nods, almost like he…like he gets it, how important this is to me.
Swallowing thickly, I go to open my mouth and tell him that’s not what I mean, when it hits me.
I actuallydoknow what her name means. I just didn’t realize it was a nickname.
