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“I know,” I said, dipping the brush back into the bucket for more paint. “It’s my grandmother’s.”
“Oh.”
“It’s imperative that no personal information of her homestead or her become public,” I said.
“You think I would post private information about your grandmother?”
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know. I knew she wouldn’t purposefully cause harm to Oma. I wanted to trust that she’d respect the privacy I’d worked so hard to maintain.
But she didn’t have to intend harm to cause it.
“You don’t think I respect boundaries,” she said with a bite to her words.
“I think it’s best to be clear with my expectations.” Before she could snap a response back, I added, “What can I do for you, Layana?”
“First, you can look at me.”
I set down the brush on the lid of the paint can and turned to look at her fully.
She wore tattered jeans and her puffy white coat. Her long black hair hung loose today, framing her beautiful, sharp features. Her eyes weren’t the icy daggers I’d expected, but vast, searching pools.
My chest tightened. I was glad to see her, yet uncertainty reigned over all other emotion.
“That’s better,” she said. “Now you need to explain yourself. Why didn’t you text me back earlier?”
I considered what exactly she might be looking for from me, but came up blank. “I didn’t have anything productive to add to the conversation.”
“Whatunproductivething do you want to say?”
“Nothing.”
“But that’s not true, is it? Not really. You’re…” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re pissed.”
I wasn’t mad. I was…guarded.
A pleased defiance crossed her face, like she’d figured out the puzzle I presented.
“You like it when I’m mad,” I told her.
“Psh.” She waved a dismissive hand at me.
“You do. That’s what you’re looking for. You like inspiring my frustration.”
“Maybe I like a little heat. But no one likes fighting.”
“You do.”
“That’s….” She turned.
I followed her gaze.
Oma was approaching with a warm smile.
“Hello,” she said to Layana. Then to me, “I didn’t realize we were having company.”
Layana’s whole demeanor immediately shifted. She mirrored Oma’s warmth and openness, meeting her halfway across the yard.
“Hi, I’m Layana, Gabriel’s friend.”
